Krythe Opened his eyes and found himself amidst the sandy plains of Kry-Kartune.

He started, surprised, because the last place he’d been was in his holding cell aboard the Warlord Kel’Uma’s flagship, the Kraith. Now, here he stood, amidst the blowing sands which stretched from horizon to horizon in an endless sea of twisting, churning, blowing dust. His eyes, irritated by the constant gusts of mighty wind, closed to mere slits against it.

At first, he barely managed to recognize the holy world of Kry-Kartune. Far back in the very earliest days of the Kryssk Domination, they had been a brutal, savage species, and indeed it was a mystery to many -- Kryssk included -- as to how they’d managed to get into space at all.

According to the ancient texts, though, when the Kryssk had first sailed into the blackness of space, and first gazed in wonder at the stars about them, the very first world that a Kryssk had ever set foot on aside from the home world was Kry-Kartune. There, much to their surprise, they encountered a mysterious Kryssk who walked among the sands, who neither ate or drank, and yet never grew famished and never thirsted, and called himself Kry’Thala.

Persuaded by the crew of that very first Kryssk ship, Kry’Thala stepped aboard their vessel and was taken back to the Kryssk home world, where he spoke to the Kryssk people and calmed them, hardening them into amazing warriors. Before long, he departed once more, leaving the Kryssk after spending most of his life with them. Presumably, he went away to die. He left them The Tome de Kry’Thala, the Holy Book of his word by which all loyal Kryssk lived their lives. Then, he sailed away. It was said that he returned to Kry-Kartune where he remained, ever-walking the sands of the Holy World. Since those ancient days, no Kryssk had set foot on the surface of Kry-Kartune, nor scanned the world, or done anything to reveal whether or not Kry’Thala still strode through the sands of the barren world. It was a matter of faith that he was still there, and that was all there was to it.

And now…here Krythe stood, with the holy sands of Kry-Kartune blowing about his scaled legs, whipping the shreds of the loincloth he was apparently wearing about, as it clung precariously to his hips.

Across the seas of sand, over a pair of dunes, his sharp predator’s eyes detected motion, and instantly his hunting instincts came alive and ready, his muscles as coiled as a spring. His claws unsheathed, and he clenched his hands into fists…and only then became aware of the long, curved, wickedly serrated dagger that he held clenched in his right fist.

Curious. He’d not been aware of picking up any such weapon. It had just…appeared in his hand…much as he had seemingly appeared on the plains of Kry-Kartune.

Still, mysteries such as that would get him killed, were they debated for too long. So, refusing to think about the fact that he was no longer on the Leadership Kraith, and refusing to imagine why he’d a weapon in his hand, and only a mere loincloth on, Krythe scanned the horizon once more for the blur of motion he’d seen a moment earlier…

There! From his vantage point atop a shifting dune of sand, he could faintly make out a black shadow, moving through the blowing sand, going against the flow of dust that the wind created. The moment he spotted it again, he was off, leaping down the hill immediately in a full-tilt run, falling to all-fours as his predatory instincts took over. He flew across the sand, his claws sinking into it only long enough to shove him off the ground again, his hands and feet moving in perfect coordination. The dagger, he quickly shoved into the back of his loincloth, letting the strap hold it in place so that he could run all the faster.

Down he ran, into the valley between dunes, and then once more he went upward, ascending the side of the dune until he stood at its very peak. Once more, he paused, coming up to stand on his legs once more. His jaw hung open slightly as he gasped for breath. For a moment, he simply stood there and breathed heavily, only partially scanning the horizon for the mysterious figure he was in pursuit of. Then, his thoughts wandered…and he couldn’t help but wonder why he was having so much trouble breathing.

An able, agile hunter, Krythe had never once had a problem with breathing. He would have had to run a countless number of miles before his lungs began to hurt, such as they were at that moment. It was both puzzling and alarming, and he felt a bit of panic well up within himself at the thought of not being in perfect condition.

Suddenly, something caught his eye and diverted his attention away from his worrisome thoughts about his condition. A bit of movement went between sand dunes, down below him, and abruptly he remembered his prey. Though his senses were already peaked, a very minor flare once more coursed through his body as his prey came into sight, and without a moment’s further hesitation, he lunged head-first down the hill and hit the sand with his arms, running the moment he’d impacted the ground. Inertia, gravity, and strength carried him as fast as he’d ever gone. Breath be damned. He would not allow a little loss of oxygen to slow him.

Kry’Thala help me if it does…

He hit the bottom of the hill, but did not slow, turning sharply to follow after his prey as he ran. His tongue flickered madly out of his lips as he tried to catch some scent of his prey…but as mysterious as his loss of breath, he couldn’t seem to catch the faintest whiff of another being. Were that he’d been relying on his sense of smell and taste alone, he would have believed himself to be entirely alone on the surface of Kry-Kartune.

The sand rose like sloping buildings all around him, the dunes stretching onward for so long that it seemed like he was in a canyon of sorts. It bent sharply ahead, and without even a moment’s hesitation, he plunged around that bend.

The walls went from sand to a harder rock material, rising sharply above him and forming a very real canyon, much more so than the sandy walls had hinted at before. He slowed a bit, spying a dead end ahead, and crouched low, scaled back to the jagged clay wall.

Up ahead, there was a hovel.

Hovel was, indeed, the appropriate word for it, and as Krythe looked upon it, the thought crossed his mind that it might have been too generous a description…

Where the canyon walls came together and formed another wall, there had been hollowed a home, directly into the rock face. A door and two windows were visible from Krythe’s position, and through these he could see that whatever existed within went a fair distance back into the canyon’s wall.

He was just about to look away and scan the area behind him, curious as to whether or not the mysterious figure he was pursuing was somewhere back there…but just as he began to turn his head, movement caught his attention from inside the building.

