Page 123 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol 2
Too late.
Danuk slams into him, smashing him to the ground. A cloud of blood and dust explodes. Noviosk tries to rise, but Danuk’s already on him—pinning him down, driving claws again and again into his back and ribs.
I reach them and sweep my blade in one brutal arc.
Danuk’s head flies free, hits the dirt in a splash of red.
The Red Arena’s master is dead.
Like dominoes, the guards drop their weapons, hands raised. Some aren’t so lucky. The ground’s littered with corpses—but plenty still stand: guards, fighters, spectators… and a few Confederation members.
Our honor code says never strike a disarmed opponent. Sadly, not everyone lives by it.
The fighting lingers. Chaos slowly fades.
I stay close to Sam, who’s now kneeling over Noviosk, inspecting his wounds.
29-Noviosk
A few moments earlier.
So in the end, I really am going to face off against that bastard Danuk. That Srebat is strong… we all are. But his way of doingthings only drags our people’s reputation further through the galactic mud.
His Red Arena existed long before I ended up in the jaws of a Krakelondon—many years ago now. But back then, buried in my business on Vagantu, I never took the time to see what he was actually doing with it. His drug trafficking, more recent, only came about thanks to Sam, who discovered the remarkable properties of that plant.
The old Noviosk wouldn’t have had a problem with it. He would’ve shrugged it off, dismissed the topic. If people are weak enough to fall into a drug’s trap, that’s their problem, not his. Brutal, sure—but realistic.
But now… I’m not quite that Noviosk anymore. I catch myself wondering: is it truly fair to sell a fleeting moment of escape—an illusion of hope—only to enslave those who fall for it?
Danuk isn’t just dealing in drugs. He’s peddling illusions, exits. But what he sells ends up chaining people forever. I know this.
As Grand Master of the Eastern Quadrant, I received regular reports. Still, that trafficking remained abstract to me. Just a profitable product—nothing more was expected.
And then there were the fights in the Arena. I used to provide all kinds of creatures for auction, never giving a second thought to what happened to them once they left Vagantu.
After Sam found out I was the former master of that place, we never talked about it. But how could I even admit that yes—souls that passed through Vagantu were sold off for breeding, sex… or for bloodsport in the Arena?
“You’re finally getting that fight for control of the Eastern Quadrant,” Danuk says, yanking me out of my storm of thoughts.
This is no time for introspection.
He throws Sam to the floor like a piece of trash. She lands hard, lets out a muffled yelp, and scrambles backward on her heels until she hits the wall.
“You’re right,” I say, stepping forward. “But if you had an ounce of honor as a Srebat, we’d face each other under the same conditions… with the same strength. And you’ve done everything these last two days to weaken me.”
“You criticizing my hospitality?” he asks, mock-offended. “You had food, a place to sleep—what more could you want?”
“Oh, nothing much,” I reply. “Just pointing out that you’re unworthy of being the strongest. You twist the rules to get what you want. That doesn’t bring glory to our race.”
Danuk lets out a harsh, throaty laugh.
“Oh, dear Noviosk… honor is outdated. It’s weakness. There’s only one truth: the winner… and the dead. And today, you’re going to die in my Red Arena!”
How strange… I’ve always considered the Srebats’ gift as an absolute Truth. We perceive lies as the truth—as it is felt by the one speaking. And I’d never questioned that.
When Paviok taught me that attachment was weakness, he was stating a truth. But now I finally understand—it was his truth.
And now, as Danuk mocks the honor of our people, calling it obsolete, I know he believes what he says. It’s his truth.
