Page 15 of Ravaged By the Reaper
I’m a red god in the middle of their metal womb.
“Seal the deck!” someone yells over comms. “He’s Reaper! He’s not here for negotiation!”
No shit.
I stalk through the smoke, Bloodfont now wet and heavy in my hand. The scent of scorched plastic, burned flesh, and ozone chokes the air. My boots leave wet footprints.
A panicked soldier pulls a fire suppression trigger—foam sprays. I roar through it, grab him by the collar, and drag him backward into the dark, just to hear him scream.
Still not her.
I tear open a blast door with raw strength, metal shrieking under my claws. Inside: more guards. A medic tries to shield a civilian. I shove them both aside like broken toys.
Still not her.
Where is she?
“Facility lockdown in progress—detainment wing secured,” a calm AI voice states through the overhead speakers.
Detainment wing.
I snarl, low and guttural. “You’re close, little flame.”
My boot crashes into the next door’s biometric scanner. Useless. I grip the bulkhead, jam the hook of Bloodfont into the seams, andrip.
The metal howls.
I barge through a corridor of fire suppression fog. A final guard squad makes a stand—twenty strong, shields raised, weapons locked.
I grin.
“Wrong day.”
Then I’m in them.
The rest is blood and screams.
The corridors twist like intestines—sterile, flickering with the cold blue of emergency lights. Alarms wail overhead, a shrieking chorus of panic and steel. My breath clouds in the recycled air. Not from cold. Fromwant. Every part of me screams for movement.
She’sclose.
I canfeelher.
The shuttle’s sensors never told me where to go, not really. No map. No signature. But my blood knows. My bones drum with it, a rhythm older than stars. The jalshagar call sings louder now, hammering in my skull, my chest, the crackle of my joints.
She’s hurting.
The scent floods the vents—burnt ozone, sterilization chemicals, blood. And beneath it, something more delicate. Feminine. Coppery sweetness and desperation. That scent... it shouldn’t be familiar. But I know it. Deep in the marrow of me.
Ibreatheher in.
“Come to me,” I snarl, swinging Bloodfont in a circle as I step over the corpses littering the floor. The chain hisses, glinting with red. The scythe-head drips in arcs behind me.
She’s behind these walls somewhere. This place is built like a cage, like a lie wrapped in alloy.
“Show me the way.”
A pressure door slams down in front of me. Seals hiss. Auto-locks engage with aclang.