There…his prey was within the confines of those clay and rock walls.

And unless there was a back way out of the place…it was trapped.

Krythe smiled, and from his back, he withdrew the jagged dagger that he had just sheathed a moment earlier.

He slowly crept along the wall, drawing ever nearer to the door, his senses flaring in anticipation of the kill.

Some small part in the back of his mind screamed at him for reason, but it was entirely overruled by the rest of his predatory thoughts. The kill was all that matter now….the kill…

He was at the wall of the building now, crouched low so that he could not be spotted through the windows as he crept carefully toward the door. He paused, just beside the door, and listened intently.

Though he’d seen a moving shape from within no more than a moment earlier, he still smelt nothing and heard nothing. Whatever was visible to his eyes was impossible to discern with the rest of his senses, something that both puzzled and scared him. Still, though, all of his most reasonable senses did nothing to aid him and still he hunted.

With his blade preceding his figure, he slunk around the corner of the doorway, into the dark and cool house, and then froze beside the wall, waiting for his eyes to readjust...

Just as he’d begun to pick out the details of the house, though, he was blinded when the light of a million stars suddenly exploded into being.

It seemed to come from everywhere within the house…and yet, in reality, it came only from one central form. Unable to bear the light, Krythe threw his hands over his eyes, knife still clenched unconsciously in his fist, and with a hissed curse, he stumbled back and fell out of the house, falling to the ground just outside, the warm sand shifting and grinding beneath his back.

Even with his arms across his eyes, the light still shone through, burning at his sensitive eyes until it felt as though the very pupils themselves were burning with a terrible, agonizing fire.

Eerily enough, there was no sound to it all. The wind was soundless, since he was within a canyon and short of the sound of his back striking the sand -- which was a faint sound, at best -- there was nothing. The light was silent, and he did not scream out…the whole thing played out without a sound.

Though he’d fallen back, Krythe refused to remain on his back for long. To do so was to be vulnerable, something that he could not allow to continue for long.

“Kry’Thala, proto me!” He roared aloud, and with his eyes still squeezed shut, he struggled to roll over and face away from the light, ready to climb to his feet, still entirely unsure of how to handle the situation exactly.

Just like that, something he’d not at all been expecting to happen occurred.

Precisely on queue after he roared his prayer to Kry’Thala for aid…the light vanished, as though it had never been. The world was plain and clear before his eyes once more.

He staggered, surprised at the sudden turn of events, and as he struggled to remain on his guard, he whirled about to confront the mysterious prey that he’d been chasing, knife held at ready, eyes only half-open, in case some blinding light should cause him to have to shut them again.

He froze in place when he looked upon the face of his prey.

Then, without even thinking about it, he dropped to his knees, and whispered a single word.

“Kry’Thala?”

Through Cold Eyes

Pete D. Tzinski

Guest Stars
Krythe
Kel'Uma
Triphus

There were loud sounds of celebration coming from the gatheries onboard the Kraith.

They were the sounds of victorious warriors…and Warlord Kel’Uma was not entirely pleased to be hearing them as he passed through the dark-toned corridors of his mighty flagship.

Tall and broad, garbed in his glistening crimson armor, Kel’Uma strode through the corridors bravely, entirely devoid of fear, for there were none aboard his vessel who could harm him. His flowing blood-red cape flickered out behind him, licking the walls like a serpent’s tongue. In his hand, he clenched a thin data screen, handed to him just moments before by his second in command, Triphus, the Kraith’s Vessel Master. He didn’t even look at the contents, apart from the first time he’d seen them. To do so would only cause his blood to boil further, for the information contained on the screen did not please him in the slightest bit.

Very shortly, he passed a wide open door which led into a massive room, inside which a great number of his loyal warriors were gathered, enjoying flagons of the finest Piraze, a potent Kryssk liquor not meant for the weak of mind, heart, or liver. He spared only a passing glance into the room as he strode by, glancing over the jubilant faces of his warriors and wondering what, exactly, they thought they’d won.

Their riotous noise levels subsided very rapidly the moment they spied him, and quickly it seemed as somber as a tomb in there…but when Kel’Uma passed by entirely, sparing them almost no attention at all, they went back to their party-making, louder than ever since their Warlord had not deemed their celebrations inappropriate and stopped them. It reinforced the notion that they were the victors of the Terra-Kryssk War, after so long.

They were fools.

He continued to move down the corridor, his wide strides covering great distances at a time, and soon he was almost a two dozen meters away from the room he’d just passed by. He came to a halt and turned sharply about to face a sealed door that could be opened only by a combination punched in by the guard who stood just beside the door.

Without so much as a word toward him, the guard immediately sprung into action, turning about and keying a series of numbers deftly into the keypad, before stepping back a bit and inclining his head respectfully toward Kel’Uma. Kel’Uma allowed himself a faint smile at the young one’s respect of his Master. It was pleasing to see that some still knew their place…

…And where their loyalties lay.

Within the passage he now stood in, Kel’Uma had the choice of six other doors, four of them sealed with a keypad similar to the outer door. The other two were open, doors swung all the way open and locked into the wall for the time being.

“This one,” Kel’Uma said, his voice as deep as though it came up from the very bottom of a well, thundering and articulate as the smooth and flowing Kryssk language rolled off his tongue, “Open it, then wait outside.”

The guard inclined his head again as he approached, keying in another number with as much speed and efficiency as he could. Then, with a murmured, “As you command, Warlord,” he turned quickly and departed, sealing the outer door behind him.

The door paused only a moment, typically to allow those who had opened it to step back, away from the small room’s occupants, then it slid open, locking itself back against the wall.

