Destroyer (Hidden Planet Book 1) Read online

  Despicable creatures. If only the cursed Drakhin were still around to take responsibility for their unruly race of slaves.

  Ares caught Maki’s eye. The Lord of the Two Clans returned his stare with a forlorn look. “They have us caught between the kratok’s jaws.” He rolled his war-spear back-and-forth along bare, callused palms.

  At least they’d been given their weapons back, along with their kratok-hide armor. “So you can hunt effectively,” they said.

  “There is nothing on my mind but blood-rage.” Ares tried to still his twitching tail. “We should kill them now. What can they really do to us apart from poison our lands? Our people are safe in the sekkhoi, and I don’t trust these white-eyed devils and their false bargains.” Fury turned his heartbeat into a rapid staccato. The dull remnant of pain in his head only added to his anger.

  “Ares,” Maki said slowly, rising from his seat. “If the Ardu-Sai is destroyed, where will we go? The Naaga have spread uncontrollably across Khira. They vastly outnumber us. We can’t afford to do anything rash.”

  Ares walked across to the only window in their cell, a narrow slit revealing the dark, glittering vacuum of space. He stared outside. “Especially now that they have thrust us amongst the stars?” Unease unfurled in the pit of his stomach. He’d never thought he would enter space, and now they were on a Naaga ship, bound for the Dagger in the sky.

  Of course, the Dagger was actually a vessel, an ancient destroyer left behind by the Drakhin when they abandoned the lush paradise that was Khira. The Drakhin word for it was Hythra. No one really knew why it was still stuck in Khira’s orbit, and even the scholars who constantly pored over the Ancient Stones—Ares’s father included—had been unable to learn its true origins.

  The Dagger was an enigma, and it was currently occupied by the Naaga, the blue-skinned creatures that had once been slaves to the Drakhin.

  Everything their masters had left behind, the Naaga had taken over.

  “Control that famous temper of yours, brother,” Maki whispered as they momentarily became weightless. The gravity in the cell had been fluctuating ever since they left the surface of Khira. Ares cursed as his feet left the ground. “We have our weapons and our armor and our venom. Let us enter this destroyer and act at completing this task they have set for us. All the while, we will wait and observe and learn. We are Vradhu, and their combat skills pale in comparison to ours. Surely the opportunity to escape will present itself.”

  Gravity returned, and Ares, Maki, and two-dozen Vradhu warriors dropped to the floor again, their bare feet making barely a sound. The others, especially the younger purebloods, appeared spooked.

  None of them had been in space before.

  “The transporter will be docking soon. As soon as your holding cell opens, you are to exit the vessel through the rear entrance.”

  “What?” Vanu, the youngest of the pack, thrust his spear in the direction of the cold, detached voice. It came from the ceiling. “Show yourself, bastard!”

  “They are speaking through a machine,” Maki said quietly. “Save your energy, Vanu.”

  The warrior’s face darkened like a towering storm, but he dipped his head in acknowledgement and backed down, even though outrage twisted the black ankhata on his cheeks.

  “You will be released into the most heavily infested sector of the Hythra. Do not bother looking for us, because you will not find us. Your task is to hunt the Corrupted. Full decapitation is necessary in all cases. Fail in this task, and the consequences will be dire.”

  “They plan to use us like animals,” Vanu hissed. “To hunt their own vermin?”

  It made sense. The Vradhu were the most supreme natural hunters on Khira. Of course the Naaga would want to use them to eliminate pests. Ares shook his head as he stared out of the small window. The bleak edges of the Hythra were coming into view. A strange kind of anticipation coursed through him as he caught sight of the ancient ship.

  Some said the Dagger had been the floating residence of the Dark One himself.

  As they drifted inside the Hythra, entering through an open portal in her metal hull, the feeling grew stronger.

  Dark energy. That’s what it was. A ripple of static along his skin. Whispers in his mind. His heart clenching and twisting.

  Welcome, Hunter.

  Had the language implant turned him mad, or had a voice just spoken in his mind?

  What?

  He tried to elicit a response, but all he got in return was an emptiness as vast and desolate as the Hythra herself.

