Mars Time: 22:34, March 2, 2295

  Deck 2, ISV Polaris, In Transit

  Marcus couldn't move.

  His legs had locked, Justice half-raised, Bulwark angled wrong. Every instinct learned in boxing gyms and Covenant training halls told him to plant his feet, raise his Titanium Shield, and be the wall these people needed.

  But his body wasn't listening to those instincts anymore.

  The Nordling woman floated there in the amber light, platinum hair gathered in that bun, the white gown pooling over the coiling mass beneath her. The symbiote's cyan bioluminescence painted her snow white skin in shifting blues, and Marcus found himself tracing the line of her jaw, the slope of her shoulders, her collarbone—

  "Beautiful." The word surfaced before he could stop it.

  His Nucleus Watch buzzed against his wrist. He glanced down.

  [WARNING: PRIMAL REDISTRIBUTION DETECTED]

  [Libido: 1 → 5 (+4)]

  [Power: 8 → 5 (-3)]

  [Resilience: 9 → 8 (-1)]

  [ALERT: Involuntary stat conversion. Recommend immediate consultation with a Confessor—]

  He swiped the notification away with a thumb.

  "Zori, what is this? What devil am I facing this time?"

  No answer came.

  "Yo, Marcus!" Jabari's voice snapped from his left. "You with us, big guy?"

  The Griot had Sankofa drawn, the Moonstone Cutlass catching light along its pearl-bronze edge. His eyes were locked on the three Draugs flanking Brynhild—massive, brown-skinned things that stood a full head taller than Marcus, their bodies rippling with the same mutations that had warped Lokki. Red eyes. Too many teeth. Claws like industrial shears.

  "Aye," Marcus managed. His voice came out rougher than intended. "Aye, I'm here."

  Brynhild's gaze swept across them with measured appraisal. When her eyes passed over Marcus, he could feel it already—a looseness in his arms where there'd been an iron grip, a softness in his chest where there'd been nothing but sure faith.

  "Sister," she said, addressing Sigrun without looking away from Marcus, "you have gathered quite the ensemble. A Covenant Stalwart, a Directorate Griot, a Rigger with a pet lizard, and..." Her gaze settled on Iron Roach. "Some thug for hire?"

  Lokki's wet laugh bubbled up beside her. "Shall we begin the lesson, Your Highness?"

  "We shall."

  Brynhild raised one pale hand.

  The other three Draugs surged forward.

  The corridor became a kill box. The lead Draug hit Marcus's shield hard enough to drive his boots back three inches across deck plating—three inches that would've been zero two minutes ago, before his Resilience dropped by three bloody points. He grunted, pivoting Justice into a counter-slash that opened a wound across the creature's chest. Cauterized flesh hissed.

  The second and third Draugs split wide, one cutting left toward Jabari, the other circling toward Xin and Iron Roach.

  "Jabari, watch your flank!" Sigrun called, already raising Skuld.

  But Jabari had read the room. He'd sheathed Sankofa and brought Oya up, the teal-bronze crossbow snapping to his shoulder as he aimed at Lokki. The professor stood behind Brynhild's floating form, exposed.

  "B?lae Sika!"

  Moon-enchanted energy wrapped the bolt as it left Oya's rail. The shot sang—a clean, high note that cut through the corridor's chaos.

  Lokki didn't flinch. His hand came up, fingers curled. "Skugga Hindrun!"

  The bolt hit something that looked like a dark green barrier two feet from Lokki's face and stopped dead, suspended in a pocket of folded space. Then it dropped, clattering uselessly to the deck.

  "Void school spell." Xin said from behind Marcus. "He's anchoring the space around himself—"

  Two Draugs rushed Jabari before he could reload. The first caught him with a backhand that sent the Griot spinning into the bulkhead, Oya flying from his grip. The second followed up with a lunging claw strike.

  Jabari twisted, the blow catching his shoulder instead of his throat. Blood sprayed. He hit the wall with a sound that made Marcus's teeth clench, sliding down to one knee.

  On Xin's left shoulder, H?kon chirped urgently. "Pappa! Music Man hurt!"

  Lokki's laughter filled the corridor. "Oh dear. Some Griot you are. I expected at least a dance before the curtain fell."

  "I'm here!" His slender form shaking with visible fear, Xin stood in front of Lokki, his 10mm raised.

  "Skull Man no touch!" H?kon declared alongside him.

  "But why would I need to?" Lokki raised a mottled hand, and a pair of Draugs moved towards Jabari.