The room was a meter in diameter and was perhaps three meters tall, barely large enough to hold a male Kryssk. There was nothing in the room; No illumination, no bed, no refreshment facilities…nothing but a drain in the middle of the slightly sloped floor.

And, of course, the room’s occupant.

Krythe.

The Kryssk who had been captured by Earth had, in turn, been recaptured by the Kryssk…and much to Kel’Uma’s dismay, he’d returned spouting nonsense that the entire war was nothing more than a mistake. An error. A misunderstanding. It was not only outrageous, it was blasphemous, and Kel’Uma scowled at even the faintest recollection of the nonsense which Krythe had prattled on with when he’d first returned and stood in Kel’Uma’s presence.

At that very instant, when Kel’Uma took a step toward the cell in which Krythe was contained, the former Earth-held Kryssk was sitting on the floor of the cell, legs crossed, hands folded placidly in his lap. His eyes were squeezed shut and his head was lowered slightly. To a passer-by, it might have seemed like he was asleep, but Kel’Uma knew better. He recognized the rhythmic breathing from Krythe’s chest as similar to some ways he’d spent his own evenings.

Krythe was deep in meditation.

…And right at that moment, Kel’Uma couldn’t have cared less.

He took a long stride forward and reached down, snagging Krythe’s thin shoulder in his own massive, muscular hand, and with a single pull, he halfway-hauled Krythe to his feet. By that point, reflexes took over and Krythe snapped the rest of the way up of his own accord, his eyes now open and staring wildly at Kel’Uma, entirely unfocused.

“Kry’Thala…?” Krythe whispered, staring at him in confusion, his right hand held outward as though he were holding something in it besides particles of air.

Irritably, Kel’Uma reached out and lightly cuffed Krythe across the face to snap him back into the present world.

“No,” Kel’Uma growled, “You’re not yet looking into the face of your Maker…but unless you quickly tell me that which I desire, you shall find yourself doing so with great haste.”

Whether it was Kel’Uma’s blow, or his words, Krythe was quick to focus his attention, and in an instant he stood tall and proud before the other warrior, looking very much like a Kryssk out of ancient times, garbed only in the simple loincloth that was afforded a prisoner. When he’d been tossed into the holding cell, his armor had been stripped away from him, a sign of his loss of rank.

Krythe sighed and glanced down, away from Kel’Uma. He looked back up somberly and said, “Warlord, I’ve already told you: I know nothing of Earth and their plans.”

“And I have told you that I believe none of it,” Kel’Uma returned. He thrust the data pad that had caused so much ire on his part outward, holding it for only a moment until Krythe hesitantly took it from his hands and keyed it to life, the pale green light of the screen filling his cell with a light that it did not normally receive.

Not at all interested in waiting for Krythe to finish reading all the information present, Kel’Uma continue to speak aloud, summarizing what he needed of the information to make his point.

“You say that you know nothing of Earth and their plans…but I find it curious that you should be gone for two years and learn nothing. Furthermore, I find it difficult to believe you when, shortly after we assault the Earth fleet and bring you back into the folds of the Domination…Earth suddenly surrenders almost fifteen sectors to us, the ships guarding those sectors mysteriously vanishing!”

Though Krythe’s head was bent and looking at the information screen, his eyes did not flicker in a manner that would indicate he was reading anything that was present there. A short moment later, he looked up and met Kel’Uma’s eyes and said quietly, his voice a low whisper, as quiet as the rustling of a desert wind, “I know nothing, Warlord. I have nothing to tell you, but to give a warning.”

A warning.

That stopped Kel’Uma’s lines of thought, all of which were racing along at speeds that exceeded that of even light. The mere concept of a traitor such as Krythe, locked within a miniscule prison cell deep in the bowels of Kel’Uma’s mighty warship, giving a Warlord a warning was laughable…but there was something in the serious look which Krythe was steadily gazing upon him with that caused him to refrain from laughing aloud in contempt.

“Really,” Kel’Uma hissed, for the most part uninterested, “And what, exactly, is this warning that you would offer me, prisoner? Not more of this foolish prattle of yours, I hope.”

Krythe took a step forward, coming to the very threshold of his cell, a scant few inches between himself and Kel’Uma. It was not a distance at which Kel’Uma felt particularly comfortable, and if Krythe had not been such a valuable commodity, he would doubtless have struck him down on the spot without a second’s thought on the matter.

Still, though, Krythe was important. Unfortunately, but it was true nonetheless. Though Kel’Uma had already known as much, he’d been informed by the Dominus’ Court that Krythe was not to be harmed under any circumstances. After having been amongst the Humans for so long, whatever information he had would prove invaluable.

Krythe spoke, his voice still softer than before.

“Take heed to watch your back, Warlord,” Krythe hissed, “Lest you find a dagger buried within it.”

Kel’Uma’s nostrils flared wide warningly and he took a step back, losing patience with the fool of a Kryssk that stood before him.

“You would threaten me?” Kel’Uma thundered, his full and terrible presence impossible to ignore as his anger seemed to give rise to his physical form, “You would dare?”

“I dare much,” Krythe returned smoothly, “And I dare greatly…but this is not an occasion on which I have risked at all. I make no threats. As I said, I wished only to give you a warning, and one that I pray you heed. Not all is as it appears in this, our ultimate Blood Oath, High Warlord Kel’Uma. It is not only a game of swords, but a game of mirrors as well, and discerning the two is difficult, yet failure to do so is deadly.”

“You speak in nothing but riddles and puzzles!” Kel’Uma growled, no longer even remotely interested in what the prisoner had to say. Whatever information he had on the movements of Earth vessels would not aid Kel’Uma at all. Of that much he was certain.

