Page 64 of Mated to the Monster God
The world breaks loose at the shriek of impact—Baragon’s first seismic eruption beneath the colony setting off trumpeting bells of dread. Rumbles torque the ground, the fissure beneath our barricade biting earth and metal. Sweetwater cranks into a battlefield.
I launch into the fray: claws slicing the air, tail whistling, heat and rain slashing my scales. My senses flare—metallic gunfire, war-cries from colonists, the thunder-roar of Baragon lifting debris and collapsing fortifications.
They are terrifying—Baragon, the subterranean nightmare, erupting from below. The air trembles with tremor, their scaled limbs snapping through the earth, the horned beasts tearing trenches into rubble as they emerge. Their roars are seismic—red-engine roars that rattle bone and unmake hope. They’re beings born in the molten guts of the world, hungry for ruin.
I pounce into the swarm like a furious blaze. My teeth rip into Baragon flesh—horn cracked, blood sparking, flesh shredding. Bones crack beneath my claws. The creature thrashes, earth-shaking, but I twist into primal resolve: it’s them or ours.
Colonists scream, scrambling in trenches brimming with churned mud. Some fire back at the advancing horror withimprovised shards of laser cutters. I tear scrap metal from barricades and hurl them into Baragon ranks. Scorching fat and bone. I roar—my heart unborn for violence but reborn in purpose.
I feel Esme’s voice flicker in my mind, steadying me:We're counting on you.The voice is calm beneath chaos. Her scent laces through my blood, reminding me—this isn’t about death. It’s about giving them tomorrow.
I catch a Baragon leg crashing through a wall. I drive bone-blade claws deep, ripping through tendons and steel, ripping hope further into our ground. The beasts shriek—a wet, angry howl that echoes with primordial fury.
Above, drones flicker—scanning, streaming. I catch one in passing, ripping metallic wings before it can sound an alarm. Sparks spray. The rain sprays them away like dandelion seeds.
I barrel to the fuse block trap site. It's a finger-hold of hope—buried under rubble but alive. I clear debris with scale-armored arms, mud clinging, setting down explosives. The vibrations are violent, precise. I activate the block.
A wave of scorch erupts—fusion warmth consuming everything in its radius. Baragons incinerate in a fevered bloom; disintegration and scream all at once. The heat melts armor, bones vaporize. The smoke smells of ozone and burning rain.
Colonists stare—some drop to knees. I roar again—victory, wrath, protection fused in noise. I feel them behind me: Tara patching wounds, Esme moving with medigel and resin—her hands giving life even while death circles.
Her clear voice I feel again in my mind:You’re doing it.Not because she needs me—but because together, we move worlds.
I dive again. A Baragon lunges—horn aimed at colonists. I intercept it—body comet-fast. I crumble the creature’s spine with one crushing tackle; the horn explodes in jagged bone fragments. Blood rains down; earth sulks with rain and iron.
I don’t pause. I can’t. Another Baragon emerges from crumbled earth. I meet it with talons raised high. My growl shakes the air. We clash, scale teeth snapping. It’s thunder against living, electrified purpose.
A crash behind me—I’m shoved back through blood-slick trench. I rise to see Morty helping load a blade rifle, eyes wide with fear and fledgling courage. He looks at me, and no words pass—we’re both part of this broken bloom.
The world blurs, volts of rain, screams, fusion blasts, blood, bark, metal.
My rage devours fear.
Esme’s voice clasps my spine.
We're still here.
The storm crescendos. Rain hammers down, thundering overhead.
I turn toward Esme and Tara. They’re archangels of survival—Tara holding medigel wands, Esme bandaging bones with water shaking her hands. She looks up—meets my eyes. The world collapses and narrows down to her—life in flesh and promise.
A voice booms over comms—Krenshaw’s voice, venomous calm cracking the sky:
“Your time is up. Prepare for extinction.”
The words are radioactive. They tear through every wet sound in the field.
I clench my jaw. Baragons recoil and roar into the new threat. The rain hisses on heated rez tails.
I bare my teeth.
Esme reaches for my hand. The rain falls harder, tornado heartbeat in my chest.
She meets my eyes.We fight.
I nod.
Below the roar of war, the colony roars back in resistance.
