CHAPTER TWENTY

El was met with a muddled scene of damaged consoles, loose cables, and scurrying pirates, all desperately attempting to quell the Nano-diesel leak. Despite the transparency of her appearance, her silhouette could still be made out under reflecting light as she scurried between cover; a crouched stance and unhurried pace were paramount in maintaining the illusion.

Kaligan dwelt in the grasp of the steel-armed contraption, reveling in the rich ether that flowed from its core. The mass of translucent tubes pumped ceaseless streams of crimson fluid into the mockery of the human form. Though an inconvenient requirement, the daily maintenance was crucial to keep his advanced exoskeleton free from malfunction. His gaze remained fixed on the Lanza as it struggled against the tendrils of his ship like an ensnared beast.

El waited, observing the Lord with a patient glare as he marveled at the struggle of his prey. A combination of the Nano-Diesel high and the sadistic pleasure he took in the chaos of war.

Once Kaligan was deemed sufficiently occupied, El began her furtive approach. She skulked through shadows of chattering machinery to mask her presence. A constant rumbling wracked the ship's oxidized bones as the engines strained to sustain power. The Banshee had inflicted serious damage with its subsequent attack, leaving the Gallowmare's crew with precious little time to waste.

Her target was mere steps away. She could sense Kaligan's lust for cruelty, his aura so overwhelming that it choked with air with the threat of violence. He was at least double her size, dwarfing her in every way. Even in his current state of vulnerability, he remained a terrible and dangerous being. Suddenly he leaped up from his throne. Several cables detached from his upper body, hissing with cries of steam and fuel and startling El into a state of paralysis.

“Retract the boarding tubes. A most glorious waltz is at hand.” Kaligan exclaimed in a theatrical yet translatable manner. Through the viewing screen, El glimpsed a pinprick of light. Particles began to coalesce on the Lanza's underside. What remained of the moon's devastated surface was atomized, processed into energy to satiate the Banshee as she prepared her final assault.

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The monstrous tentacles detached from the Lanza, slithering their way over the battered shell of the moon and retracting into the Gallowmare's smoldering hull. Kaligan seemed to have no issue leaving his men to fend for themselves, knowing that a heroic death was the greatest gift he could bestow. The only tubes still attached to Kaligan's body were plugged into his spine and legs, the rest lay scattered at his feet, expelling diesel into ever-expanding pools.

El needed to act now. The revitalizing process was nearing completion and her target would soon regain autonomy, unsheathed from the restraints of his throne.

Creeping as close as she dare, El opened the paneling at the base of the humming throne. A myriad of control valves and knobs saturated the device's inner workings, purposed with regulating the flow and filtering the fuel entering Kaligan’s body. Although she had never dealt with a device quite like this, the setup was similar to the Horizons fuel processor. With a few lines of illegal code, the processor could transmute the stable energy of refined diesel into a volatile concoction of raw power. This provided the ship with unparalleled speed but to the detriment of the engine, increasing the probability of burnout or, an explosion of unthinkable magnitude.

Kaligan let out an impassioned scream that petered out into a staggered chuckle. He watched the Banshee cannon sheath itself in defeat, retreating into the belly of the Lanza. His men had done it. Infiltrating deep enough into the enemy ship to manually shut down the Navy’s biggest threat. The winds battle had altered course and now seemed to blow in Kaligan's favor.

Like an arachnid ensnaring its prey, El's fingers moved with an unsettling precision and purpose. She flicked various switches, prompting a hatch to spring open and expose the flow dial. She stared up at the towering man and watched the affected sway of his arms as he continued to dictate his orders. He thrived on the anarchy, clearly at home amidst senseless destruction and death.

With cautious precision, her hand edged forward until her fingertips glanced the worn edges of the metal dial. She studied the engraved numbers, trying to discern how far she could amplify the flow whilst remaining undetected. As she rotated her hand counterclockwise, the dial muttered a series of muted clicks. Before she had managed to complete the required degree of rotation, a fearsome shadow plummeted towards her. An immense force slammed down onto her skull, like a hammer driving a nail. Clasped in a vice-grip, her body was hoisted skyward, confronted with a stare of bewildered discovery.

