Page 4 of Star Claimed Omega
Unceremoniously dumped beside her, their armor shields scarcely reacting in time to cushion the fall.
She lay sprawled on the cold floor, her breath knocked out of her, her veil cracked, her spine aching.
Groaning, rage burned through her even as she whispered it through clenched teeth.
‘Fokk, fokk, fokkin’ hell.’
For the first time in years, she wasn’t sure if she wanted revenge or another look at the spectral tall drink of water who just outwitted and outplayed her.
The ship’s ramp hissed as it lowered, steam curling at her boots.
The scarlet-suited woman stepped down, her long cloak flowing around her calves.
A half-mask in the same searing hue obscured her face, sculpted to frame her prominent cheekbones and the firm line of her mouth.
Her red thigh-high heels struck the concrete port in an uncompromising rhythm as she marched through the dock.
Men and women dropped what they were doing.
Vendors bowed. Deckhands stared.
Soldiers straightened and saluted, their voices echoing behind her.
‘Your Majesty.’
She gave a well-practiced nod and smile, yet her jaw clenched so tight it ached.
The title grated on her, like rust in her ears.
She hated it and what it epitomized: the utter evil of this place.
The terminus appeared worse than when she left it.
The people were thinner, the oxygen staler, the markets bleaker.
Tattered awnings flapped halfheartedly over stalls stripped near-bare, merchants guarding their meager wares with hollow eyes.
Desperation hung in the air like smog.
Still, the scent of liquor lingered. Life’s last luxury.
She winced as a man stumbled from a shadowed tavern she passed, dressed in a ridiculous feathered pirate’s hat and scuffed boots.
He reeked of rum and the significant lack of a recent bath.
Whirling with a bottle in hand, he crashed into her.
Then froze when he spotted her. ‘Majesty,’ he slurred, trying to bow and stay upright at once.
She caught his arm before he fell and righted him with a steady hand.
He extended his sloshing flask to her in appreciation. ‘Want some?’
‘Nada, I’ve already exceeded my lifetime quota,’ she muttered, moving fast away from him.
The corridors grew darker the deeper she went, narrow alleyways turning into choking corridors, each more claustrophobic and rotted than the last.
Rust bled down the walls, and trash piled in corners. The scent of decay, rot, and burning koko fouled the air.
