Page 5 of Bonded By Savages

But each copy is weaker than the last. The ancient histories speak of Aurelians nine or ten feet tall, giants compared to our current forms. Only the Bond can give a stronger heir. Only the one woman in the universe that can bear our biological sons can restore the strength to our species.

Not only that, many Aurelians die in explosions as missiles break through their Reaver shields. Others are ripped to shreds by Scorp, not enough left of them to be recreated in the Cryo-Bays. Our species was dying out…

Until the Queen Jasmine ushered in a new era of Bonding, two centuries ago. We were in our final year of Academy when I watched her triad crush the General Asmod in the Arena of the Gods and take the throne, stamping down the Old Ways for hundreds of years.

When our century of service in the army was finished, we rejoined for another campaign. We believed the Priests that a Mate could only be earned by warfare. Instead of growing fat by the pools of the manor given to all triads who complete the hundreds years, we fought. Instead of building a harem of willing women, sitting by the pools and drinking wine while they served us, we dove into battles.

Human women flock to Colossus for the protection of our species. Only Aurelians can withstand the chaos of the universe. We could not sit idly.

We were killing machines. We worked without thought, aching for the idea of our Mate, never truly believing we would be one of the few triads blessed to find her. We cleared Scorp nests. We landed on ruined planets, killing brutal beasts. We executed slavers and freed women. We waged war against the Fanatics, cutting down fierce Aurelians with the hated brand of Obsidian, those cursed beings who threw away their honor to follow the Old Ways.

When we tasted the aura of our Mate, honor became bitter.

As leader, I made the hard choice.

As the shipment of Bond-Disruptor rings arrived, I chose for my triad, and I bear the cost.

We ran. We were in our Reaver when men we had fought beside, men we had bled for, men I would have died for, opened fire on us. Our shields were battered by las-cannon fire as I piloted away from the warshipHurricane. I veered right, avoiding a barrage of las-cannon fire that seared our shields, and caught the flak from the missile exploding near an asteroid. Our cockpit crumpled inwards, caving in, and I knew we had one chance to escape.

Orb-Shift. Face the void itself.

I initiated the shift, and the Reaver dissolved around me as we fell into a darkness deeper than the emptiness of space, and when we came back, I could barely feel my battle-brother Raython.

He was always fearless when he charged into battle.

Then, his aura turned horrified as he looked down at his melting skin. Blood dripped from his open mouth as he flashed in and out of reality, his aura disappearing and reappearing. Tarak tried to run to him, but his steps grew slow, as if he was running in quicksand, the metal melting around us as the Orb-Shift failed.

“Go… to… her…” His last words echoed in my mind, then he screamed. I never heard him yell. The most brutal, powerful warrior I had ever known disappeared in front of me, as warning lights flashed and alarms rang out. His chair at his gunnery station disappeared as well, the metal of our Reaver contorting and bending as reality seemed to scream out with him, trying to fill the void where he once was.

His aura winked out of my mind. The man I had felt in my being since academy was gone, and only the two of us remained.

I tried to keep control, but we veered downwards onto a planet, crashing, and we were picked up by Fanatics who we pledged allegiance to.

They brought us to Obsidious, the home planet of the Fanatics, and there, we served new masters.

I am the leader of what was once my triad. We were three. Now we are two.

On Obsidious we earned our brand by pledging loyalty to the prophecies of the War-God. The twin half-circles on our chests were still red when we earned the first tattoo for bringing the heads of three Aurelian Elites directly to the Priests.

They gave us talons, that we may bid for women, as a reward for our service. We ignored them.

The second tattoo, and the promise of our Mate, was granted after a space battle with Empire Reavers where we turned the tide, flying in fearlessly and risking death to cut down a squad of Reavers alone.

I used to fight for the Aurelian Empire. I believed it was my only chance at a Mate.

Now I fight for the Priests and my promised reward…

And revenge against the Aurelian Empire that took my battle-brother from me.

The tattoos were agony, in a cursed ink that lets you feel the pain of Obsidian, for a few hours, the pain that the prophecies say the War-God endures every waking moment of his existence. I didn’t truly believe in the War-God, but I believed in the chance to find my Mate.

“Is he real?” Tarak is weary. He doesn’t bother to telepath the words, stating them outright. Behind us, Aurelians growl. Some of them have the second brand on their foreheads, smaller, matching the ones on all of our chests.

True believers, and questioning the existence of the War-God is blasphemy. I let my fingers dance towards the hilt of my Orb-Blade in case one of the triads tries something. I’ve cut down Empire Aurelians I called my brothers, and I’ll kill the followers of the Priests if they stand in the way of my Fated Mate.

I prayed for Obsidian’s return. I drank the black waters and learned the rites. I spent my days in a daze, fighting, then returning to the temples, visions of my dead battle-brother torturing my mind. I took every assignment, volunteering for warfare that we had one chance in a hundred of coming back from, and these risks got me the twin tattoos on my chest that earned me the shot at my Mate.

My nights were spent tossing and turning, planning ways to earn the tattoos that now adorn my chest. I begged for missions into the Toad Empire, but the Priests shook their heads, saying they were not our true enemy.

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