He was told he could not harm Krythe. He was under strict orders on that matter…

However, nothing had been said about leaving him locked in the dark confines of his cell to rot for as long as he could.

“Riddle yourself in the darkness, vermin,” Kel’Uma snarled. He reached over and touched the keypad, pressing only a single button to close the door to Krythe’s cell where the guard had needed to press many in order to open it, “Your riddles and your puzzles shall be your only companions for a long time in the darkness. Then, at the end, your final meeting shall be between my claws, and your throat.”

If Krythe had had any intention of replying, he was given no chance to do so. Almost to the instant that Kel’Uma finished speaking, the door shut firmly with a hiss, leaving Krythe once more stuck in the confined darkness of his cell.

As far as Kel’Uma was concerned, he could stay in there until Kry’Thala himself had returned…

With a swirl of his blood-colored cloak, Kel’Uma keyed open the outer door of the cell area and marched away from the vicinity, heading down the corridor from which he’d come, not all that long ago.

Within minutes, he could hear the jovial sounds of his crew, still partying because of their alleged good fortune. Once more, Kel’Uma intended to pass the room, uninterested…but as he neared, something gave him cause to slow and pause, just outside of the room’s door.

“A toast is what I propose!” Came a loud, slightly slurred Kryssk voice.

“To the fall of the vermin!”

“Lamatóne!” came the rousing victory call back.

“To the victory of the Kryssk!”

“Lamatóne!”

“To the eternal rule of the Dominus!”

“Lamatóne!”

If there was another cheer on the slightly drunken Kryssk’s lips, he did not get a chance to utter it. Kel’Uma stepped around the bend and into the room. The moment he came into sight, another Kryssk reached up and lightly slapped the toast-proposing warrior on the stomach, causing him to silence himself. He glanced around dazedly for a moment, then spied Kel’Uma and very quickly stood upright properly, though he wavered a bit unsteadily.

“Warlord, a thousand pardons,” Said one small, lithe Kryssk who stepped forward and inclined his head respectfully, “I trust our celebration does not displease you?”

“They do not,” Kel’Uma rumbled, keeping his voice placid as he spoke, his hands folded behind his back, keeping his cape pinned behind him as he added, a bit louder and more forcefully, “Not in the proper time, and the proper place. When a victory is gained then the celebrations shall be everywhere.”

“But have we not gained almost total victory over the vermin?” The lithe Kryssk asked tentatively, glancing back at his fellow comrades for support, though all of them were nervously avoiding looking at anyone but Kel’Uma.

“Almost is not a victory, warrior,” Kel’Uma chided, surprised that no anger arose within him over being questioned. The other one was young and clearly fresh to the War. He did not know the way of things. Perhaps that was why Kel’Uma did not even consider striking him down, “Remember that. Furthermore, we have not yet gained even an almost total victory over the Human scum.”

“But…” Confused, the young Kryssk glanced around again at his colleagues, but none of them would meet his eyes, “But…have we not crushed their fleet? Have we not butchered their men and conquered their planets?”

“No,” Kel’Uma snarled, “We have fought a blood battle and traded their lives for our own warriors. We have lost ships and they have lost ships. We have conquered worlds that we have conquered before and may yet conquer again. A victory in battle is not the same as a victory in war.”

“I…” Obviously the young one knew when to stop arguing and give in, because he murmured a moment later, “I understand, Master Warlord.”

For a long moment, Kel’Uma simply studied those who had gathered to celebrate a victory that had not yet occurred. His glittering black eyes scanned the gathered warriors, mugs in hand, some of them sitting, not out of disrespect but because they were simply too inebriated to stand upright properly…and he smiled faintly.

It was nice to know there was still some spirit in his people’s hearts.

“No,” He said after a moment’s thought, “I doubt that you truly do, young warrior…but in time, you will.”

Much to everyone’s surprise, Kel’Uma stepped forward. The young Kryssk’s eyes widened in alarm, something that Kel’Uma had long since earned when he moved closer like that. A Kryssk such as he was inspired fear when he moved. That was as it should be.

He’d no intentions of doing the young Kryssk any harm, and in one deft motion of his hand, which caused his cape to ripple behind him, he snatched the mug from the warrior’s hand…and couldn’t help but smile when he realized that it was still mostly full. Apparently, the warrior could not handle his Piraze…

He caught the glass up and lifted it up to his scaled lips, letting the liquid flow into his mouth. It sizzled and prickled all the way down his throat, very nearly overwhelming his senses. Still, though, he drank more and more until the flagon was empty.

With a smile still spread over his lips, he set the mug down on the nearby table with a faint clank, and folded his hands behind his back once more. He studied the warrior who had first spoken to him…and something in the back of his mind told him that this one would prove himself a strong and able master of combat sometime in the future. This one was a rising star, and Kel’Uma would be there to see that it burned brightly, both for himself and the warrior.

He looked away from that single young warrior and then gazed at the others who had gathered and said in his thundering tones, “Return to your posts, and resume your duties. When the time of victory is upon us…I shall stand here, in your midst, and we shall celebrate together as fellow Kryssk.

“Until then, do not stray from your path…or I fear we shall perish.”

***

“This does not seem to flow as a dream would.”

Krythe’s words echoed through the desert, seeming so small and empty in the vastness of Kry-Kartune. He sat atop a sharp cliff, legs hanging over the edge, hands folded in his lap as he stared out over the desert that was spread below him. Golden sand stretched out forever, far into the distance where it touched the horizon and, because of the heat, seemed to blur together so that the gold and the blue of the sky were intermingled for a brief line on the horizon. It was the pure, unadulterated beauty of nature, stretched out before him…and it was beautiful.

Beside him, the figure that kept him company on the lonely world nodded slowly.