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  Iron Roach planted himself between Jabari and the advancing Draugs, his double-barrel leveled. The first shot caught a Draug square in the chest, staggering it back. The second opened a crater in its shoulder.

  Then Roach did something that made Marcus's eyes narrow.

  The barkeep's left hand came up, fingers twisted in a gesture Marcus didn't recognize. His lips moved.

  "Mā?sa ?alya!"

  A crimson spear of compressed blood energy materialized from Roach's fingertips and punched clean through the wounded Draug's kneecap. The creature howled, toppling sideways.

  Eclipse magic. In Devavā?ī. Cast by a man who supposedly poured drinks for a living in that inn at the Dragon District.

  "How does someone like you—"

  Marcus paused. No time to wonder. He threw himself back into the fight, catching a Draug's next blow on Bulwark. The impact rang up his arm—heavier than it should have felt, his diminished Power making every parry cost more. He responded with Justice, the blade finding the gap between chitinous plates at the creature's hip. The Draug shrieked and recoiled.

  The second Draug circled, trying to flank him. Marcus pivoted, shield up, and caught a fleeting glance of Sigrun squaring off against her sister.

  Sigrun's face was still, like it was carved from stone. Only her sapphire eyes were bright and wet as she addressed the other side with a nickname. "I'm very sorry, Bryn."

  She raised Skuld and fired.

  The shotgun roared twice. Point-blank, both slugs aimed at Brynhild's torso.

  But they never arrived.

  The symbiote coiling beneath Brynhild's gown pulsed with sudden emerald light—Void energy channeled through its bioluminescent flesh. It uttered in J?turmál. "Skugga Hindrun!"

  A dark green barrier similar to the one conjured by Lokki shimmered into existence inches from Bryn's skin, and the slugs vaporized on contact. Simply unmade and reduced to particles that drifted like dust in the conditioned air.

  Sigrun fired again. And again. Each shot met the same wall of silent annihilation.

  Brynhild watched her sister empty the magazine with an expression that might have been pity. "You cannot hurt me with that, Siggi. The symbiote feeds from my Aether down there. To us, your bullets are nothing."

  "What do you mean 'down there'!?" Sigrun shouted back, asking.

  "Where to begin?" Brynhild placed a hand to her chin.

  "Never-fucking-mind. I don't want to know." Sigrun racked the last shell casing free, letting Skuld drop, slinging it to the small of her back as the shotgun folded.

  Járn came off her belt, the Thermal Axe's core igniting with a familiar whump of blue-white heat.

  She swung hard. Brynhild didn't dodge—the symbiote did, three of its appendages whipping up from beneath the gown to catch Járn's haft mid-swing. Chitin scraped against superheated metal. Sparks flew.

  Sigrun wrenched the axe free, came around with a second cut. A symbiote limb deflected it wide. A third strike, low and fast, aiming for the junction of flesh and chitin—parried by another appendage that moved with a speed no human arm could match.

  Then Brynhild struck back.

  Two appendages lashed out simultaneously, one catching Sigrun across the ribs, the other coiling around her axe arm. The impact lifted Sigrun off her feet. She hit the bulkhead shoulder-first, gasping.

  "Tungl, slá!"

  Silver lightning crackled from Sigrun's outstretched palm—a jagged line of quantum-blue energy that arced toward Brynhild's chest. The symbiote's barrier flickered, absorbing most of it, but a tendril of lightning got through. Brynhild flinched. The symbiote's bioluminescent patterns flared angry red for an instant.

  "Frost, bylgja!"

  Ice crystallized from Sigrun's other hand, racing across the deck toward Brynhild's floating form. The frost climbed the symbiote's coils, forcing it to shed the ice with a violent shake. Brynhild's expression shifted—annoyance, not pain.

  "Lunar against Void, little sister. You should have paid more attention in Professor H?gberg's class." Brynhild's voice remained steady, imperial. "Eclipse consumes Lunar. Void consumes Eclipse. You are fighting the wrong element with the wrong school."

  Near Marcus, Xin was on the floor. Lokki had caught him with a different spell, incantation parting from his mottled lips. "Beinaklifr!"

  Ebony hued Void energy clamping around his legs like a vise. The Rigger's glasses had tilted the wrong angle on his face. His 10mm Magnum, Jade, lay two feet from his outstretched hand.

  H?kon's scales were cycling to dark brown on Xin's shoulder. The little Diabolisk's eyes were wide, tiny claws digging into Xin's jacket.