  So be it. It was pointless to dwell on what he couldn’t change. Things only made sense to Ares when he moved forward. Do not dwell. Act. He felt for his swords, making sure they were secure at his back. He checked his bone-daggers, making sure the large serrated one at his waist easily slid free of its scabbard. He flicked his tail, willing his poison-barb to regenerate.

  Then he closed his eyes and waited, vowing never to let anyone, Naaga or otherwise, get the better of him ever again.

  He would not be owned.

  His will was his own.

  Oh, you will do just fine, Hunter.

  There it was again. The voice in his mind—was it male or female?—spoke something else, some language in-between Vradhu and Naaga, and somehow, he understood.

  Truly, this translator-thing in his brain had damaged his sanity. Perhaps killing some of those wretched Naaga would make him feel right again.

  As they disembarked from the transporter, Ares’s heart pounded like a skin drum. As khefe, he went first, his krivera drawn and ready.

  Ever since they’d woken inside that cramped cell on the transport, they hadn’t seen a single Naaga. The white-eyed devils worked remotely, using threats and physical restraints. He suspected it was because they lacked the ability to fight.

  By their actions, they showed that they feared the Vradhu, as they should.

  Ares walked down the ramp, taking in his surroundings. They were in a massive square chamber bordered on all sides by grey walls. The walls possessed a strange reflective quality, capturing the light and throwing it back at them in the form of glittering skeins of silver. As he stared at the metallic surface, it seemed to writhe and shift, as if responding to his scrutiny.

  The sensation in his chest intensified into a solid thrum. Energy rippled across his skin. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement.

  There. In the corner. He whirled. The Vradhu pack moved in unison, following Ares down the ramp. They spread out in a defensive formation, with Ares at the front.

  He was the spearhead, after all. His father had named him well.

  “These are the so-called Corrupted?” Maki growled. “This is our prey?”

  Three Naaga stared blankly at them.

  “They want us to kill their own kind?” A deep and thorough sense of disgust filled Ares’s heart. He couldn’t understand these Naaga at all. They fought without weapons and traded in secrets and lies. They bargained without honor and their promises were laced with hidden barbs.

  And now they would use Ares and his clan-brothers like trained shuklak-beasts, to exterminate their brethren?

  “We have to find a way out of here,” he whispered. “This is madness.”

  “Look, Ares. There’s something wrong with them.”

  As Ares stepped onto the floor of the cavernous chamber, heat radiated through his bare feet.

  What is this? Was the floor actually warm, or was the air around them frigid?

  Pulsating vibrations rippled across the soles of his feet. The surface of the floor felt soft and pliable, and it seemed to actually caress his bare skin as if it were a living thing.

  His heart thudded in his chest like a war-drum.

  The three Naaga lurched forward, walking with an uneven gait. Maki was right. There was a wrongness about them.

  Their pale blue skin had lost its lustre. The plumage covering their heads was gone, replaced by a crown of shimmering grey metal that twisted and swayed as they
walked. The very same metal substance marred their skin, forming small jagged patches—as if they had caught a flesh-eating disease.

  “Unngh.” One of the Naaga moaned, a flat, desolate sound that made Ares’s tail stiffen.

  Corrupted. Now Ares understood. These creatures were no longer alive. They were little more than soulless husks, consumed from the inside out by some malevolent metal demon.

  How? What is this sorcery?

  A dull hum echoed through the chamber, and the ramp extending from the Naaga vessel started to withdraw. Ares snapped his head toward the sound, staring at the magrel vessel.

  The Naaga ship was simply a much larger version of the craft they’d encountered at the Source. Curved wings extended from a sleek metal hull shaped like an arrowhead. Thin slits representing port-holes appeared along its midsection, disappearing where the hull widened at the rear to accommodate four long tubelike projections. They were as big as ancient tree trunks and emitted an unnatural green glow. Apart from the rear exit, there were no other visible doors. They had never seen the Naaga who piloted the cursed thing.

  For such a large vessel, it was unnervingly quiet, hovering about a man’s height above the floor.

