Loreen Kindris, the Thülvik, supreme leader of the Kraktol, stands inside the Bloodbearer's hangar bay with her chest puffed out and a look of victory stretched across her face. Beside her stands a large wolf-like Dakkit, someone who comes up nearly two feet shorter than Loreen, yet still manages to look only slightly less intimidating than her. With his white fur and werewolf-like appearance, he resembles a fierce predator, someone who might casually tear out the throat of those who anger him.

All around the hangar bay, hundreds of Kraktol, Dakkit, and Avaru work together to pile up and separate the bodies of the dead, including their own soldiers, as well as the brave Kessu and Kraktol who fought tooth and nail to protect their home. Mountains of corpses lie haphazardly strewn about, their drying blood stuck to the deckplates and staining the walls.

In front of the Thülvik, a tiny hovering drone floats in midair, projecting an image of three figures, the current crew aboard the Slipstream. Admiral Rodriguez, Grundle, and Soren.

"Loreen Kindris..." José hisses, barely containing his anger. "The Kraktol's almighty Thülvik. What the hell have you done?"

"Admiral Rodriguez. It is a pleasure to meet you," Loreen says, as she confidently smiles. "It's too bad our first encounter had to be under these circumstances, but you were the one who foolishly awakened the greed of the Mallali higher-ups."

"I don't want to hear your bullshit!" José bellows. "You goddamned monster! You've killed my crew! My friends! Your fellow Kraktol!"

"Kyargh! Those who turn against their Thülvik will always receive the punishment they deserve," Loreen says, shooting a meaningful glance at Soren and Grundle. "In any case, we've captured a few of your devotees. If you give me what I want, I will hand them to you, safe and sound."

"You're not getting a goddamn thing from me." José states. "Not one thing, except the ass-kicking of a lifetime. You don't even know what you've done. There is no place you can hide in this galaxy. There are no safe harbors, no defenses capable of slowing me down. If you somehow live past today, I will make sure you spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder. You will never again enjoy a good night's sleep."

Admiral Rodriguez fires a salvo of threats at Loreen. She momentarily frowns, before returning to her confident smile.

"Yes, you are quite a terrifying creature," Loreen acknowledges. "But before you come at me with your guns blazing, I have something that might make you pause."

Loreen turns to the Dakkit werewolf-looking fellow at her side.

"Bring over the prisoner."

The Dakkit glowers at her. "Do not think you can order me around, Loreen Kindris. My father-"

"You are not the Alfras," Loreen snaps. "I lead this expedition. That means you answer to me. Now move your tail."

The Dakkit doesn't flinch, even under the withering glare of a crocodile two feet taller than him. However, after a few seconds of maintaining eye contact, he turns and struts away. Half a minute later, he and two Kraktol elites drag over a beaten and bloodied female Kraktol, someone with dull-looking blue scales.

José's eyebrows leap up in alarm. "Sapphire! Loreen, you coward!"

The two Kraktol elites shove Sapphire to her knees while pressing carbines against the back of her skull. She hangs her head limply, clearly exhausted beyond belief. Her body's condition tells a tale of days of endless combat until she finally succumbed to her injuries.

"I am no coward," Loreen counters. "Kyargh! I am a cunning predator, even moreso than you. Stupid human. If not for your idiotic decision to strut into the Mallali's secret base while speaking of your ship's vast wealth, their greed might never have overcame their fear. They wouldn't have approached me to collaborate. But you did, and so, they did. You've nobody else to blame but yourself!"

Sapphire slightly raises her head. She gazes at the hovering visage of the Admiral before her, then lowers her eyes.

"Darling... run... away..."

José's eyes twitch. He gazes at the broken figure of the Kraktol who adores him the most, feeling his heart split in half.

"What do you want from me?"

"You already know what I want," Loreen answers. "The command and access codes to this vessel. Your synthmind's programming has proven remarkably difficult for even our best technicians to crack. We're no Kessu, after all. The Dakkit, Kraktol, and other Sentients never focused their efforts on hacking Precursor technology, not like those mangy furballs. If you give me the command codes, I will hand over the remaining survivors of our attack. But if you don't? We'll break through eventually, even if it takes us a century."

