Star Rising: Heartless (2 page)

Reave didn’t respond to his accusations. “Tell me, bounty hunter. Who sent you? What use do you with this baby?”

The man looked offended. “I’m not just any bounty hunter. I’m the most legendary of all bounty hunters: The Black Centipede.”

“The Black Centipede?” Now, it was Reave’s turn to laugh. “Never heard of you. Which is surprising. With a stupid name like that, you should be the talk of every comedian in the galaxy.” He added a hint of mockery into his next words.
“Black Centipede. Phew
.”

It had the desired effect. The man gritted his teeth and balled his fist.

Good
, thought Reave. People with no control of their emotions are always more likely to open their mouths.

The Black Centipede did not spew out the information Reave wanted though. Instead he eyed the leather jacket laying on the ground with hungry eyes.

Reave took two steps back, putting himself between the bounty hunter and the infant. “You’re not taking this baby without getting through me.”

“That can be arranged.” The bounty hunter’s metal hand turned crimson red, and Reave knew that his opponent was readying the flames. 

The two fighters squared up. There were no more words. This was a battle to the end. They both knew it.

Reave spared no time moving against his foe. His long sword cut swift arches before the bounty hunter, who parried with this metal arm.

The man bobbed his head between the attacks, his eyes clearly showing surprise at the ferocity of Reave’s sword work. Once in a while he would throw a kick or punch.

They battled across the jungle planes, moving around the corpses and through the heavy vines that dangled from the tall trees. Reave did not commit to any lethal moves. Instead he analyzed his opponent. Every poke, every feint, and combination tested the reactions of the bounty hunter. Once he felt he had enough information, he pressed his attack.

The Black Centipede brought his metal hand up, barely blocking the blade that was inches away from penetrating his chest. The sword instead dug into the metal, almost cleaving the makeshift arm in two.

The bounty hunter staggered back. “What the…?”

With a sweep to his legs, the Alioth knocked his opponent to the ground.

The man was more agile than Reave had expected. He flipped back to his feet. Swiftly, he threw the dangling piece of his arm to the floor. “That sword of your is quite sharp if it can cut through metal like this. Acolyte steel I assume?” He pointed his now-damaged arm forward, not waiting for an answer. “You’re not the only one with special weapons, though. Even in this state, this little baby is fully functional.”

A wild burst of flames burned the air.

The Alioth swallowed, taking in the warm air.

The fire moved in a straight line. A sidestep proved enough to dodge it. Another burst of flame burst from the man’s weaponized arm. Once again, the Alioth sidestepped.

Reave grinned. The bounty hunter had more than enough fire power, of that there was no doubt. He had, however, no control over it. He couldn’t arch it or guided it the way experienced Cinder could. There was also no shape to the attacks. They came in predictable, straight lines. This was already over, and his foe didn’t even know it yet.

The next barrage of flames came in the same line, albeit a bit wider than the ones before it. Reave didn’t dodge. He clicked the button on the hilt of his sword and the shield around the blade extended. With untamed ferocity, he rushed at his opponent. The hilt grew hotter by the second, sending flares of pain coursing through his hand. Reave ignored it. This was nothing compared to the pain he’d felt that fateful night.

The shield made contact, and the Black Centipede splashed into the mud. A click later and the shield had retraced back, leaving only the long blade. He brought it down on his opponent’s neck.

The bounty hunter rolled out of the way, throwing a handful of mud into Reave’s eyes. Through his blurred vision, Reave saw the Black Centipede produce a sword of his own.

“I forgot to say, I don’t play fair!”

Reave closed his eyes, listening to the sound as the weapon whooshed over the heavy raindrops as it headed toward his chest. At the last second, he ducked under the attack. In a single move he took hold of his opponent’s sword, twisted it, and impaled it into the Black Centipede’s torso.

The veteran soldier faced the sky, letting the rain wash away the mud. Beside him, gurgling sounds of pain were followed by the sound of the bounty hunter crumpling to the floor.

“W…who are…a…re you?” mumbled the bounty hunter. He gazed down at the sword protruding from his body. Blood gushed out of the cut, mixing with the clear plashes of water.

“Reave.”

His face twisted in recognition. The face Reave saw staring back at him was the same one he’d witnessed his entire life. It was the face of admiration mixed with compassion. It was a face he had grown tired of seeing. How many times would he have to be reminded of those nights? “Reave? T…he hero of the wa…war? I ne…ver would have fought you…you, sir If I had known. I didn—”

Pushing the thoughts to the back of his head, Reave sprinted to the pile of leather lying on the ground. His skin goosebumped as he noticed that the leather jacket had been hit by a stray line of fire. It was now completely engulfed in flames.

