Hybrid Saga 01 - Hybrid (77 page)

“Take us in through that gap there.” Sierra was pointing through the front viewport over Kern’s shoulder. “Between those two defense platforms. Traffic looks as light there as we’re bound to find.”

“What about those cannons?” Elora asked, her attention focused on the large weapons emplacements mounted along the platforms’ rounded surfaces.

“Their major armaments are suited for long range targets,” the other woman answered. “The warships and fighter patrols are our biggest concern if we’re spotted. Of course, if we need to make a run for it, those cannons will vape us out existence.”

“That’s a pleasant thought,” Kern put in.

“Well,” Sierra returned, “let’s just hope this cloak does what it’s
been
doing and we’re not detected.”

Kern snorted. “Yeah, then all we’ll have to worry about is flying into the Gaian capitol, finding Jarred, busting him out of whatever stronghold they’ve got him in and making it back out in one piece. What’s everybody worried about again?”

“He complains a lot.” Ethan’s voice was low and directed at Elora, but on the confined flight deck everyone would have heard the comment.

Sierra smirked. “Tell me about it.”

Kern spared a glance back at them from his seat. “I’m
not
complaining.”

“It sure sounds like complaining from back here,” she said, smirking at Elora and Ethan.

“I’m just reminding everyone of what we’re up against,” he replied. “It might be a good idea if we talked out our plan.” There was silence on the flight deck for a long moment. “We do have a plan, right?”

Sierra shrugged. “If by plan you mean getting to Gaia and finding Jarred, then this is pretty much it.”

Kern seemed to think about that while continuing on a course between the defense platforms. “So, what are we going to do once we find him?” he asked.

Sierra was quiet, her gaze fixed out through the viewport, and as the seconds passed Elora began to wonder if she was going to answer. If she
had
an answer. Elora certainly didn’t have one herself. She wasn’t a soldier or a resistance fighter. She wasn’t trained to do this kind of thing, as Kern and Sierra had been. She only knew that she had to do it. She had to try.

“I guess we’ll have to make that part up once we get to it,” Sierra said, finally.

“Some plan.” Kern didn’t sound impressed.

“Do you have something better?” she asked.

“Nope,” he returned. “But you’re really the strategist out of the two of us. I guess I was just expecting you to have . . . something. Aside from winging it.”

“You don’t approve?”

“Look who you’re talking to?” Kern replied. “If I do anything I’m winging it. I’m just not used to seeing you do the same.”

“Well, I guess I’ve been doing a lot of things I usually wouldn’t lately,” Sierra admitted.

Elora supposed that was probably true for all of them. Definitely for herself. A week ago she never would have imagined she’d be sitting onboard a stolen crime lord’s transport, heading for the Sect’s capitol world on a mission to rescue a man she had known for as many days. A bounty hunter no less. A man that had saved her own life as well as her brother’s . . . more than once. With any luck, they would be able to return the favor and save
his
life for a change this time.

They soon passed beyond the last of the heavy weapons platforms, leaving the lines of patrolling warships behind as well, Kern breathing a relieved sigh as they did.

“We’re through the secure zone,” he announced, altering their vector to take them down into the atmosphere. “Now comes the hard part.”

Looking at the jaunting task ahead of them, Elora knew that was a fact. They were flying into a firestorm, hoping to pull off the impossible. Just a week earlier she never would have imagined being part of anything even remotely close to this. Not in her wildest dreams. But the last number of days had been riddled with one crazy chase, escape attempt or firefight after another, and she had to admit that this suicidal rescue mission suddenly didn’t seem quite as crazy as the Elora from a week earlier would have seen it.

Maybe Ethan wasn’t the only one that had changed.

*     *     *

It wasn’t so much fear that seized Rho’uk at the sight of the . . .
being
. . . that had exited the portal after the Prophets, as shock. A cold wave of dominant energy that shook him to his core and left him trembling. He was frozen, immobilized by the newcomer’s presence, as though caught beneath a crushing weight. The weight of
truth
. A God, in physical form, stood before him, the most potent example imaginable of his ignorance. His lack of faith. How wrong he had been to doubt Them. To doubt Their return. He was a fool to think himself wise enough to question the nature of the Gods. That he could comprehend Their motive. Their will. Silently, he begged forgiveness, looking up with great effort, to gaze upon the Usarion deity which had crossed over from its Godly realm.

It stood far taller than the average being, than even Durak, a larger than average Gnolith, who had, much like Rho’uk and the others, dropped to his knees at it’s arrival. It’s body was clad in overlapping layers of what appeared to be armor, though Rho’uk was unsure of it’s actual composition, which had a strangely organic appearance. It wore a mask or a helmet of some kind, similar to the rest of its armor, the faceplate expressionless, though it was unquestioningly meant to instill fear in those that beheld it. He knew the face well. It was the same that adorned the great doors of the Rai Chi Battle Hall, the difference being the pair of glowing sulphuric yellow eyes beneath it, which burned with a malice so potent that meeting their gaze sent waves of nausea flooding over him. The being was more than intimidating. It’s dark presence was undeniable, it’s power almost deafening. What could it be, but a God?

“Turaus.”

Xin’ma, his head still planted firmly on the floor, had spoken the name, though Rho’uk had already realized the identity of the Usarion himself. Indeed, it
was
Turaus. The War God. The Usarion revered more than any other by the Rai Chi. He stood before them now in all of His horrible magnificence. Powerful. Glorious.

“My Lord.” It was Cal Dorion, the Dominion Head of State that spoke this time, coming up to one knee on the floor, while keeping his head lowered and eyes averted. “We, your devoted servants, are blessed to be of unworthy witness to your divine return to this world.”

