Page 22 of Asmodel

The yellow crystal alien curled her full lips. “As I explained to you before, being a strong telekinetic, I pulled her out of the craft before I lost control of my ship and ended up on the outskirts of your city instead of in the jungle.” She crossed her arms, her bright pupilless eyes narrowed. “Unfortunately, I utilized most of my internal power to remove the human from the ship without causing harm to her. In doing so, I cannot recharge in time to retrieve her on my own.” Her bald head tilted, causing the protruding crystals to glimmer. “I fear if left alone, the creature won’t live long enough in your wilderness for me to obtain her.”

The Alpha Regent sat back. A slow, satisfied smirk creased his thin, black lips around his snout, exposing the tips of his upper fangs. “So, Prisma-Solara.” He waved a negligent hand at the crystal woman. “If we bring this human to you, you will help us eliminate the disgusting pardalions?” His clear pumpkin-orange eyes filled with fanatical joy.

“No, Alpha Regent.” Prisma-Solara took a step closer to the elaborate throne. “I will nothelpyou.” Her satisfied smile was hard. “I will eliminate themforyou.”

In low light of the raucous confines of the Grub & Grog, the clueless patrons ignored the oncoming confrontation between Asmodel—now in the form of Raxx—and the newcomers.

The group of aliens facing him scowled and snarled over the sounds of boisterous conversations and clinking glasses with the bass-thumping music in the background. Asmodel nonchalantly grabbed a drink from a table and surveyed the group. The anticipation of the impending aggression made his muscles tense as he studied his new challengers with a smirk.

“You secure back there, JR13?” He side-mouthed the question to his bot companion.

“Affirmative, organic man. Don’t spend useless energy if you can help it.”

The answer came with a sharp pinch at the back of his neck, letting him know the droid had a steady grip. “No promises,” Asmodel grinned.

The leader, a towering brute with a jagged scar running across his face, locked eyes with “Raxx” and growled, “There you are, Jorlen. Thought you’d hide in this cesspool?”

Asmodel studied his new foes, noting their rugged appearance.

They stood around seven feet tall, with thick necks and rough, rust-red or drab-gray skin. Their broad shoulders and trunk-like, muscular limbs made them formidable opponents. Their faces were sharp and angular, with deep-set, narrow eyes filled with calculating coldness. Short, spiky ridges covered their bald heads that matched their prominent lower jaws and jutting sharp bottom teeth.

They wore dull utilitarian battle-suits devoid of any decorations except for scratch marks and various dents. They looked as uncomfortable as hell.

Asmodel took a sip of the drink before replying with feigned surprise at the Vargrux. “Oh, was I hiding? Here I thought I was just having some drinks here with my friends.” He waved his glass to the now-quiet crowd, the green liquid inside splashing over the lip. “So glad you’re here to tell me what I was really doing.” He gave a loud, insincere sigh with his hand over his heart. “You know how it is—everyone wants me, and there just isn’t enough of me to go around.”

In unison, the smelly group of Vargrux blinked, as if surprised their prey talked back to them.

“Funny.” The leader growled. “Let’s see if you’re still joking when we pull your spine out of your ass.”

Behind the group, the tavern patrons edged away as the Vargrux surrounded Asmodel. The idiot in front, probably eager to prove himself, lunged forward, only to slip on a spilled drink of unknown origin—courtesy of Asmodelaccidentallyspilling it with his telekinesis.

Asmodel jumped away as the mercenary crashed into the next table, sending glasses and customers scattering. “Oops,” he chirped, “Careful, my friends. This place is really dangerous. You’d think they’d at least put up a ‘caution, wet floor’ sign.”

Not to be outdone, another Vargrux charged with head down and an energy blade in hand.

Asmodel ducked, resulting in the unfortunate alien head-butting the bar. “Now, now,” he tutted. “Violence isn't always the answer. Especially when you're so bad at it.”

With a roar, another one charged, only to be hit by a round container filled with liquid from behind the bar that Asmodel swung at him with his mind, knocking the Vargrux off his feet.

The bin exploded and soaked the unconscious alien.

The skirmish burst into action.

Asmodel danced around the attackers, his moves almost comical in exaggerated grace. With psychic ease, he turned their own momentum against them, causing more than one to collide with their comrades, turning the fight into a farce.

The leader, with bulging eyes and fangs exposed, made a final, desperate attempt by lowering his head and charging.

Quick as a flash, Asmodel placed his hand on the mercenary's head and used his psychic push to slide the Vargrux face-first across the bar, wiping out an array of drinks before his head crashed into the wall.

Untouched, Asmodel wiped his hands together with a dramatic flourish. “I'd say your approach needs a bit more finesse. But hey, who am I to judge?” He crossed his arms with a wide stance, then he smiled. This was fun. The laughter in the tavern agreed with him.

The defeated Vargrux leader pulled himself off the bar, his gray suit colorful from the various drinks and food he’d crashed into. With a glare, he kept his puke-colored eyes of yellow on Asmodel and pulled out a sharp triangle of glass from his cheek. Deep-, almost black-, red blood gushed out.

In a voice that carried a deadly calm, he hissed, “Enjoy your laugh, Raxx. This isn't over. We’ll find you in the shadows where you hide, and there won’t be anyone there to watch you die. The next time we meet, it’ll be your end.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Scare me a new one, asshole.”

With a flick of his fat fingers, the leader sent the large piece of glass in Asmodel’s direction, which he easily swatted away.

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