“It is not a dream, Krythe,” Kry’Thala intoned placidly, “Your mind is not creating me.”

“Then where am I?” Krythe asked, his long neck turning as he looked toward the being that all Kryssk saw as their savior, “What is this, Lord?”

“Who can say?” Kry’Thala responded slowly, as seemed to be his habit of speech on all matters, “I could tell you that you are dreaming, but you would not believe me. I could tell you that you are dead, but you would want to know how, and why. I could tell you this is a sacred vision, but then you would doubt…so where you are, I cannot say.”

“Cannot?” Krythe shifted so that he was looked squarely at Kry’Thala, no longer interested in the beautiful view. The situation called for some stern talk, “Or will not?”

“Whichever suits your purpose,” Kry’Thala responded calmly, “No matter the reason, the result is the same. I suggest you accept it, and then move on. We’ve much to speak about.”

“Yes, Master,” Krythe bowed his head in obedience for a moment before looking back at the aged Kryssk, “What, then, must we speak of?”

“Your War,” Kry’Thala replied without hesitation or emotion.

“Ah….” Krythe’s tongue flickered out of his mouth, a betraying sign of his nervousness which he tried and failed to decently contain. Somehow, oddly enough, he’d known that this was the subject they would come to discuss, and the mere thought of doing so brought a feeling of dread to Krythe’s heart. The War was not a pleasent matter, to be sure…but for Krythe, it had negative connotations that superceded the typical unpleasantness of War.

“It will be over soon, My Lord,” Krythe added after a moment of silent consideration, though he did not look even remotely toward Kry’Thala when he spoke. Rather, he returned to staring over the edge of the cliff, down at the blowing dirt that whipped about, dozens of meters below him. He would not look at Kry’Thala while saying such a thing…

He could not…

“I need not tell you, though I do so nonetheless, that this war is fought, and your young are killed in error.” Kry’Thala said, unnoticing of Krythe’s hesitation and refusal to look at the master of all Kryssk.

“I know,” Krythe murmured under his breath, just barely loud enough for Kry’Thala to hear, “I…have seen the Leviathan.”

“I also saw it,” Kry’Thala went on, “Many years ago, in the mists of your time, I encountered that terrible beast amidst the stars. The living ship, the breathing vessel…I happened upon it, and faced it…and lived to write of it on your own world.”

“So the teachings say,” Krythe replied, trying to sound as emotionless as Kry’Thala did, “So we have been taught.”

“And so it is the truth, young one,” Kry’Thala said firmly, obviously not missing the hesitation and doubt that Krythe was entirely failing to conceal, “And the truth is what you must face, here and now. The truth of the War, the truth of the Humans, and the truth of your betrayal of the Kryssk…the Humans…and myself. You must face this.”

Krythe swallowed nervously and glanced once more upon the sand dunes of Kry-Kartune. Reckoning had come upon him, unexpectedly and suddenly…and his sins were laid before him.

They would be as nails, and this moment his execution…

***

“Summoned, I am here, Warlord,” Triphus intoned from the archway that led into Warlord Kel’Uma’s private chambers, which were surprisingly well-lit. Generally, Kel’Uma preferred to keep the lighting subdued. It was peaceful that way. Relaxing. Inviting toward a meditative state, and allowed his thoughts to flow more smoothly. Now, though, there was business at hand and relaxation was not to be tolerated. All of his thoughts were to be kept sharply on the matter at hand. That matter was displayed prominently across seven separate view screens, spread all around his circular chambers.

“Good,” Kel’Uma said, his normally thunderous and booming tones rather sedated, though still easily audible. There was no need to project his voice, nor fill the room. There was only himself, and Triphus, and in such company he did not frequently spend his time maintaining form, “Come closer, Triphus.”

Instantly compliant, as was proper, Triphus came fully into the room, the door shutting behind him. Normally, when the door slid shut, the room was plunged into total darkness. It occurred to Kel’Uma that this was, perhaps, the first time that Triphus had seen the Warlord’s private chambers fully illuminated.

It was. Obviously so, since as Triphus walked toward Kel’Uma, his glittering eyes roved across the walls of Kel’Uma’s chambers, and his gait slowed as he studied everything that surrounded him. Awe was clearly evident, written across his face and noticeable even from the distance that was between Kel’Uma and Triphus.

Lining the walls around his chambers, evenly spaced, there were pictures on the walls. Dozens, upon dozens. Perhaps hundreds. Even Kel’Uma could not recall the exact number, though it was recorded somewhere. There were so many, it was overwhelming at first and almost impossible to stop and actually focus on any one picture.

Still several meters away from Kel’Uma, Triphus’ slow steps came to a halt altogether as he looked steadily toward the nearest wall and the pictures present there, the concentration on his face showing that he was trying his best to actually focus on the pictures.

“They are trophies,” Kel’Uma announced, moving away from the screens for only a moment to look closer at the pictures with Triphus, “This is my record. My history. There are all the worlds I have claimed for the Dominus, and all the worlds I have conquered for Him as well. This is my legacy, Triphus.”

“Warlord, I…” Triphus stuttered faintly as he stared at the walls, entirely at a loss for words. He shook himself and visibly tore his eyes away from the walls, turning to look at Kel’Uma as he nervously finished, “I’d not known you had served for so long, and so well.”

“If I did not know otherwise,” Kel’Uma replied with the faintest of uncharacteristic smiles spreading across his lips, “I would imagine that you seek to flatter me. Yes, I have served our Dominus long and, I like to think, well.”

The time for such discussions were past, though. There were serious matters at hand, and they would not wait.

Kel’Uma stepped back toward his screens again and beckoned Triphus to follow him. Still trying not to look at the walls too hard, Triphus walked after him. Finally, when they approached the view screens, he dragged his eyes away from the walls altogether and locked them firmly on the monitors.