“Terrible timing for an infestation," Kaligan whispered, revealing his golden fangs. "Though dealing with vermin is not a task I would usually attend to, under the circumstances, I think I can make an exception.” He inhaled the ashen fragrance of terror that wept from her skin, tasting the honey-sweet hope that fled her darkening eyes. The translucent property of her hair and skin had faded, turning such a deep shade of mottled green that it could easily be mistaken for black. She writhed in pain as Kaligan tightened his grip, the crackling of bone fractures escaping the gaps in his monstrous fingers. Unable to scream, she employed every ounce of her energy just to remain conscious. She kicked her legs wildly, her nimble fingers tightening their grip on his trunk-like arm, squeezing with all her might in a feeble attempt to sever his hold. She was no match for him. Kaligan’s body was an impenetrable instrument of war. To a being such as him, her struggle was meaningless.

Unwilling to accept her death, El continued her manic flailing. A loud clang sounded and her foot recoiled in pain, colliding with a solid, metallic surface. Kaligan’s grip loosened slightly and his pupils swallowed the whites of his eyes. The Pirate-Lord's bloated gaze fell upon the tampered inner workings of his throne. The dial had exceeded the advisable dilation settings, now resting at maximum flow. Jet black pools of chemical sludge clouded his vision and the once fearsome pirate was pulled into an insouciant stupor. The unrefined diesel flooded his system, overwhelming the intricate series of cyber-kinetic implants that interfaced his body and mind.

Kaligan collapsed in a heap of pungent steam, freeing El from the stranglehold. Her slender frame struck the unyielding plated ground and she released the trapped scream that was clawing for freedom. A tear made its escape from her waxen eyes, the sudden rush of relief brought a timid wintry blue back to her bruised flesh.

The shackle-laden gate burst open in a calamitous explosion of metal, rocking the bridge with its thunderous impact. Tugg erupted onto the bridge, panting with urgency burned into all four of his eyes. The Accran had little trouble tearing through the thick steel like paper, it appeared his injury hadn't hindered him in the slightest. Ranna threw a plasma pistol to El and the three of them dealt with the remaining crew. As Tugg approached, the operators could do little else but pray for a swift end.

Surrounded by lifeless bodies, the three bounty hunters stood breathless as the violent mist of spent plasma cleared and the bridge fell silent. Kaligan body twitched erratically, his body still struggling against the psychosis of the diesel overload. Overwhelmed with vivid chemically induced hallucinations, his brain began the process of deterioration. Ranna threw over El’s clothes and she immediately covered herself with her arms, forgetting how vividly the stealth-skin accented her silhouette. Ranna looked over at Kaligan's trembling body then back at El. The swift takedown a fine testament to her aptitude. Though he would never admit it, he was consistently intimidated by the results the Vrell girl produced. The true limits of her potential remained a frightening unknown.

“Let's take what we came for and get out,” Ranna said, tampering with the contraption that connected Kaligan's head to the Nano-material body. He flicked open the clasps. After detaching several tangled cables, a click sounded and Ranna gripped the sides of the head and twisted slowly. A long trail of greasy spinal cord followed the head as it was separated from the body.

“Quickly,” Ranna said, placing the Pirate-Lord's detached head onto the ground. El retrieved a small cylinder from one of her many pockets and pushed the small buttons at its base. The device split open into four segments, unfurling in a spiral pattern. A stampede of ten-legged insects poured from the metallic shell, scuttling towards their target. The tiny creatures scurried over Kaligan's lifeless features, weaving a web of frosted silk to conceal the ghastly reality inside.

“Frystian-Crawlers never disappoint. That should keep him fresh until we get to Veng,” Ranna commented, watching the insects march back to their cylindrical home.

