Page 43 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol 2
Now for Xhor. He’s somewhere in the back of this compound—likely holed up with his personal guards. But we’re ready. Riding the momentum of our first victory, we’re not stopping now. I gesture to two men—Brok and Sallen. They follow me into the shadows of the fortress.
We move through dim corridors, alert. Xhor didn’t rise to power by accident. He’s slippery. Dangerous. I won’t underestimate him.
At a corner, I spot movement. I lunge—an unarmed Human in a Coalition-marked uniform.
“Please—I’m just an employee!” he pleads, shielding his face.
Truth. He’s no fighter. His posture screams cowardice.
“Where’s your master hiding?” I demand.
“I—I don’t know… He’s not here!” he stammers.
Lie.
“Wrong answer. I’ll give you one more chance before I carve the truth out of your corpse.” I draw my favorite blade—a long, gleaming dagger as sharp as a Ninasarvik fang.
The man knows I’m not bluffing. Trembling, he gestures toward a recessed corridor.
I nod at Brok, who knocks him out cold. We continue the hunt.
Muffled voices echo ahead. I motion for silence. We’re close. Xhor’s den. The voices grow clearer—he’s barking orders. He knows we’re here. He’s bracing for the hit.
I take a deep breath and give the signal. We kick the door in.
His guards charge us—but we’re ready.
At the back of the room, I spot him: Xhor the Penubian. I’ve seen his face in countless holograms. I’ve studied his species. Penubians are frail compared to Srebats. Cunning, though. That’s how he took control of a galactic smuggling network—through deceit, manipulation, and information.
They say Xhor has dirt on everyone. That’s his real weapon. I don’t respect that.
Raw power is all that matters.
He looks at me with defiance, but I see fear behind his eyes. He knows.
I ignore my blaster and draw my dagger. With swift precision—before he can sink his toxic fangs into me—I slash his throat. His green blood spurts as he collapses.
Behind me, my men dispatch the last two guards.
Silence.
Xhor is dead. His stronghold—mine.
By morning, the main island will follow. Easy.
The next day, we take over the slave market without a hitch.
The guards on duty are already aware that power has changed hands.
They waste no time swearing loyalty to me.
One of them, a Penubian named Banny, even offers to give me a tour of the place.
“How should we address you, Master?” he asks.
“Lord Noviosk will do. Or just Noviosk when we’re off the record.”
“Master Xhor used to conduct most of his business on the other island. But he came here for special sales—the ones for high-grade merchandise.”
