I feel the shift in pressure, the subtle warp as the two hulls align. Then a crash—shields ripple and collapse at one point. Kalow’s form flickers, then swells; she shifts into Final Form in a pulse of green energy. Sleeker, stronger, gravity-tuned, her scales gleam. She cushions herself against the hull port and punches a hole—plasma crackling, metal shearing, the hull bursting inward like a wound.
We pour through.
A breath of vacuum warps the air. The hatch seals behind us with a snap.
Then theFlame’scountermeasures scream to life: blaster fire rakes the corridor, red lines dancing across steel walls. Explosions quake nearby as grenades roll, rupturing panels. Sparks cascade, metal buckles, the deck jumps under footfalls. Smoke roils and stings my eyes.
I roar a command, trigger my rifle, and return fire. Shots echo in the narrow walkway—searing, brutal. I see a guard stagger—my rounds hit true.
Ella’s voice, strained but steady, crackles in my ear.“I’m coming. Stay sharp.”
I run, boots pounding, adrenal glands on fire. The stench of ozone, burning circuit boards, and scorched flesh mingles in the air. My chest feels tight—every breath a struggle.
We round a junction. Blasterfire erupts again. A priest steps into view, robes gleaming under harsh lighting, a plasma staffcrackling. I fire. The priest staggers backward, but more appear—at least three, four, sliding from side corridors. They chant as they charge, voices low and gravelly.
My blood roars. I throw one grenade ahead. It rolls, bounces, and explodes in the guard cluster. Walls buckle. Debris rains. The chanting collapses into screams.
I sprint forward, heedless of the bits of shrapnel bouncing off my armor.
Then I see him.
Vex.
His eyes are wet, fearful, small, and enormous all at once. His fists clench as though he wants to wrench loose, but the straps hold.
My ribs want to crack—not from the fight but from the shock. Relief and rage twist me inside out.
“VEX!” Ella screams, bursting into the chamber behind me.
Priests snap into defense. Weapons raise.
I don’t wait. I charge.
My boots collide with the cradle platform. My claws flash. I smash the energy lock panel with my bare fist. Sparks spray, sizzling against my skin.
“You don’t get him!” I roar.
A priest with a staff lunges. I deflect, spin, elbow him hard in the face. Glass shards crack. The staff skitters across the floor. Another priest slams a plasma dagger at me. I catch the arm, twist, break the wrist. The dagger falls.
Vex cries out—soft, terrified. “Papa!”
My heart stops. Then breaks.
I lean over, pry the straps free. They hiss, pop. The cradle’s hum fades. His body sags, limp—but alive.
He stares at me with those big eyes. I don’t have words. I just pull him in.
“Shhh,” I whisper into his ear, one arm under him, one cradling his head. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Ella presses close, pressing a hand to my shoulder, trembling. “We have him. Oh god, we have him.”
I look up. Above us, on the observation deck, a hologram of Autrua flickers to life. She watches us with clinical disappointment.
Ella raises her pulse gun and fires. The bolt passes through the projection.
“Brave,” Autrua’s voice amplifies through the room. “And foolish. Run, little mother. My fleet is waking up.”
“Go!” I roar.