“Perhaps another time, when this conflict is ended and the vermin have fallen, we shall spend some time here alone, and I shall tell you of these conflicts,” Kel’Uma said somberly, indicating the screens as he did so, “However, I have received new information from our intelligence services, and I fear that all of our efforts must now be focused on winning this war. There is a chance we may not, Triphus, and I fear the vermin may best us if we are not careful.”

Such an admission would have been blasphemous in any other company. Fortunately, Triphus was worried a little less about proper speech and references, and a little more about what exactly it was that Kel’Uma was showing him. Inwardly, Kel’Uma took notice of that and was pleased to see it.

“What has transpired?” Triphus asked, studying the screens intently as he tried to absorb all of the information that was present. Kel’Uma doubted he would do so easily. It was a lot of information, and had taken him the better part of two hours to fully comprehend. So, not waiting for it to fully sink in with his second in command, Kel’Uma simply replied to his question.

“We have, in the past day, gained almost fifteen sectors of Earth territory. They are absolutely under our control. Earth has made no attempt in the past twenty-four hours to reclaim them, nor have any scout vessels even come looking to see what defenses we have erected in those sectors.”

“Fifteen…” Triphus breathed, blinking faintly in wonderment, “By Kry’Thala, Warlord…this could very well shift the entire tide of the War!”

“That was my first assumption as well,” Kel’Uma replied, “And it was also the Dominus’ assessment. By his direct order, our fleet is dispersing to claim these sectors of space and hold them for the Domination. Many of our ships are advancing to these sectors, ready to aid us in holding them. If you take notice of this display--”

At that, Kel’Uma indicated one monitor which showed the fifteen worlds, with a good deal of information about each one scrolling in a smaller window just beside the worlds. Each world seemed to be populated, save for a couple of them, and all of them formed something of a curve, which curved toward Earth space. It hardly took a tactical genius to realize that, with the curvature of the sectors, it was entirely possible for the Kryssk to close in on Earth, slowly tightening their way toward Earth like a noose around a vermin’s neck.

That much was plainly obvious, so Kel’Uma made no effort to point it out to Triphus. Judging from the wide-eyed look on his face, he too noticed it.

It caused Kel’Uma’s hearts to swell with pride when his younger companion suddenly announced, “This is too clean and precise. They are baiting us for something.”

That was, indeed, the precise thought that Kel’Uma had arrived at…but the refrained from saying anything about it for the moment and instead said, “Have you not been told that the vermin are not clever enough for such trickery as this?”

“Of course, Warlord,” Triphus replied respectfully, inclining his head respectfully toward his superior, “However, I would be remiss in my duties to mention to you what I have seen, even if it defies what we are told. A blind soldier is very shortly a dead soldier.”

“Well met!” Kel’Uma boomed aloud, extraordinarily pleased with his subordinate’s response. It was the proper mixture of respect, with logic…without backing down from his point. A point that he felt the Warlord should know, even if it meant his life for speaking out of turn. Such exemplary devotion to the service was a rarity in those days, and Kel’Uma was pleased to see that it still thrived with some individuals.

“Thank you,” Triphus replied, hi tongue flickering briefly out of his mouth in a sign of emotion. Nervousness, more than likely. To speak one’s mind to a Warlord did not always end well for the speaker, “Yet I will confess confusion over one point. If I can stand here and take notice of this as being a trap, and I assume you have as well, then how can the Dominus order us to send ships into these sectors?”

“To answer would be to tread on blasphemy,” Kel’Uma murmured back, “But I think both you and I know what has transpired here. Someone in the Court, whether it is the Dominus himself or his Generals, has erred and done so badly.”

“And no one took notice?” Triphus said slowly, and though it was phrased as one, it was not really a question that begged for an answer, “Curious. I am a mere Vessel Master, and though I’ve learned much in my time with you, I am hardly ready, or able, to match wits with the Dominus’ Generals. Yet I notice this.”

“Precisely my point,” Kel’Uma returned, “My suspicion on the matter is that there is either something going on here which we are unable to see, and are not being told…or else, the Dominus has begun to take extraordinary risks in order to bring the War to a swift conclusion. It is the former that I hope for, and the latter I fear. A simple lack of information will not result in our destruction, as these risks might.”

“Agreed,” Triphus replied, “You have a plan, Warlord?”

Kel’Uma nodded, also pleased that the Vessel Master had already noted the existence of a plan on the part of the Warlord. To be without one would be folly, a though which he always kept in the back of his mind.

“We are venturing toward this system,” Kel’Uma declared, pointing with a single scaled finger toward one world on the map, “I have heard rumors from the three vessels we sent to that system that there seems to be a Tactical Communications Center somewhere on the world…similar to the ones we struck earlier this year. If that is the case, I think it shall be a prudent course of action to locate it and gain access to the data.”

“A wise course of action,” Triphus commended, “Have you spoken to the Dominus’ Court about this yet?”
“I have not,” Kel’Uma shook his head faintly, “Nor will I. For the time being, our communications system is mysteriously offline, and shall remain that way for now. There are wheels turning, and I suspect they are slowly and surly sealing our fate. We all know this war cannot go on much longer. I fear that our side, or their side, will do something foolish to end the war. If it is us, we may pay for the mistake with our lives. I want to know before the Dominus deems it fit to tell his soldiers. I want mine to survive. I will not let the Domination fall because of an error.”

“As well you should not, Warlord,” Triphus said, turning his gaze away from Kel’Uma to study the various screens of the planets, the ship movements, and the dispersal patterns of Kel’Uma’s fleet. There was a great deal of information present, and none of it did anything but trouble him, the worry evident on his face as much as Kel’Uma assumed it was on his own face.