  Thin metal arms extended from the belly of the ship, depositing a black box onto the floor. “Supplies. Enough to sustain you for the duration of your Hunt.”

  There was that creepy fucking disembodied voice again, amplified from some hidden source within the ship.

  The ship emitted several blasts of hot air and reversed.

  “Yo, they’re leaving us here?” Vanu broke from the pack and ran toward the ship as it retreated. The rear wall opened, revealing another cavernous chamber.

  “It would be foolish to try and follow us, Vradhu hunter. Those who set foot on the Hythra are never allowed to leave. If you take another step forward, we will activate the airlock and all of you will die.”

  The way the insolent Naaga threatened death, one would think the Vradhu were little more than animals.

  “Vanu!” Maki reached the young warrior’s side and dragged him back.

  Vanu froze.

  The rear wall slammed shut with deafening finality, cutting them off from the retreating vessel—their only escape.

  These Naaga think they can toy with us? The thrumming in Ares’s veins became a steady pulse, deep and resonant and powerful. Its heady, intoxicating nature reminded him of the Vradhu war-dance.

  The Corrupted moaned.

  Ares hissed and drew his swords. He ran forward, the pack moving behind him in strict formation. They might resent him, but they knew how strong he was. They knew what he was.

  Spearhead.

  Several more Corrupted joined the horde. Two broke away from the group, sprinting forward with unnatural speed.

  Ares ran faster. His blade found the neck of one, slicing through flesh and metal. Doof. The blank-eyed head dropped to the floor and rolled onto its side.

  The other Corrupted evaded him, going straight for one of the young purebloods.

  “Aargh!” The Vradhu’s scream split the silence as the Corrupted raked metal-taloned fingers across his chest. Panicking, he uncoiled his tail and sank his barb into the creature’s back.

  Still, it kept moving. The potent paralysis toxin in the Vradhu sting failed to take it down.

  That was unheard of. A Hunter’s poison always felled its prey.

  Maki arrived in a flash, swinging his war-spear in a brutal arc that severed the Corrupted’s neck and sent its head toppling to the ground.

  Ares ignored the twitching headless body on the floor and swept through the horde of Corrupted like a tempest as more and more of the wretched things piled into the room. Maki and the pack followed his lead, countering the speed of the Corrupted with the deadly grace of the Vradhu war-dance.

  Shik. One of Ares’s blades snagged a limb.

  Crunch. The other went through a neck.

  Whoosh. He evaded another frenzied attack, his long braid swinging wildly.

  All the while, his bare feet flirted with the metal floor. Each step was met with a surge of warmth, as if he were drawing energy out of the Hythra itself.

  Finding a lull in the battle, he paused to take stock of his situation. His breathing was rapid, his pulse frantic, his senses stretched taut. The world moved in hyper-real slow-motion; he felt as if he could streak through it at the speed of light. Even the tiniest vibration could be felt through his blades, which had become an extension of his body.

  This was bloodlust. This was when his heart sang. This was when he felt most alive.

  This was his duty.

  He was made for the hunt. Hunters didn’t get to enjoy the simple pleasures of clan life. Once the ankhata emerged, marking the onset of manhood, the warriors were sent to the outer reaches of the Ardu-Sai to guard against kratok and protect the hidden Clanlands from discovery. Never again would they enjoy the warmth of a female’s nest, and as for the prospect of finding a mate…

  What sane female would want to bond with a Hunter?

  Hunters didn’t get mates. Death was their betrothed, and battle was one of the few pleasures they could enjoy.

  Boom. A tremor shook the floor. The surface went from pleasantly warm to burning hot. Ares started to move, but the floor had become soft under his feet, like mud.

  His feet sank in.

  What? Impossible!

  The burning sensation in his feet turned into pain, as if thousands of tiny needles were being pushed into his soles.

  The floor rippled outwards.

  The floor rose up.

  The floor around him turned into shimmering liquid metal.

  Welcome, Hunter.

  Ares tried to leap away, but the shifting stuff had a good hold on him now, sending vines of liquid metal up his legs. Writhing tendrils pierced his skin, drawing out rivulets of blood.

