Page 95 of Sold to the Alien Smugglers

11

Bullfrog after Bullfrog hop and scramble onto the stage, pouring through the gaping doorway like ants scurrying from a kicked hive.

The towering beasts have no Orb-Axes, but each stands nine or ten-feet-tall, and every inch consists of warty muscle covered with gleaming, armor-like flab. I scream, and Lucius pushes me aside to protect me from the onslaught.

The Aurelians move fluidly. They were born for this.

Even as he pushes me away from danger, Lucius kicks the wooden pole I’d been bound to with one hard jab of his massive foot. The wood instantly splinters, and Lucius grabs the sharpest and most deadly-looking shards from it.

As he grips one in his own massive hand, the warrior throws another of the stakes of splintered wood to Marcel. The leader of the Aurelians catches the makeshift weapon in mid-air – not even looking at the trajectory of Lucius’s throw as he sprints directly towards the horde of Bullfrogs.

I can feel him in my mind – his thoughts and emotions as vivid as my own. Marcel’s aura is of violence.

I sense that he’seagerfor this battle – that he’s eager to test out his new, enhanced body. The power of the Bond has made him taller, stronger, andbigger…

…but I still feel nothing but terror as I witness the endless wave of Bullfrogs pushing their way through that narrow doorway.

To my right, Quint grabs another piece of splintered wood – this one as long as my leg. The sharp shard looks like a toy in his massive hand – but there’s nothing playful about the way Quint charges towards the onslaught of Bullfrogs flooding through the doorway.

I’d landed on the ground when Lucius pushed me aside, and I pull myself up from the floor, my legs still shaking from the intensity of our mating.

Before I can fully rise, Lucius places a huge hand across my back.

Stay low.

I gasp. His voiceenteredmy mind – speaking without words. Ifeltwhat Lucius told me, but I didn’t hear it. Nevertheless, I obey – lying on the ground as Lucius towers protectively over me like a guardian angel.

Meanwhile, in front of us, Marcel crashes into the wave of Bullfrogs like a rock splitting aside the tide.

Despite the number of them – despite their sheer size – the wave of Bullfrogs is pushed back by his charge. As Marcel wades into the fray, he thrusts his spear with the deadly accuracy of a swordsman – stabbing it right through one Bullfrog’s throat, even as he turns and kicks aside a second. The first Bullfrog clutches his useless, gurgling windpipe as he falls to his knees, and is then trampled by the onslaught of his brethren.

More and more of them pile in through the door – an impossible number.

The warrior triad fight like champions – but for every Bullfrog Marcel or Quint kills or incapacitates, two more rush in through the doorway. Their tough, armored hide make all but a perfect strike glance off. Within seconds, Quint is buried beneath the onslaught. I lose sight of him in the bloody mess, yet I feel his pain through our Bond as he is trampled beneath countless heavy, webbed feet.

Meanwhile, the flesh, blood, and entrails of Bullfrogs fly through the air, painting the walls as they’re hewn from whichever creature falls victim to Marcel. The stench of fresh death burns my nostrils, and I struggle not to gag.

Then, they’re over us. We’re overwhelmed.

Lucius stands protectively to the last, snarling and twirling his jagged wooden stick as effectively as he might an Orb-Blade. With one sharp thrust, he takes out the eyes of one Bullfrog. Then, he thrusts his makeshift weapon into the guts of another – before the wave of growling, gurgling Bullfrogs finally overwhelms him.

Lucius is pushed to the ground beneath their weight. He manages to throw one of the beasts off him, but when two more dive on top to take its place, he’s finally pinned to the blood-soaked ground.

Huge, slimy hands grab at me. I struggle, but I’m dragged away from the Aurelians, free from the fray. I kick and struggle, but the wet, warty hands grip me even tighter.

“Lucius!” I scream – but it’s useless. Two huge Bullfrogs yank me away from the blood and battle, toward the opaque, grey shield of air that hides the faces of the jeering crowd.

The air shield disappears as I’m pulled through it, then it hardens like a barrier behind me.

Suddenly, I’m cut off from my triad.

As I’m dragged into the auditorium, I look around desperately. The audience is gone, now. Where there was a baying crowd just seconds earlier, now there is just silence and empty space.

Only one man remains.

Lord Oblog.

He sits on the dais, slimy and grotesque, and his blubbery smile sends chills down my spine. He claps his glistening, webbed hands slowly – the fleshy sound echoing across the now empty chambers.

---