He catches himself, claws raking deep furrows in the sand, and in an instant he is climbing back to his feet. Leaning over, rushing ahead, moving toward me, toward us, toward the fight?—
Then I smell it. Burned metal. Hot ozone. The same scent from the panel. From the poison.
The creature roars and then I notice its spines. They flare with a ripple of bioluminescence that travels along its back. A defensive stress response, like deep-sea fish back on Earth. The violet sheen spreads beneath its scales as its muscles coil, tendons tightening with predatory intent.
Travnyk hisses. Tomas swears. My stomach drops.
“Rakkh…” I whisper. “It’s escalating.”
The creature lowers its head—slow and deliberate. A predator preparing for a killing lunge. The bioluminescence brightens along its throat where the skin is thinnest, pulsing erratically.
This thing is failing from the poison, and a cornered predator is the most dangerous kind. Rakkh looks over his shoulder at me and I see something in his eyes I have never seen in anyone before, not like this. Not fear or hesitation. A decision.
“No,” he says. “I protect you.”
The guardian lunges.
It does not roar like before. This time it screams. A guttural, vibrating rasp that shakes the sands. Its claws gouge furrows in the dune as it charges downhill, half-sliding, half-running, momentum building fast.
“Move!” Rakkh snaps.
I dive to the side. Tomas stumbles the opposite way. Travnyk ducks low and rolls, blade flashing. Rakkh does not move.
He meets it.
The impact is a thunderclap. Sand erupts as Rakkh flaps his wings, straining to hold his position. He has grabbed the monster by its shoulders, sliding back as he absorbs the brunt of the collision. He grunts—a low, guttural sound—but the collision stalls them. He twists, claws ripping across the guardian’s shoulder. Thick, violet-tinged ichor splatters the sand.
The creature shrieks and thrashes, hind legs churning. It snaps blindly, jaws clacking hard enough to crack stone. Rakkh ducks beneath a swipe, driving his elbow into the soft joint beneath its forelimb.
Travnyk darts in from the side, blade slicing across the creature’s inner joint. The guardian recoils, slamming him backward with a sweep of its head. He rolls, lands on his feet, growling and baring his teeth.
“Lia! Watch yourself!” Tomas screams from somewhere behind me.
I am already moving—sliding down the dune, sand filling my boots. My gaze locks onto the creature’s hide, searching for patterns.
The bioluminescence is not random.
It concentrates where the tissue is weakest. Along fissures beneath the scales where chemical burns branch outward like black lightning. The same pattern I saw on the plants. On the carok. And… there. On the far side of the throat. A swollen, translucent patch where the infection thins the skin.
“Rakkh!” I shout. “Left side—under the jaw! It’s compromised!”
He pivots instantly, claws digging in for traction. The guardian snaps at him, jaw clicking shut an inch from his arm. Its movements are faster, jerky with pain, desperate. This is not power. This is adrenaline mixed with agony.
The contamination is killing it from the inside out. Which means its body is unstable. Its reactions unpredictable.
“Travnyk—circle right! Tomas, get low!” I shout.
Tomas dives behind a rock. Travnyk moves like flowing stone, staying just outside the creature’s reach. Rakkh lunges for the throat, but the guardian rears back, tail lashing hard across the sand.
“Rakkh!” I scream.
He twists as the tail smashes into him and slides several feet back, but he stays standing. His claws leave deep gouges as he regains balance.
The guardian slams forward again. It is not thinking. Just attacking. Overheated. Overstimulated. Poisoned.
Rakkh ducks beneath its jaw this time, his claws driving upward toward the weakened patch of tissue. The guardian thrashes, forelimbs digging trenches. Travnyk distracts it with a strike to the lower leg.
“Now!” I shout.
