Escape From Heavalun, page 47
She asked this when the two were only a breath’s distance away. She was at long last close to her man, her destiny. She leaned against him, fluttered her eyes, and walked her fingers along his heavy, lethal muscles.
The smell of oil, blood, and sweat pouring off him was erotic, to say the least. That fatal potpourri was the scent of their new world, one where they would fight all others and stand tall on mountains of bodies. Those people who would die did not matter; it would just be what needed to happen to keep her enraptured in his arms.
Something he seemed oh so eager to give to her. His cold metal hand glided along her hip and over her breast; she could not help but feel excited. Her nipples hardened as the rough metal caressed her through the silken dress she wore.
At the same time, the burning intensity of his presence lit a fire in her core. She silently begged that he was about to take her then and there. He would pick her up and christen their love and the dawn of a new world on the throne of the old one. She knew that was what would happen when he slowly wrapped his hand around her neck, mimicking the impression on Eivaley’s neck.
She had heard them making love for weeks; it was finally her turn to have this beast in her bed. The Human would claim her, take his place at her side, and rule with her—as her tool of death, of course.
“I am ready!” Therulay purred, looking up at him and fully believing the delusions she had conjured up.
“You asked what you did wrong?” Conor said, lightly squeezing her throat, making her moan.
“Yes,” she breathed.
Instead of laying her back and claiming her soul, Conor did something she could not fathom; in fact, it went completely against all she knew was destined to be. He gripped her neck like he was trying to choke the life from her and lifted her with ease.
Theruley’s breath hitched as he pulled her close, and they looked eye to eye, but she still dangled in his grip.
“You fucking existed,” Conor growled before tossing her off the dais like she weighed nothing.
Section Thirty-Nine
A New Dawn
Therulay tumbled down the stairs, landing in a groaning pile at the base of the dais. Conor watched with satisfaction as she writhed on the floor. Several lacerations opened as she fell, oozing blood over her perfect dress. Those wounds marked the beginning of the end for Therulay. By the end of this, what he had done to Sheruai would pale in comparison.
This little bitch had the fucking gall to think Conor wouldn’t care about all she’d done. She caused all this death, destruction, and pain for no good fucking reason. It was all because she was a nutter and thought that she had him and the world all figured out. Conor did not know if she was a psychopath, a sociopath, a rotten egg, or just someone who had cracked under the weight of the world; whatever the reason, it did not matter. He would end her no matter what.
Eivaley had long ago asked him not to harm her sisters, and even Eyurali had pleaded for her. By Urla, they were fools to think she would see the dawn. Cancers like Therulay could only be dealt with at the end of a gun, knife point, or execution. He could deal with the aftermath of killing her; Eivaley would just have to trust his choice in the matter.
This little zlit-rat had orchestrated countless deaths in the last few hours, enough so that tonight would be referred to as “The Night of Ash” forever. Conor didn’t care about most of the dead; he didn’t love the Kurlatra empire enough for that. However, he cared about quite a few of them and would act on their behalf.
He fought for Cur’sh, the veterans, and Mulaney, guarding their memories. He did not know whether Mulaney was dead, but he considered her part of the fallen martyrs. Their deaths were tragic and a waste of good lives, but one name, no one good man, was above them all, Vuraley.
That man did not deserve to die here. He was wise, calm, caring, and better than all others Conor had ever known. He should have left the mortal coil surrounded by loved ones, knowing how much he had done and that it was all worth the effort.
Vuraley had a boundless love for others. No matter how base a sapient was, he saw the good in them, nurtured it like a garden, and helped them rise above their station.
Vuraley was an example of what a Champion should be. Even Conor’s dense ass could see that. He had taken Conor and countless others under his wing and guided them to greatness they did not know they had within themselves.
It was like Vuraley had access to chronomancy and could scry on others’ future potential. No matter how much they fought back and pushed him away, he stubbornly remained by their side. He uprooted bad habits, watered greatness, and ensured they were better each and every day.
Now, this little bitch took that away. Took away from the Kurlatra empire a man who only wanted to see the best in others. How fucking dare she. Conor still had so much he wanted to learn from him. How to fight, lead, dictate, delegate, and be a man.
Conor had learned much from Brakul in his younger years, but his old friend and brother taught him how to survive. However, Vuraley showed Conor what it meant to be a man.
Vuraley had taught him that true men fight for others. He believed that a man should stand up for what is right no matter the odds.
A true man of worth does not fight for what is before him—he fights for who stands behind him.
Vuraley likely stood by that to the end. He believed in his daughters to the end and died believing in them and all the Kurlatra. Conor would not know for days the betrayal that caused Vuraley’s death when Eyurali would tell him, but for now, it did not matter. The reality before him was enough of a tattletale for the Human to know this little pink bitch killed him.
If he had known what Therulay had done, he would have killed her with far less mercy than he was going to show her. This ordeal would not have been a few minutes; it would have been dragged out for hours to satiate Conor’s blood lust.
“What are you doing?” Therulay gagged, looking up as Conor stared down at her, looming like a demon ready to annihilate everything that dared to enter its domain.