El carried a plethora of strange gadgets on her person at any one time; Collecting rare and interesting goods becoming somewhat of a hobby. She would often barter with the various dealers wherever the Horizon would dock, eager to add another oddity to her inventory. The Frystian-Crawlers, in particular, hailed from a forgotten world and were thought to be long extinct. Their home had faded into nothingness due to the mining efforts of the Navy and their trusted friends, the Kahbohl. Fortunately, the insects had survived due to Naval pilfering of the planet's flora and fauna for their numerous research divisions. Now the insect's primary function was the preservation and transportation of organic materials.

Ranna retrieved the icy head of the Pirate-Lord and attached it to his belt via three hooked straps. By some miracle, they had acquired what they came for and were somehow still alive.

The Gallowmare shuddered, a crippling groan rising from her tarnished foundations. Ranna faltered as the entire room tilted to one side. A shower of debris was dislodged, pelting him and his crew. The ship was sinking. Without hesitation, they sprinted away from the bridge, fighting off the remnant crew through the malaise of Nano-diesel fog that had now engulfed the entire ship. Without a Lord to guide their fury, the pirate masses ceased to function. Many opted to abandon ship, a favorable alternative to dying in a ferocious blaze. The action was taken not out of cowardice but the fear of dying dishonorably as an accidental death would not grant access to Elyssia's eternal sea. So they escaped, prolonging their lives to fight another day and be awarded their demise in the glory of combat.

Sinking ever closer to the moon's battle-scarred surface, the Gallowmare neared her end. Most of the gravitational stabilizers had failed, the few that remained unsubstantial to support the sheer mass of the Dreadnought.

Ranna was overwhelmed by the quickening descent, his stomach sinking with the certainty of an imminent crash. The impact would ignite the Nano-diesel and there was little ambiguity about the events that would follow.

They arrived back at the hull breach, darting into an alcove of smoldering metal to avoid being seen. The area swarmed with loyalists who refused to abandon their ship. Diligently making repairs to the critically wounded Gallowmare, unwilling the accept the futility of their situation. This was their home and they were as much a part of the ship as the metal that bound it together.

The Plata Lanza hadn't discharged so much as a single shot since the Banshee’s deactivation. She hovered motionless above the violated moon as the pirate crew ravaged at her heart. From the moment they were boarded, the ceaseless waves of invaders had forced the naval officers into an unending retreat. Now, with nowhere left to retreat, the immovable palisade of lustrous warriors defended the objective with valorous determination. The vaulted corridor that led to the engine room was their last line of defense; and to that gateway of plated silver, the men had bound their lives.

In total, the platoon numbered fifty. Most were traumatized by the savagery of pirate warfare and no longer fit to engage in battle. On their front line stood Captain Noctei. She struggled to catch her breath, exhausted after felling innumerable foes. Even with her crew, ship, and reputation on the line, her focus was consumed by Admiral Hail. This was her chance to prove herself as a competent leader. To prove she deserved to be in permanent command of the Plata Lanza.

The Navy was in the process of constructing their next leap forward in space-faring technology. A ship to surpass the Eureka. Admiral Hail was favored to take the reins once construction was complete, so finding a suitable replacement to inherit command of the Lanza had become his priority. Noctei's current predicament was not casting her in a particularly favorable light. The Lanza had been overrun with half of her crew either wounded or dead. Guarding the last remnant of her career and listening to the encroaching footsteps of the enemy, she couldn't help but smile at the irony. She had been here before, only last time, she wasn't the one on the defensive.

A gaggle of battle-raged men burst into the engine room's narrow corridor. Rather than hesitation, the Navy’s last stand was met with an enthusiastic roar. The pirates charged forward, unperturbed by the barrage of plasma fire. Men fell by the dozen, cast down in a sea of fire and blood. Employing a callous yet tactile strategy, the horde utilized the corpses of their fallen brethren as shields, forming a blood-soaked wall of tattered armor and severed limbs. Captain Noctei drew her sword and held it high for all to see. Her men followed her initiative, unsheathing their silver blades and raising them in solidarity with their leader.

“We are the light!” Noctei cheered as she charged forward to meet the pirates head-on.