“No!” cried Reave as he gazed, almost dreamily, at the orange and red flames. He dashed toward it, snuffing out the fire. 

The scent of burnt leather filled his nostrils. Hoping against hope, he unwrapped the charred jacket. Time slowed as the Alioth locked eyes with the infant, not believing what he was seeing. Somehow, the boy was alive. Not just alive, but unlike minutes ago where he was wavering between life and death, he now looked as healthy as any baby born in the Bastion. His skin was a healthy shade of pink. His giggles were the product of a hearty set of lungs.

Reave was so enthralled by the twist in circumstances, that he almost didn’t notice the light. Once he saw it, he wondered how he had missed it. There was a crimson glow under the boy’s scar, shining brightly. It was as if his very heart had absorbed the flames, using them to empower the boy with vigorous energy.

The words the bounty hunter had used to refer to the boy came back to him:
Specimen
.

Any other person might have discarded the boy at this moment. Tossed him the ground and left him to the elements, or to become a meal for the animals who roamed the planet. Reave was not another person, though.

The steel-hearted soldier felt something soften within him. Something he had not felt in a long time. It stirred at his insides, tugging away layers upon layers he’d built over his own emotions. A single tear traced down his cheek. Feeling a wave of embarrassment, he wiped it away. He hadn’t cried in countless star cycles. He wasn’t going to start now.

Nonetheless, he couldn’t deny that there was something special about the boy. Somehow, as unlikely as it sounded even to him, Reave felt a deeper bond with this infant than he had felt with anyone in the universe. 

With the laughing baby clutched in his hands, they boarded the ancient ship. The roar of the engines was audible as they struggled to life.

Moments later, the ship had taken to the air, carrying with it two beings who were forged by the bonds of fire.

ΩΩΩ

From a cliff that erupted out of the jungle, a lone hooded being watched the ship until it became but a speck in sky.

The boy had escaped him this time, but it did not matter. He would be his soon enough.

A cruel smile formed on the lips of the hooded figure. They thought they had vanquished him cycles ago. They had no idea how wrong they were.

Once he had the boy, he would bring the universe to its knees.

The boy was the key to everything.

StarCycle 2338

Chapter 1

Xalen Blangi rubbed his eyelids, yawning, as he was forced awake. The same boring, gray-walled room that had been his home for the past seventeen star cycles welcomed him. Save a long mirror, an old bed, and a brown cupboard, the room was devoid of any accessories.

Headmistress Agnes’s scratchy voice rang in his eardrums once again. Chubby hands at her waist, she stared down at him. Yellow-stained teeth protruded from her dark gums. She wore a ragged blue dress and a white apron. Plump legs, complete with an unnatural amount of hair, supported her seven foot, five inch frame.

“Get up, boy. The food is not going to make itself.”

“Yes, headmistress,” said Xalen, his voice dripping with boredom. He set his foot down on the cold floor. A shudder ran up his leg, and for the thousandth time he yearned for a pair of socks.

“And wake that good-for-nothing friend of yours.”

“He’s still hurt, headmistress. You worked him too hard the—”

“I decide who’s in pain. Not you.” She looked at him with a crooked smile. “You think because you’re seventeen star-cycles-old now, you get to make the rules in
my
orphanage?” She put extra emphasis on
my
, as if Xalen wasn’t fully aware that Agnes was in charge. There was a lot Xalen was ignorant to; the fact that Agnes ran the only orphanage on planet Vintra was not one of them. Xalen’s first memory was of him as a four cycle old being forced to clean the floor with a brush boasting only three bristles. In fact, many of his memories involved Agnes exerting her dominance by having him complete some ridiculous chore.

Lately, Xalen could tell that Agnes knew she was losing her control over him. He was growing up, and more and more he found himself stepping up, defending the younger children against her. He’d suffer enough by her hands, he wasn’t going to stand by as she did the same to the rest of the orphans.

“I’ll wake him,” said Xalen, choosing to forego another argument with Agnes.

“See that you do.” The woman turned, and stomped out into the hallway.

Xalen could still hear her mumbling loudly under her breath long after she’d left the room.

Once it was clear Agnes was gone, the sheet was tossed aside. He took a long look in the mirror, cursing his silver and black hair. As if he wasn’t strange enough already. All the years of hard work had caused him to develop a muscular physique. He unsuccessfully tried to pat down his unruly hair, and then slipped on a pair of pants and shirt.