Admiral Rodriguez stares at Loreen for several seconds without speaking. His eyes bore into her skull, as if deducing her thoughts.

"You slaughtered my crew. You killed my friends. You even used a hostage to try and hold me back. You're afraid, Loreen. You should be. I'll give you exactly what you deserve."

Loreen smirks. "Oh? How ominous. And what exactly do you mean by-"

Before she can finish her sentence, the holographic emitter shuts off, causing the Admiral and his two companions to vanish.

Momentarily stumped, Loreen's smirk turns into a scowl.

"Don't tell me the stupid bastard would rather commit suicide than accept my generous offer? Kyargh! The Terran is far too confident for his own good. If he chooses to fight, he shall be outnumbered ten thousand to one!"

The two elite Kraktol holding Sapphire hostage both hesitate.

"Forgive me, great Thülvik," One of them says. "But why must you come here in person? The Mallali have informed us of the Terran's formidable infiltration capabilities. He even fought the Demon Emperor alone. Why wouldn't you stay away from this hangar? You needlessly place your life in peril."

"I know what I am doing," Loreen answers, her tone mild. "Worry not. Kyargh! This Terran might be a monster, but I had to make an appearance if I wished to scavenge any technology for our people. Besides... I never accept a losing bet. Even if I fall here, I have made many... preparations."

The Dakkit werewolf-looking fellow turns to glower at her. "You might presently command the scavenging operations, mighty Thülvik, but to my people, you are little more than a nuisance. Stop acting as if your scales will soon eclipse the sun. My father only took pity on you because your ramshackle, 3rd-Era war fleet sullied his eyes. Space peasant!"

The young werewolf's words splash against Loreen harmlessly, like a fine mist on a summer's morning. She glances at the Dakkit with a look of disdain.

"Little puppy, Maximillian. You might think of yourself as a fearsome hunter, but compared to the average Kraktol, you are nothing at all. Watch the words you bark, lest my guards take offense. I would hate for you to suffer a 'diplomatic incident.'"

The Dakkit, Maximillian, doesn't back down. "Some day, my father will retire, and I will take his place. When I become the Alfras, you will regret not playing nice with me."

"Daddy dearest still has a few centuries left in him," Loreen replies. "And who knows what might happen in that time?"

"Are you threatening me?" Maximillian growls. "I do not fear you."

The Thülvik exposes her teeth. "Smarter Mallali have made the same mistake. I hope, for your sake, you do not end up where they did."

Three tense seconds pass as the Thülvik stares down the Dakkit more than a head smaller than her. Finally, she turns away.

"It's too bad, Maximillian. If your father had half your guts, I might actually respect the old hound."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Maximillian grunts. He turns his attention toward the air-shield leading outside the Bloodbearer's hangar bay.

"Lady Kindris," A Kraktol female says, as she runs up from behind the Thülvik. "The Terran's stealth-craft has begun flying toward the Bloodbearer. He will arrive here within the next few minutes."

"So he took the bait," Loreen chuckles. "Excellent. Kyargh! Bring me the Matriarch's Armor. I must prepare myself for his arrival. There's no telling what tricks the rabid mutt might try."

Maximillian flicks his ears in annoyance at Loreen's slight, but remains silent as one of her two elite guards splits off, leaving the other to continue holding Sapphire hostage.

The blue-scaled female sighs wistfully, having lost her will to fight back.

"Thülvik... why... why have you... done this...?"

Loreen glances at her helpless half-daughter, someone who descended from Drall, yet had nothing to do with Loreen herself.

"Ungrateful, murderous spawnling." Loreen says. "You slew your own father. You killed my beloved mate. As the Thülvik, I have always had to keep my feelings bottled up. I have always had to act as a bulwark for my people. It was only when I was with Drall that I could be myself. Yet you killed him. You are lucky I have not subjected you to the worst torture imaginable, but worry not, for that will soon change. Once your beloved Precursor steps into this hangar, he will never leave here alive. I will ensure you watch as I flay the skin from his bones."

