Valkyrion – Nyx / Zara / Ares - En Route to Nivara

  The rear hatch opened, pressure equalizing with a low, artificial exhale.

  Zara spun around from the weapons station, hand halfway to her sidearm. The smoke curled through the threshold like fog rolling in off the void. And then, stepping through the mist, came a silhouette she’d recognize anywhere.

  “Nyx?”

  Zara’s breath caught.

  Nyx was soaked, absolutely painted in blood from collarbone to heel. Her dark bodysuit was now a walking crime scene of black and crimson. One boot squelched faintly with each step. A piece of bone was stuck to her hip like a souvenir. Her claws glistened wet.

  “Holy shit,” Zara breathed, lowering her pistol but not the tension in her shoulders. “You need to go get cleaned up. Do you need medical? I can patch you up if… if any of that’s actually yours.”

  Nyx tilted her head lazily. Her black hair was matted to one side, face smeared like warpaint, lips drawn in that same unreadable pout.

  She lifted a hand in a dainty wave. “Mmm. None of it’s mine.”

  Zara blinked. “Okay, that's... good, I guess. But you should still wash up. Seriously. You’re disgusting."

  She strolled past Zara like it was a normal Tuesday, flicking a gobbet of something off her shoulder. It hit the wall with a wet slap.

  “Ares,” Nyx called sweetly, stepping toward the forward console. “Take us to Nivara, s'il vous pla?t.”

  The overhead display blinked to life as Ares' default tactical interface lit the console.

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  “Processing... uh. Should I be worried?”

  Nyx dropped into the pilot seat and began unstrapping her boots, blood smearing across the floor.

  “Non.”

  Zara approached cautiously, eyeing the trail Nyx was leaving behind. “Did you kill...?”

  “Oui.”

  Ares’ eyes widened. “All of them?”

  Nyx peeled off her glove with a slick pop, looked over her shoulder, and gave a bloodstreaked smile.

  “Every last one, ma chérie.” Nyx gave a little nod. “Well... actually not quite everyone. I forgot, Valeria showed up. And some strange man with ‘er. Big. Pale. Fast. I tried to kell ‘im.”

  Zara stiffened. “You what?”

  “'E was enhanced. Caught my kick like it was nothin’. Hit 'arder than anyzhing I’ve fought. Built like a machine.”

  Ares’ interface flared with activity. “Identifying... That description matches designation BLACKHAND. Codename in Centurion records: Lanius Obren. Classified Operative. He and Commander Corvus were both graduates of the Centurion War Program. Raised together. Trained together. Separated for field operations during the Second Purge Initiative.”

  Zara's mouth parted slightly. “You're telling me there's another one like Timus out there?”

  Ares’ voice dropped a pitch. “Not exactly. Lanius was the one they kept in the dark. The one they shaped without restraint. He has no psionic abilities, at least, none officially. It's all physical enhancements."

  Zara blinked, then pointed sharply at Nyx like she’d been holding back the question until now. “Okay but seriously... how the hell did you do that? You just vanished. Not even a flash. No sound. What is that? A cloaking trick? A portal? Do you have a device? Is it a suit upgrade? Is it psionic? Spatial tech? What does it feel like? Where do you go?”

  Nyx looked at her like a housecat watching someone fumble with a laser pointer.

  “Just a leetle trick I picked up. You open a door… you walk through it.”

  Zara frowned. “That’s not an answer.”

  Ares’ interface pulsed. “You’re not explaining it. You’re deliberately withholding variables from an active threat analysis. Which implies either distrust, or that the explanation exceeds conventional understanding. Possibly both.”

  Nyx gave a faint smile. “Good. Zen we are all aware.”

  Zara folded her arms, leaning against the bulkhead. “You scare me sometimes.”

  Nyx stretched, cracking her beck as she moved.

  “Well,” she said, flicking a spot of blood off her clawed finger, “I better go wash up.”

  She turned, casting a small glance back over her shoulder—half teasing, half sincere.

  “Can’t rescue mon commandant lookin’ like a butcher’s apron.”

  With a wink, she sauntered off toward the crew quarters, boots leaving faint red prints behind her.