Absolute silence. That was all that he heard as he stepped foot into the hallway. Which wasn’t at all surprising. It was early dawn. The boys and girls were still deep in sleep.

He went into the boy’s room, a windowless large hall with dozens of beds set in uneven rows.

Xalen tiptoed down the cold tiles, careful not to disrupt the soft snores that surrounded him. Soon the kids would wake, and the cruel reality that they were unwanted orphans would wash over them in a thick wave of despair. But now, in their dreams, there was no such reality. In their dreams they had families. Dads carried them in their arms on the way to the park. Mothers whispered sweet words of love as they tucked them to sleep. Crazy uncles showed up unexpectedly, bringing with them all sorts of treats and toys.

He knew that they dreamt like this, because he himself had dreamt of a family for many years. He had yearned for the touch of a mother, and the strong hand of a father. He’d given up on those childish dreams long ago. Nobody wanted a freak. Xalen still held hopes, however, that some of the kids at the orphanage would find the family he’d never found.

He reached Rund’s bed, and shook him awake.

After much whining and flailing, Rund finally got up and dragged his feet behind Xalen. He hopped on one leg, evidently still in pain from the long day of work he’d endured the day before.

“What are we going to make today?” asked his friend as they walked into the kitchen. It was a small room with a table in one corner, and a few nearly empty cupboards.

Xalen examined the crates of wheat. “Barley cereal it is.”

“Barley again?” whined Rund. “We’ve had that everyday for the past two weeks. When are we getting some meat?”

“Did you have some hidden stash of sausages, bacon, or Lits that I know nothing about?”

Rund did not bother to answer. There was no need. The mere thought that Agnes would spend money on meat for anyone but herself was laughable.

From the corner of his eye, Xalen examined his friend as he reached into the crate and took out the wheat. Like himself, Rund was different. He had a condition that caused his eyes to be crooked. He could be staring right at you and you wouldn’t even know it. It was this simple twist in genetics that had drove all potential adoptive families away.

“What is that?” they would ask. Or, “That thing is hideous.” Xalen had even overheard a woman suggest to the headmistress that she throw Rund off of a nearby cliff to rid the world of his ugliness. To which Agnes replied that she would gladly do it, if it wasn’t for the fact that Rund was so good at fixing things around the orphanage.

If the lights went out, it was Rund who would fix the power converters. The communicator malfunctioning? No worries, with a box of scrap metal, Rund would quickly fix it, leaving it in an even better condition than it was before. Xalen was certain that his friend had some sort of innate connection with engines that allowed him to understand them on a deeper, almost spiritual level. It was things like this that Xalen hoped the adoptive families would see. But no. They saw his thick lips, oversized stomach, sun-burned skin, and wild, charcoal hair and immediately labeled him a monster.

Two hours later, as the two red suns drifted over the mountains to the east, the two boys finally finished the food.

“It would be much better with some meat,” whined Rund, stirring the large gray pot once more. He reached in with a small spoon, tasting it a final time.

“C’mon. Everyone is waiting for us.”

The boys took the pot by the handles, and together, grunted as they carried it out into the cafeteria. Two lines, one of boys and the other of girls, was already waiting for them when they got there.

The cooks set the pot atop the table at the end, and poured the sticky mush for each of the kids as they brought up their plate. Despite the frowns, very few of the children complained as they took their plates and headed to the long tables.

“Oh, this again,” said Lourdes, a young girl with tangled braids of hair. She sniffed her bowl of barley, gagged, and then took a seat.

“More barley?” whined Narus. The boy was about to go on of his long, now predictable rants, when Agnes stomped into the cafeteria. Narus put his head down and hurried to his seat.

The day passed as any other day. After they were done serving the children, the two boys headed out to the small farm behind the orphanage. They milked the cows, collected the chicken and lizard eggs, and fed the animals. Once that was done, they headed out to the fields. It would be corn and Larys season soon, and the fields still needed plowing.

It was not until the suns had crossed each other at the center of the sky that the boys finally took a break under the shade of the single tree. It was these moments that Xalen cherished the most. Here, relaxing with his friend and far away from Agnes, he could be himself. Though he did wish he could bring the young children out to play. That was only possible, however, on the days the headmistress would go into town to one of her “town meetings,” which Xalen knew meant getting drunk with her friends at the pub.

“What do you think the future holds for us?” asked Rund. He was gazing up at the sky as he laid down on the green pasture, his hands serving as a resting place for his head.