The two opposing forces clashed together like a breaking wave, melding in a fierce torrent of steel and plasma. The juxtaposition of the battle induced ecstasy that filled the pirate's eyes and the terror marked grimaces of the navy recruits troubled Noctei. They were confronted with men who were not only prepared to die but welcomed it. Noctei and her men had already dispatched countless pirates, demonstrated by the bodies that clogged the Lanza’s lower decks. Despite this, their dwindling ranks continued to replenish in an unending stream of chaos. Noctei, on the other hand, was running out of soldiers and, more importantly, time. If they were unable to stave off the attack and allowed the engine room to be breached, there wouldn't be a ship left to command.

Her blade tasted the cold sting of the enemy's serrated steel, slicing through her aggressors with faultless technique. With each swing of her weapon, she was sapped of energy. She knew that soon enough even her obstinate fortitude would not be enough to save her.

She heard yet another swarm of footsteps in the distance, and a lingering sigh crept from her lips. All she had to give had been relinquished. This final assault would be her end.

In an instant, everything was bathed in a brilliant, white light. A collective gasp escaped the slackened jaws of the defeated platoon as a wind of disbelief stilled the advancing pirate horde. The cavalry had arrived.

A Tornado of glistening silk robes filled the corridor, coiled around a wall of impossibly sharp spears. Carving their way through the corridor with unrivaled precision, the naval recruits watched in awe as the four-person division reduced the pirates to a bloody mound in a tempestuous gale of blades.

Valkyries, Admiral Hail's personal bodyguards. Despite the welcome rescue, Noctei shuddered. Her assessment was over.

With the Navy insignia proudly branded onto their opulent steel chest-plates, the Valkyries imbodied the peak of the government's might. The intruders were dispatched in seconds and the warriors came to a standstill. They sheathed their spears and knelt before the Captain.

“Admiral Hail requires your presence,” said the frontmost warrior. Noctei knew what fate awaited her. Without delay, she dismissed her men and followed the Valkyries with unmasked haste. As she departed, she held her head high as not to let up appearances, her men giving what could be their final salute. The weight of her approaching judgment had her body screaming to turn and run, her every fiber strained to quell the urge.

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Back in the Gallowmare's depths, Ranna and his crew searched with fevered desperation for an unoccupied exit. Tugg and El knelt with bated breath for the ingenious plan that their Captain was surely brewing, though the nervous look on his face betrayed he was drawing a blank. He had done it again. He had led the only two people he could call friends to a dead-end; Nothing to offer but a blank stare, seeds of an apology lodged in his throat.

Before he could lament their misfortune, a set of intense lights filled the breach in the Gallowmare's hull. Ranna flashed through the layered filters of his augmented eyes, attempting to identify the lights source. His vision adjusted to the burning illumination, carving out a familiar silhouette through the glare. Decaying, autumnal hues permeated the blemished carapace of the veiled intruder, followed by an unmistakable arc of metallic wings. Thunderous exhaust vents growled breaths of azure fire and brought forth the coherent form of a friend. Lowering her high beams, the identity of the ship was revealed to a sea of astounded faces. The Horizon had arrived.

Ranna had no time for hows or whys. A miracle needed no explanation. No order needed to be issued. The crew disengaged their Mag-locks in unison and soared into the air on jets of steam. With expected immediacy, the pirates opened fire on the Horizon, forcing her to employ evasive maneuvers. The Horizon submerged beneath the pirate's line of sight and the rear doors snapped open. The crew was greeted with the familiar, welcoming sight of their cargo hold. He reached out, almost able to touch the rear doors when his eyes widened and mouth slid agape. He watched as his outstretched arm burst into a bloody mist, a stray plasma bullet incinerating everything from the elbow down. The Nano-material of his suit instantaneously morphed around the wound, preventing the oxygen from escaping. He was flung into the stack of crates at the rear of his ship, his bones shattering on impact. Tugg and El dived after their captain, assaulted by a primal roar of unfathomable pain.