  The other Vradhu ran to his side, shouting in alarm.

  Magrel. Unnatural. Disgust and horror coursed through him.

  The very substance of the Hythra herself invaded him, eating him alive. Was he doomed to meet the same fate as the Corrupted?

  As Ares sank into the floor, he begged the fates for a miracle.

  The living metal rippled under his skin, shooting through his chest, his arms, his face, even his fucking eyes.

  He screamed.

  Chapter One

  Calexa crossed her arms and stared up at the Primean, refusing to be intimidated. The woman who had identified herself only as “S” regarded her with an even gaze, her elegant features revealing only detached curiosity.

  Calexa resisted the urge to roll her eyes. S was as Primean as they came; genetically perfect, as cool as the inky blackness of space itself, and blessed with that infuriating and oh-so typically Primean combination of haughtiness and benevolence. Somehow, she’d escaped Calexa’s notice, following her into the lower decks.

  A muffled boom reverberated throughout the cabin, accompanied by a great metallic groan. Calexa balanced lightly on her feet as the floor tipped sideways. Lights flickered. The walls shook. Shrill alarms of varying pitch and intensity warned her of things she could do nothing about. Pressure was dropping. Gravity was decreasing. Somewhere above their heads, oxygen escaped through a broken seal.

  S didn’t even blink. She lost her balance, broke her fall with her hands, righted herself, and straightened her flowing sea green tunic—the same color as her striking eyes—all in one continuous, seamless motion. If the alarms bothered her, she didn’t show it. “What’s our status, Captain Acura?”

  Captain? Ha. Only a Primean would use such an old-fashioned term. Calexa was more accustomed to the things they called her in the Fiveways Bazaar, names like: metalbones, Khral-slayer, and blood-digger. Those were hard-earned names, and they could be terms of endearment or vicious insults, depending on how they were spoken. When people had attempted the latter, she’d been known to separate digits and limbs from bodies.

  “The Paxnath are firing on u
s. They’ve given us two options: surrender, or get blasted into oblivion.” Calexa shrugged, making a conscious effort to appear calm when she was seething inside. The Paxnath stealth-cruisers had taken them by surprise, appearing on their tail without warning. Somehow, the cunning Paxnath had seen through the Medusa’s cloaking. “That’s what happens when you travel outside the designated spaceflight lanes.” She ducked as a ration canister broke free of its housing and hurtled toward her. It smashed into the rear wall, spilling its contents—sealed packets of fragrant aphernium tea—across the metal floor. “Raphael!”

  “Cal.” Her navigator’s deep voice filtered through her comm, forming a pillar of calm amidst the swirling chaos. “We need to get out of this killspace right now. We’re leaking power and our shields won’t take another mega-hit like that. The bad news is that more Paxnath have joined the fray. We’re outnumbered five-to-one.”

  “Throw some fire at them, abort the flightpath and eat some distance. What’s the nearest J-point?”

  “Unknown.”

  “Unknown? Are you fucking kidding me?” Calexa groaned, pressing her hand against the wall to steady herself as the ship lurched. S looked her up-and-down in that calm, analytical way of hers and copied her movements, swaying elegantly to one side as the Medusa rocked back-and-forth.

  “I’ve located one, but it isn’t mapped. I don’t have any reliable data on its endpoint. It could take us back to the Solar System, or it could spit us out on the other side of the fucking Universe. I don’t even know if it’s stable.” Raphael paused, and the silence—mere seconds—grew long and tense and almost unbearable. Finally, he spoke. “Do we have any other options?”

  “Go. Take the J-point, Raf.” It was a no-brainer. Get blasted to smithereens, get captured by Paxnath slavers, or enter a random jump-point and ride the freaky Netherverse to the middle of nowhere. Slavery was a fate worse than death, and it was much worse than surfing an unmapped jump-hole to parts unknown.

  Boom! Another blast sent a vicious shudder through the ship. This time, the force came from behind.

  “That was one of ours,” Raphael informed her. “I fired back.”