Page 4 of Beast in the Badlands
The ship responds sluggishly,obeying like a drunkard stumbling home after last call—wobbling dangerously from side to side, the thrusters sputtering as I dive toward the planet below. The ground rushes up at an alarming speed, looming ahead like a jagged maw ready to swallow me whole; rocks and debris scatter across the landscape, ominous obstacles in my chaotic descent.
A jarring impactrattles me violently against my harness, my body slamming into the restraints as the ship plows through debris fields. Each bump sends loose equipment flying around the cockpit like confetti at a funeral, a chaotic reminder of the wreckage I leave in my wake.
As I skimacross the riverbed that stretches wide beneath me—cracked and dry, its parched surface marred by veins of dust spiraling across—my heart pounds against my ribs like a trapped animal desperate for escape. I bounce violently, each jolt reverberating through my body, before finally slamming into dirt with a bone-jarring force that rattles my very core.
Metal crumplesaround me in a cacophony of destruction; fire erupts from every crevice, flames licking hungrily at what remains of my craft, consuming the wreckage with insatiable fervor.
I blink slowly,the darkness swirling around me like a thick fog, oppressive and suffocating. A metallic taste fills my mouth, heavy and coppery, reminiscent of blood—a stark reminder of my precarious situation. I attempt to spit it out, but pain erupts in my legs, a roaring inferno that drowns out everything else,making it nearly impossible to focus. I shift slightly, and sharp jabs of agony slice through my thighs—shrapnel, jagged and cruel, juts from both sides like the vicious fangs of some monstrous beast that has claimed me as its prey.
My hands tremble uncontrollably as I try to move, but nothing responds to my commands. Panic claws at my throat, a desperate animalistic urge to flee, to escape this nightmare that has become my reality.
“Get up,” I growl through clenched teeth, but the voice sounds distant, echoing back at me like a ghostly whisper. It's as if I'm trapped in a dream where I am both a participant and an observer, unable to fully comprehend the urgency of my situation.
Instinct kicks in, primal and raw; survival trumps pain. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to focus, and begin the arduous task of dragging myself out of the wreckage. The ground bites at my skin like a vengeful beast as I pull against the debris—a chaotic cascade of twisted metal and broken components that has transformed into my tomb. Each rough edge digs into my flesh, a reminder of my mortality.
The world around me blurs as I inch forward, the chaos of the crash fading into a distant memory with every movement. Each inch is a battle against the fire that rages in my legs, a war waged in silence, with the only sound being the ragged breaths that fill my lungs, heavy with the weight of desperation and the will to survive.
Then a shadow falls over me.
I look up through bleary eyes to see a figure—slender, human. An armed silhouette against the burning wreckage. My heart pounds louder; every instinct screams danger.
“Get back!” I manage to rasp out, voice hoarse and cracked. But before I can swing or muster any sort of threat, something sharp hits my chest with a crackle.
A shock jolts through me like lightning. My muscles seize; a bright flash blinds me momentarily before darkness swallows everything whole.
CHAPTER 4
EMRY
Istand over the unconscious alien, my heart racing as I take in the sight before me. His skin, a stormy canvas of gray and black patterns, ripples with an unsettling beauty. Jagged bony protrusions jut from his shoulders, casting eerie shadows across the ground. Long strands of dark hair cling to his face, framing those striking red eyes that lie shut, concealing whatever tempest rages behind them. Blood pools beneath him, glistening in the dying light—thick and dark like spilled ink on parchment.
Reaper. Definitely a Reaper. I’ve heard about them, absorbed the horror stories that paint them as monsters—the marauding pirates of space who’ve traded their former glory for brutality. But looking at him now… I don’t see rage or hatred in his features. Just pain.
I scan the horizon for any signs of trouble. The endless expanse stretches out before me—abandoned ruins dotting the landscape like forgotten memories. Dust swirls in lazy spirals, but there’s no one else here. No scavengers circling like vultures, no mercs ready to stake their claim on this fallen beast.
I look back down at him, heart pounding against my ribs as uncertainty floods my mind. I should kill him before he wakesup and does it to me first. That’s what I should do; it’s survival instinct 101.
But as I kneel beside him, anger simmers just below the surface—anger at myself for hesitating, anger at this creature who elicits sympathy instead of fear.
“Get it together,” I snap, forcing myself to breathe through the tension that coils around my chest like a vice.
His chest rises and falls unevenly with each labored breath; he looks vulnerable—a stark contrast to everything I've heard about his kind. The sharp lines of his face soften slightly as he shifts ever so slightly, exposing more of that strange beauty beneath the rugged exterior.
“Damn it,” I hiss through clenched teeth, frustration boiling over. Why can’t I just finish this? Why do I feel compelled to help?
My hands tremble as they hover above him; the conflict inside me rages louder than any battle cry I've ever heard. All logic screams for action—this is a Reaper! Yet here I am, paralyzed by something unexpected—a flicker of empathy amidst a battlefield littered with mistrust and pain.
What is wrong with me?
I catch myself grabbing the dead wires scattered around the wreckage, my fingers fumbling as I tie him up. My instincts scream at me, but before I can fully grasp what I’m doing, I’ve secured his arms and legs.
“What the hell am I thinking?” I ask myself in disbelief. “He’s going to eat my face. He’s twice my weight.”
The sled sits nearby, half-buried in debris. With a grunt, I drag him onto it, wincing at the sound of metal scraping against stone. Each inch feels like a monumental effort; sweat trickles down my back as I pull him across the crater.
“This is stupid,” I huff, dragging with all my might. “Just leave him here. He’ll wake up and?—”
I cut myself off with a growl, focusing on the task at hand instead of letting doubt creep in. The ash-draped woods loom ahead, gnarled trees twisting like skeletal hands against the sky.