“Though you already have it,” Triphus said, turning toward Kel’Uma fully and ignoring the screens altogether. He unsheathed a single claw and bared his wrist, running the sharpened point along his wrist and slicing it slightly open. Immediately, a bit of Kryssk blood leaked out, running down into his palm, which he’d cupped to catch it. He extended his hand toward Kel’Uma and finished, saying, “I swear upon my blood that I shall serve you until the day that this blood has been emptied from my veins, by your choice or in your service, Warlord. May Kry’Thala witness.”

Kel’Uma smiled. Indeed, he’d already known that Triphus would serve him. Of that, he had absolutely no doubt whatsoever. Someday, Triphus would be a General to the Dominus. Of that, Kel’Uma was certain. With his loyalty and sense of justice, he could do nothing less.

Kel’Uma’s smile widened a bit more…And he thought that someday, when Triphus rose to General, he would be kneeling in service in the court of the Dominus Kel’Uma. He would stop at nothing less…

Extending his own claw, Kel’Uma dipped it in the streak of blood that was on Triphus’ wrist, letting his claw slip into the wound very slightly, not desiring to cause much pain at all to his servant. Withdrawing his blood-stained claw, he drew it closer to his body. According to ceremony, he should have licked the blood from his claw, thus promising that Triphus blood was now his own…but unexpectedly, he did something entirely different. Instead, he extended his other full hand of claws and dug them into his garments, rending them over the location of his right heart. Then, he took the blood-stained claw and ran it across the area of his heart, leaving a small blood-colored streak over his heart.

“I accept your service,” Kel’Uma intoned, “But your blood is not my blood. Triphus, your fate is my fate. I value your life as I value my own. Your service is as vital to me as that.”

Withdrawing his full hand of claws, he clapped the hand on Triphus’ shoulder and said, “Now go. Set your courses and bring us to this Caria sector. There is work to be done if we wish to save the Domination.”

“I obey,” Triphus replied, bowing again respectfully. As he lowered his head, though, Kel’Uma caught the faintest glimpse of a pleased smile on the Vessel Master’s lips, “I assure you Warlord: The Domination will not fail.”

With that last, he turned and retreated swiftly from the chambers altogether, heading for the command deck to carry out the Warlord’s orders.

Kel’Uma stood for a long moment and stared after him. Then, muttering, “Kry’Thala, you have blessed me indeed,” Kel’Uma shucked his torn garments and sought after his armor…

***

“You have betrayed your world.”

“I have not!”

“You have broken your oaths to your Dominus.”

“I am aiding the Dominus!”

“You seek to kill your brother Kryssk.”

“I seek to save them from certain death!”

Standing tall and proud amidst the blowing sands of Kry-Kartune, his robes whipping in the now-violent wind which blew sand in a mighty storm about them, almost blinding them both, Kry’Thala looked down upon Krythe, who still sat on the sand, and glowered mightily.

“Were that you were so very certain that you are an agent of light,” Kry’Thala said grimly, “You would not be before me, atoning for your sins against your people, and against me.”

“You fail to understand matters!” Krythe said, coming to his feet. His own words shocked and astounded him. Here he was, now standing before the being that all Kryssk prayed to and looked to for guidance…and he was telling that legendary entity that he was ignorant. To even suggest such a thing in the company of his fellow Kryssk would have gotten Krythe’s throat slit faster then he could comprehend…and even Kry’Thala might have done it. For a moment, Krythe involuntarily cringed, expecting a blow to come, expecting to feel his blood seeping out into the sand, where it would be instantly absorbed. However, no such blow came, save in the form of a sharp glare which Kry’Thala leveled on Krythe.

“I see all, and understand much,” Kry’Thala growled, voice as deep as the Warlord Kel’Uma’s, “And even now, I understate that. I understand matters far better than you ever shall, Krythe del Trayan! If you’ve nothing better to say, then you would do better to say nothing!”

There was much that Krythe desired to say, but somehow his mouth would not work well enough for him to voice a word of argument against Kry’Thala. By the time he felt that his jaw would move in accordance with his mind and make the proper words come out…Kry’Thala was already speaking, and doing so with a good deal of speed and force, giving Krythe no chance to interrupt.

“You have sworn allegiance to those who are not Kryssk! To the warm-blooded vermin, and to their unholy causes. Yet even for them, you cannot fight honorably and instead sneak amidst shadow and deceit, in ways entirely unfitting of a Kryssk Master Tracker. Lies and treachery are what you know, and in their service you would sacrifice blood that is not yours to give. In every sense, you are damned to the circles of hellfire which seem to fill your heart!”

“There are no lies, nor treachery, which do not serve our world best!” Krythe shot back, a righteous fury building within him, “We fight to save ourselves from extermination, and so do the humans alongside I serve. This War has gone on for far too long and must end. It will end, because of things which we have wrought. Our people will live.”

“And your warriors will die,” Kry’Thala added grimly, “You would sacrifice lives to save more lives. For a Kryssk Warrior, this is an honor, to die for another…yet they do not know why they are dying, and in this there is no honor for them…and only dishonor for you.”

“No!” Krythe roared, a furious sound that was almost lost in the howling sandstorm about him. The sand was blowing horizontally, so strong were the winds which propelled it along. It was so thick, Krythe could barely make out the Holy Kryssk who stood before him. At moments, he was little more than a shadow amidst a blowing sea of sand.

Kry’Thala roared something back, but it was lost to the sound of blood rushing in Krythe’s ears, drowning out all sounds but a steady thunder. Suddenly, from where he’d put it in the string of his loincloth, Krythe snatched his wickedly curved knife and with the blade back in his hand, all of the fury that had been pent up since he’d begun speaking to the leader exploded into existence, like a star going supernova.