Xalen studied his friend, curious where the sudden question had come from. He’d never known Rund to think much about the future. Perhaps the fact that they were both seventeen and would be full-fledged adults in one more star cycle had gotten him thinking.

Rund did not wait for Xalen to answer. “I want to take over the orphanage. I would bring in more toys for the kids, and treat them better. They deserve it.”

While Xalen sympathized with his friend’s goal, he yearned to become a part of something much grander. “I want to go out and join the human resistance.”

Rund frowned. “You’re still intent on joining the army? I thought that was a childhood phase you would grow of. Don’t you want to stay here and help the children?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then?”

“I’m going to help by joining the army and putting a stop to the Deargs.”

“How is that helping the children?”

“The Deargs have been attacking towns, cities, and colonies all across the universe for the past few cycles. What if they come to Vintra?”

“You know that’s not going to happen. There’s never been a report of a Dearg attack this far off into the galaxy.”

“Just because it hasn’t happened yet, doesn’t mean it won’t.”

“The army isn’t the answer to stopping them. They’ve been trying for many cycles. And what have they accomplished? If anything, the Deargs are only getting stronger.”

“At least they’re trying something.” Xalen met his friend’s eyes. “I’m tired of being worthless. I need to get out of Vintra and help in any way I can.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “I never had a family, but that doesn’t mean I can’t go out and protect those who do have one.”

Rund looked up at him with sad eyes.

“I’m just scared that something is going to happen to you,” he said. “You’re my only friend.”

“Nothing is going to happen to me,” assured Xalen.

Despite his bold assurance, the walk back to the orphanage was a quiet one. They both knew that the life-expectancy for army members was pitifully low. Few reached their mid-twenties, even less lived to see thirty star-cycles. Xalen didn’t care though. Humanity was on the brink of extinction, and he was going to do everything that he could to make sure that did not happen.

They reached the orphanage and quickly went to work on making dinner, which consisted of a batch of spinach with flavorless white rice on the side. After that, they led the children in the cleaning of the sleeping dorms. Beds were made, the floor was swept, furniture was wiped clean, and dirty sheets were stacked in an uneven pile at the door.

“Who wants to play some board games?” yelled Xalen.

A chorus of cheers erupted.

“Me!”

“Yes!”

“Can I go first?”

“I’m going to win this time!”

Xalen and Rund had the kids sit on the floor in five long rows, and then passed out a card to each child. Which in itself took a chunk of time. There were over one-hundred of them, after all.

“Remember,” said Xalen. “I will call out a picture, and if you have it on your card, cover it. Whoever fills the card first, wins.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” asked Agnes as she stepped into the dorm room. “You’re supposed to be cleaning, not playing.”

“As you can see,” Xalen swept his hand, motioning around the room. “The cleaning has been done.”

“Then start with the laundry,” said Agnes, drool spilling out of her enraged lips.

“Tomorrow is laundry day, not today.” He eyed her with determination. She was not going to take away what little time for fun the children had. “Besides, you and I have an agreement, remember?”

The frown on Agnes puffy face made it clear that she knew all too well what he was referring to. The headmistress knew that if she didn’t allow the children some time to relax and play, he would not help her around the orphanage, which meant she would need to hire actual qualified aides. This would cut into her profits.

“Don’t be too loud!” screamed Agnes, her eyes twitching. She turned and stormed off. Like before, she mumbled curses as she went.

The hour that followed passed quickly. In a wave of complaints, the children headed off to sleep.

Xalen entered his small room and threw himself on the bed. With the smiles of the children etched on his mind, he drifted off to sleep.

ΩΩΩ

Xalen awoke the next morning before sunup. He headed out to collect the dirty laundry, as he had always done every third day of the week, but to his surprise, Agnes was in the hall, awaiting his arrival.

Her tone was low. “Come with me, boy.”

“Go where?” His interest was piqued.

“My office.”

“Your office?” asked Xalen, confusion in his voice. What was going on? In seventeen cycles Agnes had never once allowed him to see her office. “I have no time for that. The laundry—”

“Forget the laundry,” she shot back. “Just follow.”

Curiosity getting the best of him, he followed her without saying another word. They passed through dark halls, and up a series of stairs he’d never ascended before. They reached a short corridor, a half-open door awaited them at the end. Besides the soft thumps of their footsteps, they were completely enclosed in silence.

Agnes pushed the door open, revealing a small room with an even smaller desk resting at the end. The scent of burnt wax clung to the air. Xalen coughed a few times, trying to force out the smoke that had travelled through his open mouth. A single, nearly burnt-out candle, served as the room’s only light source. A large figure stood at the front of the desk.