Sapphire raises her head. "No... you can't! Darling is a good man! He always treated the Kraktol as friends. It isn't his fault Drall died. It's all mine! Punish me!"

"I will!" Loreen answers. "Him, Soren, that insipid janitor, and all the remainder of my children who cast me aside to follow this false prophet."

Sapphire hangs her head. Tears well up in her eyes as she agonizes over her past choices.

If only I had stayed with Darling. If only I had gone with him into the tunnels. I should never have come back here.

Several Kraktol in the distance chatter among each other as they spot the approaching figure of the Slipstream, weaving its way through space to approach the Bloodbearer's hangar bay. Before it arrives, Loreen's elite warrior returns, pushing a heavy metal crate atop a hovering drone.

"Thülvik."

Loreen turns away from the Kraktol she detests most to face her elite warrior. She waits as he cracks open the crate, revealing a set of visually-stunning obsidian-colored armor.

Maximillian frowns. The Alfras's son walks over to the crate and glances inside, then raises his eyes to meet Loreen's.

"What is this? I have never seen such an incredible set of armor! It doesn't even appear to be of Precursor design!"

Loreen meets his gaze. "I'm surprised your papa never told you. This armor is something that was passed down to my mother from her mother. It is the Matriarch Armor, crafted from indestructible materials now lost to this galaxy. My people escaped bondage because the first Thülvik found it deep within a hidden cache. Its powers are... formidable, though difficult to control."

Loreen reaches into the metal crate. She pulls out the pitch-black armor, revealing it to be a one-piece set made from highly advanced exotics. A menacing aura drifts from its confines, causing all of the Sentients within a hundred-meter radius to experience significant mental discomfort.

"By the ancestors!" Maximillian cries. "Borf! What an evil aura! How can a mere set of armor possess such terrifying properties?"

Loreen cocks her head.

"Hm. I don't know, and it doesn't matter. All that matters is whether or not this armor will give me the strength to crush the Precursor. Of that, I have little doubt."

Loreen holds up the powerful armor, momentarily basking in its insidious aura. Its exterior feels less like any known metal alloy, and more like an ultra-hardened rock, something which even a battleship-class laser might not necessarily penetrate.

She presses a button on the armor's back, causing it to snap open, like the jaws of a monster looking to gorge on flesh. She pushes it against her body, and the armor instantly snaps closed, swallowing her whole. It adjusts its size and shape, conforming to her body's contours and enveloping her head. She transforms from a tough body made of flesh and scales into a seemingly invincible one protected by an alloy lost even to the Precursors.

A spike sticks out of each of her shoulder pauldrons. The various edges and contours of the armor's plating taper off into razor-sharp blades, giving her defense an offensive touch.

"My god..." Maximillian mutters, as he takes a step back. "How could you obtain something like this?!"

"You look scared," Loreen remarks, her voice slightly muffled by her helmet. "I'll let you in on a secret, little puppy. Your father could easily invade Dragua. His war-fleets possess the power to blast Dragua's continents into the sea, yet he doesn't. Can you guess why that is?"

Loreen only pauses momentarily before continuing.

"It's because he knows about this armor. Many tried to slay my grandmother. All of them failed. His mightiest assassins were as threatening to her as the bones she used to pick her teeth. So long as I possess this armor, your father will never dare to attack me without a good reason. If I survive his assassination attempt, he will fear my coming, just as the Terran hopes I will fear him."

Behind the Thülvik, the Slipstream glides into the hangar bay, entering with a faint whoomph as it passes through the oxygen-shield preventing the vacuum of space from sucking everyone outside.

"But so long as I possess the Matriarch's Armor, I fear no enemy," Loreen adds. "Not the Terran, not your father, and certainly not you. So keep quiet and let me do the talking. I'll remind the Terran of why even your father defers to me when it comes to infantry warfare."

For the first time, Maximillian appears somewhat mollified. He backs off from his aggressive stance, flattening his ears while deferring to the Thülvik's might.

"Borf... very well. You, ah, seem to have things under control."

"Yes. I do."

Loreen turns to look at her elite soldiers. She jerks her head toward Sapphire, making them both return to guarding the prisoner.