  "Pappa hurt! Pappa hurt!"

  Marcus saw it from the corner of his eye. Xin, pinned. The skinny Rigger's legs locked in black energy, his glasses crooked, his pistol just out of reach. And Lokki standing over him with that smile factory overseers wore when a desperate worker tried to appeal during lay-off announcement.

  Marcus drove his shoulder into the Draug pressing him and shoved, buying two seconds of space. He crossed the distance in three steps and planted Bulwark between Xin and Lokki, the shield's face catching a follow-up spell that crackled against titanium and died.

  "Stay behind me," Marcus said. His voice was steady. His arms were not.

  Lokki tilted his head, amused. "Ah, the Stalwart plays shepherd. Very Zorian of you!"

  Then H?kon's scales shifted. Deep silver. Calm.

  "Hjarta Kyrr."

  The words left H?kon's small mouth with a clarity that belied his size. Pale blue light pulsed from the Diabolisk, enveloping Xin's form. The Bone Grip's hold loosened just enough. Xin gasped, blinking, the glaze clearing from his eyes.

  "Good lad," Xin whispered, reaching for Jade. "Good lad, H?kon."

  Marcus was losing ground. Both Draugs pressed him now, and every blocked strike hammered home what the stat conversion had cost him. His arms burned. His shield felt heavier. The creature on his left scored a claw across his pauldron.

  He kept glancing at Brynhild. He couldn't stop.

  The way she floated. The way her gown moved. The way her lips curved when she and Sigrun struggled against each other, and the way that curve carried something beneath the cruelty—something sad, like Brynhild was watching a memory die in real time.

  "Focus. For the love of Zori, focus!" He chided himself. But his Libido pulsed like some damned second heartbeat, and every pulse pulled his eyes back to her.

  Sigrun hit the deck again. Járn skidded from her grip, spinning across the floor. Two symbiote appendages pinned her shoulders. Brynhild floated closer, looking down at her sister with those blue eyes that were darker but the same shape as Sigrun's.

  "It would pain me to slay you, Siggi. Mother reminded me to keep you alive." Bryn's voice was raising now. "Surrender!"

  "Fuck no…" Sigrun choked out.

  Bryn's symbiote wrapped its monstrous appendages around Sigrun's neck. It lifted her up, drawing agonized coughs from her throat.

  Something sharp dug into his neck.

  Tiny claws. H?kon had leapt from Xin's shoulder to Marcus's pauldron, and now the little Diabolisk was climbing his collar, scales cycling frantic dark brown, his small body trembling against Marcus's jaw.

  "Silver Man!" H?kon's voice cracked, high and desperate. "Star Lady hurt Sky Lady. Hurt-hurt now! SILVER MAN!"

  The words hit harder than any Draug. Marcus blinked. The fog of Brynhild's enchanting form went away like wet paper, and what replaced it was the sound of Sigrun choking meters away, her black boots kicking against nothing, her snowy face going red above the symbiote's coils.

  H?kon's claws drew a bead of blood from Marcus's neck. The pain was small and precise and exactly what he needed.

  "Now is the time." Marcus muttered.

  He roared and slammed Bulwark into the nearest Draug's face, buying himself a half-second, and raised the shield above his head, intoning in Ordovox. "LUX CAECANS!"

  His most practiced and strongest spell since he'd joined the Covenant. Everything he had.

  Golden-white light exploded from Bulwark's surface, like a miniature sun born in the corridor of the wounded ship. The light hit everything. It bounced off bulkheads, flooded through breaches, turned the amber hell into blinding white.

  Solar against Void. The dominant school.

  Brynhild's dark green barrier shattered like glass. Her symbiote shrieked a sound like tearing metal and recoiled, its appendages releasing Sigrun as it coiled defensively around its host. The three Draugs staggered, clawing at eyes that weren't built for divine light. Even Lokki threw up an arm, hissing through his rebuilt throat.

  "Now!" Marcus bellowed. "Move, all of you!"

  ?? Even gods need to be held sometimes

  What to Expect:

  - An epic, multi-book space opera with a large found family and multiple POVs.

  - A powerful but emotionally vulnerable protagonist with chaotic powers he struggles to control.

  - Strong, capable, and sometimes morally gray women.

  - High stakes, cosmic threats, and detailed world-building.

  What NOT to Expect:

  - LitRPG/System elements

  - Lone wolf power fantasy

  - A story that is only about romance

  This story contains mature themes, explicit sexual content, and graphic violence. It is not suitable for readers under the age of 18.

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