Turaus shifted His gaze, which Rho’uk was surprised to find locked steadily on the human tethered to the floor at His feet, to settle on the bureaucrat.
“Unworthy witness you are all,”
it spoke, in a divine tongue that was unknown to Rho’uk, though impossibly, the words’ meanings became instantly clear in his mind.
“Yet, as much is true of all mortals. Our return shall be witnessed by all such beings. You are merely the first.”

“And we are eternally gracious, Lord Turaus, for the great honor you have seen fit to bestow upon us,” came the Head of State’s reply. “We live to serve You and have worked diligently and obediently to prepare the way for all of our Lords’ returns.”

“Your efforts are for nothing!”
Turaus nearly shot back, accusingly, the force of His anger rocking the chamber.
“Your preparations are nothing! We return to a world resembling not that which We left. One in which the unworthy masses roam free as untethered animals and without fear of those they should serve.”

“We are at your mercy, Great Lord,” Dorion apologized, trembling, most likely feeling the same overpowering effect from the great deity that Rho’uk was. “It has been our shortcoming. Our failure. The masses have . . . forgotten. The populous . . . Your servants have grown . . . complacent. Arrogant. They have lost their fear and their belief in Your power. Your truth. But we will make them remember. We will teach them to fear again.”

“You will do as you have done,”
Turaus returned, sharply.
“Nothing. We will teach them the error of their beliefs. We will teach them to fear Us once more. We will teach them a fear they have not known. And then . . . we will reclaim all that is Ours.”

“Yes, my Lord.” The Head of State’s once confident voice had diminished to that of a chastised child. Rho’uk couldn’t blame him. Most would have curled into their species’ version of a fetal position if confronted by a God.

Turaus’ glowing eyes appeared to brighten, like two flames fueled to greater intensity.
“And what of the betrayer?”

Dorion looked hastily towards Durak, looking all too eager to pass the focus on to another. “High Commander?”

Durak, who had risen to a kneeling position along with the rest of the room’s occupants, Rho’uk included, stiffened and raised his head to meet the War God’s gaze. “Lord Turaus. We have tracked the rogue Prophet’s movements and had acquired her, but . . . she has been aided by human insurrectionists and . . . thus far she has managed to elude capture.” The High Commander lowered his head again, heavily. “I have failed You, my Lord. My life is Yours to take.”

“Yes,”
the Turaus returned, stepping forward.
“It is.”
After a long silent moment, in which the War God may have actually been considering taking the High Commander’s life, He continued.
“Yet, a Prophet is not so simple an acquisition. She will have the power of foresight and this will be to your detriment. You must be ever vigilant of this should you wish not to join her in her fate.”
His gaze again drifted back to rest on the human once more.

“And what of this one?”

“An insurrectionist, my Lord,” the Head of State answered, appearing eager to deliver the news. “He has been aiding the Prophet. We have brought him before You, as commanded, to reveal her whereabouts and that of the infidels that continue to aid her. And . . . as a sacrifice to our Lords.”

“A sacrifice?”
Turaus echoed.
“That does please Us. Yet you have failed to grasp this one’s true value. Not its knowledge of betrayers or throat in sacrifice. Its blood. The mark which lies upon it. Branded and bonded it is, by the one who came first.”

“My Lord?” the Dorion queried, sounding as perplexed as Rho’uk felt.

The War God actually laughed, a terrible, guttural sound that Rho’uk felt reverberating in his bones.
“Your ignorance amuses Us. Into Our midst have you delivered a Hybrid. The Prophet has chosen her allies well. Though its power is of no consequence. A pity. We would have enjoyed the confrontation. Perhaps We will even yet. We can taste its desire to destroy Us.”

Turaus faced the human again, leaning in towards him.
“You desire this, Hybrid?”
He asked.
“It is in your blood to do so. It is your purpose. Your entire reason for existing. Will you act upon those instincts?”

The human, still restrained and tethered to the floor, actually looked as though he
did
want to lunge at the War God, as ridiculous and futile a prospect as that was. Rho’uk had been right to respect the man. It took the spirit of a great warrior, suicidal or not, to stand defiant before an immortal. Obviously Turaus saw something in the human as well. He did not know what the War God referred to in describing him, but guessed it had something to do with his unique abilities. The man was obviously more than just a simple human being, though, whatever he was, Rho’uk guessed it would not save him. Before the omnipotent power of a God, of the almighty Turaus, no mortal could prevail

“Your bindings stay your hand, perhaps?
Turaus continued.
“Such primitive methods of restraint should be beneath you. If We were to remove them, would you give in to your urges then?”
The War God reached over His shoulder and pulled free a long bladed weapon from a sheath that appeared to be part of His body armor, bringing the long jagged sword down to rest before the human’s face briefly. Strangely, the weapon almost seemed to have a presence of its own, something akin to a cold chill coming over Rho’uk as his eyes followed it, along with a compulsion to do so. Turaus let the blade fall between the man’s bound hands, a slight movement, the solid bindings coming apart at the seem that connected its two halves. The cuffs fell, clanging to the floor, the human looking to his freed hands for a long moment, before returning his gaze to the Turaus.

“You are now free,”
the War God went on.
“What will you do with that freedom, Hybrid? Will you destroy Us?”
When the human did not respond, with either words or action, Turaus continued.
“No. It is as We knew. You will not act. You cannot . . . because you are weak. You will cower, as all other beings will cower before us. And you will suffer as
they
suffer. You will be no different. Hybrid or not, still only mortal. Powerless. Weak . . . as the rest.”