“I’m getting ready to kill you,” Conor replied plainly, pulling out his pistol and checking the chamber for another round.
“What? Why? We are destined to be together,” Therulay argued, trying to rise to her feet.
The moment her foot found purchase, Conor fired. His targeting software kept his aim true as the bullet tore through her knee. She collapsed with a sharp yelp, her head slamming against the ground.
Conor held the smoking magnum at his hip with a vicious smile on his lips. “Oh, is that so?”
“Yes!” She choked out, barely able to prevent a scream from escaping her. “We are destined for each other; not even the gods will prevent it. I’ve seen it in my dreams.”
Conor was not the most religious man. Sure, he spoke invoking Urla often, but that was just a linguistic holdover from growing up in the COS. He did not believe in any God and frankly did not understand the need to believe in them.
In his mind, if it was not tangible, it did not matter. Those who did believe in gods were either delusional or stupid.
Conor slowly craned his neck, looking around the throne room and scanning it. “I don’t see any gods. But I will tell you what, let’s put that to the test. Think of it as a bet.”
Conor turned around and walked up to the throne. Therulay could not see what he was doing as he ascended, but she could still hear his booming voice demanding her attention and methodical metallic clicking.
“I bet you that Urla, or The Brood Mother, don’t really give a flying fuck, about you,” Conor sneered.
“I know I’m right,” Therulay snapped back, refusing to concede.
“So you really think we are destined to be together,” Conor challenged, gesturing wide before setting his pistol on the throne and turning around. “Right?”
“Yes, we are!” she yelled.
The pain in her shattered knee was unlike anything she had ever known. It burned and wept, blood pooling from the wound. The warmth of her life force was all that remained in her otherwise paralyzed limb.
“I am glad you think so. ” Conor snarled, slowly stepping down to her.
Conor bent over and grabbed her head, palming it like a ball. He hoisted her high and trudged to the far end of the room. She continued to struggle, lightly kicking at him with her good leg, but that did not matter. Nor did the muffled screaming for him to give her a chance.
Once at the doors, Conor slammed Therulay into the ground, nearly knocking her unconscious. The Human glanced at Peekala, seeing if the woman had anything to say about what she was witnessing. The mech pilot did not. What was there to say? It was not like Peekala was loyal to Therulay; her death would just be another noble cleared off the board. Conor gave her a nod, returning his attention from the looming mech toward Therulay, who was regaining some coherence.
“Get it, and shoot me; prove you are worth a damn to me,” Conor ordered, pointing at the throne.
Before Therulay confirmed the instructions, Conor stomped on her good leg, snapping bone. “Do you understand?”
Theruley honestly shocked him. She did not hesitate nor complain. She nodded up at him and started to crawl toward the throne; for once since meeting this little bitch Conor actually felt a small flicker of respect for her. He had assumed she would have broken down and begged for a swift death, not actually following through on her delusions to the very end.
She stopped and panted a few times, pushing through her agony as Conor berated her, calling her stupid, a failure, and assuring her he was right.
Once reminded of what was at stake, she resumed her arduous pilgrimage across the room.
He originally wanted to torment her as a bit of a cruel act before killing her, just as a way to give her some just deserts. But since she seemed too determined to win their bet, now he was just using her as a proxy to vent his frustrations about the empire and was letting off steam.
Was it cruel? Of course. Would anyone who truly knew how Therulay died say anything about it? No, Peekala was loyal to him and would keep her mouth shut. The only other witnesses would be corpses, and good luck getting them to condemn Conor’s actions.
Since arriving at the capitol, he had to put on a show and act like a peacock strutting about. No, that was not right; he was a fucking clown to be used for the noble’s amusement. They, like Therulay, had treated him as nothing more than a curio, something to be ogled and awed at in the best circumstances. During the worst instances, like this little whore, he was not even a person; he was an idea, a concept, and a force to be used to kill others.
They did not see Conor; they could only see The Wolf of Heavalun, a creature, a beast to be tamed.
Fuck all of them.
He was Conor. He was augmented, a fighter, a warrior, a man. He might have been capable of killing anyone who crossed him but that did not mean he was anything but a mere mortal man.
Conor still had fears. Just like the small child he was when his mother died, he still jumped in the dark, terrified of what the shifting shadows contained.
Conor still fell to his knees at the sight of true beauty. Until he was here, he just did not know what beauty was. Beauty was this city—its people, their loves, their hopes, and their dreams. Just seeing this city’s heart thrumming to the sounds of its daily inhabitants nearly brought him to tears.
That somewhere could know peace like this was beyond him until a few short months ago. He knew he would die to keep that peace.
Above all, the most base thing that, despite how he may look, still assured him in his heart, he was a man was love. The love for his woman, his little ruby. She had taught him so much about life, and what it truly meant to live and not just exist.
He no longer existed for hate, money, or the desire of others. He had cast away the fugue state he had survived in his entire life. All for Eivaley. He was The Wolf of Eivaley, and that’s all he had to be. If he lived and died by her side, everything was worth it.