"Keep an eye on this errant child. I have a feeling the Terran won't go quietly into that good night. No doubt, he'll try to mount some pathetic rescue attempt. If he comes within striking distance..."

Loreen raises her thumb. She makes a cutting motion across her throat, to which both of her elite soldiers receive the message.

"Yes, great Thülvik."

The Thülvik glances at Sapphire. "Let us hope your wretched lover knows better than to piss me off. If he gives me what I want, I may yet show you mercy."

Sapphire glares at Loreen. "You won't."

The Slipstream's landing struts gently press against the deckplates, allowing it to land without making a sound.

Several seconds pass. Loreen gazes across the hanger as rows upon rows of Kraktol, Dakkit, and Avaru soldiers line up, taking aim at the Slipstream's entry hatch while they wait for it to open. The Avaru flap their wings and take to the catwalks above, obtaining elevated positions as they ready themselves to snipe the Precursor if he so much as twitches a muscle the wrong way.

Several seconds pass. The Slipstream's hatch doesn't open.

Loreen frowns.

"Come out, Terran. Don't make any hasty moves. I know what you can do. No tricks!"

She calls out to him, confident the Slipstream's microphones will transmit her words inside.

Eventually, the hatch hisses open. The Slipstream's exit ramp slides downward, revealing a single figure at the top.

Instead of the Precursor, a tall, menacing-looking Kraktol clad in 50th-Era Enforcer armor stands proudly, his chest puffed out.

Grundle, Second Officer of the Bloodbearer, slowly stomps down the ramp, each footstep causing the heartbeats of his fellow Kraktol to tremble. Many of them widen their eyes as they stare in shock at the goliath before them. While he may have only been a mere mechanic, deckhand, and janitor aboard the Red-Tongue, his violent shift in physique proves startling. He stands only an inch or two shorter than the Thülvik herself, and his glimmering armor appears no less impressive.

"Graugh!" Grundle growls, as he slowly strides down the ramp. "Pathetic worms! Useless invalids! Gaze upon me and tremble in terror! I am Admiral Rodriguez's right-hand Kraktol! I am his sword and shield! How dare you point your puny guns at me! Do you think those toys will lay a scratch upon my body? I am invincible! Unstoppable! And yet, compared to the Precursor himself, I am nothing but a gnat! You fools! You have killed my comrades! My brothers and sisters!"

Grundle raises his arm. He stops halfway down the ramp and points his finger at the Kraktol and Mallali before him, sweeping his arm from left to right.

"You murdering bastards! You have attacked my people, my friends, and thus, my Admiral! There is no salvation for you! There is no honor, no glory! You will all fall before me like wheat to the chaff!"

Loreen smirks. "Watch yourself, little janitor! I would stop with that bravado if I were you. Do you want Sapphire's brains to coat the deck?"

Grundle swivels his head to look at Loreen, but his helmet provides no clues as to his mood.

"Graugh! Loreen Kindris, I looked up to you, once. I worshiped you as a god, but no more! Now, I follow a new master! I walk in the footsteps of my savior, who showed me ten thousand times the care you ever did! I don't fear you, nor do I fear anyone! I challenge you, Loreen Kindris! I challenge you for the title of Thülvik and the right to rule our people!"

Momentarily stumped, Loreen merely raises her eyebrows.

"Imbecile. 'Thülvik' is not merely a title. It is a birthright! Kyargh! You are not female, nor are you a daughter of the first Thülvik. You are nothing more than a drugged-up swamp-child following the orders of a walking corpse. Stop with this play-acting. Where is the Terran? Tell the bastard to show himself."

Hardly have the words left Loreen's mouth, before a faint swishing-sound displaces the air to her immediate left.

Foop.

Loreen turns her head to look in that direction, only for an invisible fist to crash against her helmet.

CLANG!

The Thulvik jerks violently, tripping over her feet and staggering to the side before landing in a heap, her powerful visage momentarily disturbed by the unexpected assault.

Her assailant roars at her, his voice erupting with fury.

"I'M RIGHT HERE!"