Page 65 of Mated to the Monster God
We’re not done.
The air changes—electric kindness turns sharp, desperate intelligence. Baragons shift tactics. They adapt. Their eyes swivel, heads swivel, as if deciphering the patterns of our defenses. Trenches that once slowed them now funnel them straight, shields shimmer with spectral energy that eats bullets, and fusion traps fizzle beneath new metal plating.
I watch with mounting dread as the first barricade collapses, colonists thrown backward into powder and mud. Shields blink and disappear—Baragons learn, reroute, counter. Their mirrored helmets reflect our own horror.
I charge headlong into the breach, claws ready, roar tearing through the rain, only to be driven back by relentless force—armored flesh and sharpened blade. A Baragon tackles me; I wrestle it off, scales spraying sparks on his plating. He recovers like a storm-driven rock and tackles again. We tumble. I taste blood. I taste iron. Rain drowns the scream.
A second wave crushes into us. Collapsing barricades, bones cracking on stone, colonists scrambling—fear thickens the air. One Baragon, growth twisted in the light, preps to swing rough horn against my skull. I duck—only to collapse under the weight of another.
All defenses crack; we tumble into chaos.
Suddenly, everything shifts. A shriek tears through the battlefield—neither Baragon nor human but mechanical, fierce and deliberate. A beam of stolen plasma fire explodes from the ridge above, cutting a furnace path through Baragon ranks.
I stagger upright, radiant with startled hope. The beam arcs again—timing, aim, dazzling brilliance. It consumes armor, swallows weapon, pulses like unleashed glory.
Rick—and Jimmy—stand atop a makeshift artillery platform cobbled from a mining rig. Rick cranks a lever; plasma cannons roar. Jimmy yells:“Fire in the hole!”
The beam burns a swath through Baragon forces. Flesh melts off armor. Limbs writhe in sizzling agony. The shockwave slams me backward, rootbones rattling, but nothing matters but that split-second lifeline.
I stagger toward them, heart thundering, fury amplified by gratitude. They are warriors—colonists turned heroes—hued in mud and determination.
Rick locks eyes with me. Cigarette glowing in the rain, he gives a crooked nod. Jimmy grins, adrenaline burning his cheeks.
I fight back tears.
Baragon second wave falters—resolute faces harnessed in cords of pain catching fire.
I roar for the colony—your line holds! Reinforcements surge, trench collapses reverse as barricades are re-manned, fusion blocks spark again behind us.
The stolen plasma rig shrieks on reload. Blue-white scorches the sky at intervals. Rick and Jimmy keep firing.
I charge back into the fray with renewed ferocity. Every scale hums with reverence—those two, their courage, the plasma light that cracked the world open for us.
I body slam a Baragon sending shards of metal and horn skittering across scarred ground. I pivot to shield an older colonist, arm snapping up as the beast rakes for blood. My claws slash. The beast topples.
I manage a glance at Rick and Jimmy. They’re unstoppable: rig patched up on the fly, ammo feed only strained, not broken. Steam, rain, and gunpowder coalesce into hope.
We drive through the broken lines. Baragons falter, stumble, retreat in hissing, in animal fury turned human defiance.
Rain washes through the sunken trenches; cries of the wounded are potent in the air.
I snarl primal and guttural. “They won’t break us,” I roar—earth-shaking, scale-rattling. “Because we don’t break.”
Behind me, Esme lifts the medigel, Tara tends to the wounded. I see flashes—Colonists gripping rifles again, windows lighting up with makeshift flares, the colony’s morale reigniting.
I turn back to the field—my body shimmering, claws dripping with victory’s iron. The sound of plasma cannon is a mantra now—Rick and Jimmy heroes in the storm.
I catch an armored Baragon leg cresting the trench. I bolt forward and leap—wings folding to help me—swoop through narrow air cracks. I drop onto its back, teeth flashing, and bite down into unprotected flesh. The creature crashes, chest flaring red-hot.
Rain hisses on metal and flesh. I stand on the broken beast’s spine.
Rick’s beam sears a path behind me. I roar again, victory in my lungs.
Colonists rally. Shields hold. Trenches fill with rebels renewed.
I close my eyes, taste copper victory and sacrifice and belonging. Rick and Jimmy, meld into the blood and possibilities of tomorrow’s dawn.
I won’t fear again—not while they’re here, while she’s here.
