A shape detaches from the shadows of the void—sleek, jagged, brutal in silhouette. Not the round, gentle lines of Helios or Earth-aligned cruisers. This thing is all claws and edges, pitchblack with jagged wings that look like they could slice planets in half.
It glides toward us with terrifying grace.
Then I see it. Painted in blood-red along the hull:
THE RELENTLESS
A name whispered in rumors. A ship that stalks trade routes. A ghost. A myth.
Until now.
“Shit,” I breathe. “Oh, shit.”
The Grand Lady jolts. A sharp, bucking movement that throws me off balance. My hip slams into the edge of the lounger and I stumble, catching myself on the table.
The view of the Relentless tilts as our ship begins evasive maneuvers—but we’re a luxury cruiser, not a warship.
We don’t stand a chance.
My instincts scream to run, but my legs don’t move.
Through the glass, I watch as the monstrous vessel yawns open, its belly lined with claws and drop gates. Dozens of smaller vessels shoot forward like spined wasps, heading straight for us.
The boarding has begun.
CHAPTER 2
KALLUS
The air tastes like blood and ozone, and the scent coils hot in my nostrils as I pace the command deck of theRelentless.
She’s purring under my boots, engines surging as we close distance with the cruiser drifting ahead—The Grand Lady. Pretty name. Soft ship. A floating pleasure palace fat with velvet and slow-tongued nobles, primed for harvest.
But none of it matters to me.
Not the valuables. Not the hostages. Not the usual haul of spoiled tech and terrified flesh.
I want something else.
I don’t know what.
And it makes my claws itch.
Brom stands to my right, helmet tucked under his arm, bone-plated armor stained from our last kill. “Boarding team’s ready,” he says, voice a low gravel grind. “Ten units, three insertion vectors. All hungering.”
I grunt. My fingers flex. The black bone spurs that arch from my wrists glisten faintly in the low light.
“Make sure they stay disciplined. No unnecessary carnage.”
Brom blinks, surprised. “That’s not how we usually?—”
“I said what I said.”
He doesn’t argue. Good. I don’t feel like repeating myself.
My crew is a storm bottled in obsidian glass. We are precision and horror braided into one. Every Reaper aboard this ship has earned their talons in fire and death. We’re not marauders. We’re art.
I slam my fist into the comm pad. The lights on the bridge flare blood-red.