But for him to understand that, it cost him dearly. Friends, mentors, thousands of innocent souls, and sacrificing the facade of a life he had built.
From day one, Conor had seen that the Kurlatra empire could not be their home. The empire was too dangerous, too fickle, and filled with daggers in the dark. He had just deluded himself into thinking that none of Eivaley’s sisters would kill the others.
But it seemed no matter where you were in the universe, monsters still skulked, plotted, and gnashed at others. Like Heavalun, these monstrosities still did not care who they harmed, clamoring out of the dark, reaching for power.
He was not a monster, merc, or feral beast. He was a man, a true man. Vuraley had taught him that if you wanted to be a man, you had to put others before you. When that late warrior had tried to explain that to Conor, he did not care. The Human had assumed the man was just saying what he needed to get Conor to stay in class.
Now Conor understood. Eivaley, Mulaney, Cur’sh, Vitul, fuck everyone he had broken bread with here were more important than him. And this little fucking bitch hurt them, hurt his people.
She dared to think killing who Conor cared about would be acceptable and that there would be no recourse for such a sin against him. Oh, how wrong she was.
Therulay at long last reached the throne, with Conor only a step behind her. With shaking hands she grabbed the weapon and slumped to the floor, her back against the shimmering gold throne.
“Well, what are you waiting for,” Conor said, crossing his arms. “If you are right, the gods won’t let me die here.”
“They won’t. I am right; I am always right,” Therulay struggled to say while raising the pistol up and pointing it at Conor’s head.
Time slowed for Therulay. She was ready to prove this man wrong. She would pull the trigger, nothing would happen, and Conor would save her. She would have proven it. The gods were on her side. Surely, even he could not go against her at that point.
The millimeter of slack in the trigger felt like it took lightyears to remove. Once it hit the wall, the release was crisp and final.
Click! The sound was as loud as lightning crashing to earth. She smiled as warmth filled her chest. She was right, justified in everything.
“See, I was right!” Therulay smirked, “Now be mine.”
Conor crouched and took the pistol from Therulay’s trembling hands. He studied it with mocking deliberation, as though genuinely curious about its failure, though his venomous smile betrayed his intent. He depressed the mag release; nothing fell from the grip. The next thing he did was pull back the slide, revealing an empty chamber.
“You weren’t. I just unloaded it,” Conor replied. “So no gods kept me safe. I did.”
“But,” Therulay began.
“Will you just shut up?” Conor barked, standing while reloading his weapon. “I’ve played your game; you have mine. Let’s end this.”
Therulay looked up at Conor, malice pouring out of her. If looks could kill, Conor would have died a thousand times over. “So what now? You take me to jail?”
“Not a fucking chance in that. You can’t live,” Conor replied.
Before Therulay could process the statement, Conor unleashed a vicious, straight kick into her jaw. Her head snapped back and shattered against the throne. Blood oozed out as her body spasmed from the sudden impact and the last death throes of all creatures.
Conor knew that kick had broken her neck and killed her, but in his experience, one couldn’t be too careful. He lifted his foot over her, readying to stomp her down to finish the job.
Every servo in his body screamed as Conor released all safety limiters, allowing him to use all the strength he typically kept suppressed. His boot crashed down onto her head, cratering it inward. A shockwave vibrated through her body and the throne, leaving both cracked and broken.
In one swift action, Conor not only ended the leader of the rebellion but shattered all the empire believed in. His actions tonight would shake the empire to its foundations, allowing him and Eivaley to rise from the ashes of this world as its new leaders.
They would take the empire’s remnants by the horns and ensure this would never happen again. They could not allow this to happen again. So long as sister killing sister remained the norm, others like Therulay would rise in the shadows and desperately try to claim all the empire had to offer.
Conor couldn’t predict all the changes Eivaley would bring, but he knew she would end that practice. If she demanded it, the empire would obey. That was simply how the empire followed the divine will of their leader.
Conor turned around, leaving the corpse to cool where it lay, and walked back toward the entrance of the throne room.
“Eivaley, Therulay is dead. What else is going on in the palace?” Conor asked over the radio.
“Not much. The army has secured the capitol, and the veterans have mopped up inside the walls,” Eivaley replied.
Eivaley did not mention her distaste for Conor killing Therulay. Over the radio was not the time or place. She had a new image as a leader to maintain. Others hearing her arguing with her Champion would not give the powerful image the empire needed at this time.
“Perfect. I will see you in a minute,” Conor replied. “We can start planning ahead from there.”
“Alright, I will see you soon,” Eivaley replied.
This night was just the start of many battles, deaths, and struggles. Almost all nobles were still grabbing for power and would do all they could to keep what they did have.
The next few years would define generations, rewrite culture, and define what the Kurlatra were on a galactic scale. Nothing would be the same now that Eivaley and Conor had taken charge.
Conor and Eivaley would struggle hand in hand to move the Kurlatra forward. Through their love of one another, the empire, and life itself, they would eventually bring peace back to the Kurlatra.