Shaking his head in contempt and disdain, Kry’Thala turned away from Krythe and began to walk away, a sign of how very little he apparently thought of the other Kryssk. The rage burning through Krythe sent him lunging forward, the muscles in his legs propelling him through the air with blazing speed.

With a roared battle cry, he slammed into Kry’Thala’s back and drove him down, to the ground. Beneath him, he could practically feel Kry’Thala’s hearts slamming against his chest, and he struggled faintly beneath Krythe…but it was too late.

With a roared shout, entirely unintelligible, Krythe raised the dagger he clenched in both hands high above his head…and then slammed it down, directly into Kry’Thala’s back and into his right heart.

He slammed the dagger into him again, and again, destroying his other heart, his lungs…He kept slamming the dagger into him…blood was everywhere…

…And suddenly, he was back in his small cell, slamming his two fists into the floor as hard as he could, the pain going through his forearms almost as if a dagger were being shoved through each hand. The pain was so sharp, he caused him to stop and he blinked a few times in the absolute darkness of his cell, wondering why he was no longer on Kry-Kartune.

It took him a long moment to realize that he’d never been there. It was a figment of a hunger-crazed mind, meditation-induced and brought to full life by a guilty and troubled soul.

For a meaningless amount of time -- since he’d no way of telling time in his small cell -- Krythe simply sat there, curled up on the floor, and stared into the dark void which surrounded him. He sat, and he contemplated the darkest parts of his soul, all of which troubled him.

And then, he did something he’d not done since he was a small hatchling…

Krythe lowered his head to his knees. For his people, for his world, for the humans, and for his own tattered soul…he wept. By Kry’Thala, he wept…

It was a long time before he stopped…

***

There was, Warlord Kel’Uma decided, nothing quite like the pitiful scream of a Human vermin who knew that he’d nothing else to lose.

He’d heard it before, on countless worlds which he’d overseen the oppression of. There was always at least one, and usually more than one. A vermin whose family had been killed, whose world was crushed, whose life was essentially over once it was in Kel’Uma’s hands. This human almost always came to the exact same end once it realized its destiny if life continued. Every time, Kel’Uma heard the same pitiful scream.

Likewise, every single time his personal guards freaked out. This was insanely amusing, since most of them had witnessed the exact same event on countless worlds before, sometimes even with Kel’Uma…and yet every time it occurred, they jumped as though it was a completely new experience to them. Kel’Uma, for his part, had been expecting it all along and would’ve been more surprised if he’d not heard the tell-tale scream of a madman.

This difference between this scream and others like it was that this one actually had coherent words.

They were shouted in English, a vermin language, and one that most of Kel’Uma’s men did not speak or comprehend. Kel’Uma, however, prided himself on fluency. He spoke his own people’s languages well enough, as well as English, Eldon, Izar’Dian, and several others. It was something of a useful skill to be able to feign ignorance, and yet perfectly understand ones enemies…

“You god-damned lizard!”

The roar reverberated through the wet, humid streets of Caria VI, a world with far too much moisture in its atmosphere and landmasses for Kel’Uma’s likes. The call echoed across the buildings and stunned everyone who was present, Human and Kryssk alike. Only Kel’Uma did not jump. That, and he knew that someone else in the crowd was also calm…his reptilian eyes scanned the gathered humans who lined the streets, watching Kel’Uma’s party parade through the area. One of them was not at all shocked by this…

Rushing through the crowd, fighting through people who were too stunned to move out of her way, a young woman rushed. She seemed to be about thirty Earth-years of age, with long blond hair and a stocky, well-muscled frame that spoke of a life of physical labor. One Kryssk guard, who stood near the crowd to keep them in check, like so many others did, lunged for her but she swung a fist at him and caught him in a jaw. He was apparently not well-equipped with a lot of bone marrow in his jaw, because instantly the Kryssk crumpled to the ground, holding his jaw and writhing in pain.

She stormed forward, her eyes fixed on Kel’Uma, who was definitely conspicuous in the crowd. He was the only being present garbed in such fiery red colors, denoting his obvious important rank. Written on her face was the intent to murder, and murder none other than Kel’Uma himself.

To Kel’Uma’s sides, his personal guards recovered from their shock and brought their rifles up, already training them on her. Abandoning his search of the crowd for the one man he needed to find, Kel’Uma turned fully toward the oncoming woman. He reached to his sides and placed a gentle hand on the barrels of his guards’ rifles, pushing them down and away from the woman.

“Do not fire,” Kel’Uma muttered to them, speaking in Kryssk, “Step back. This one is mine. Keep your eyes and your weapons on the crowds.”

“We obey,” The guards intoned together, clearly none too happy about their orders. Still, to disobey would accomplish nothing but death, and so they both turned away and looked the crowds of humans. Kel’Uma ignored them all, save for the woman.

“…killed my husband! Killed my son! You damn scale head!” She was screaming, sometimes intelligible, sometimes incoherent. Kel’Uma didn’t really care either way. He was sure he’d killed her family, though not personally. It wasn’t a matter he would lose any sleep over.

She ran straight toward him, arms extended as though to grab him by the throat and throttle the life out of him with such brutality. Not particularly interested in letting her, Kel’Uma took a step forward and in a flash of motion, extended his own hand. His arms were a good deal longer than hers, so his hand impacted on her throat before hers were even close to his throat. She came to a sudden jarring halt when his muscular hand wrapped around her throat and kept her locked an arm’s length away from Kel’Uma. She coughed violently, his hand obviously damaging her windpipe…but he really didn’t care.

In English, Kel’Uma rumbled, “And if you kill me, then what? No matter what, your death is assured, vermin.”

“Take…you…with…me…” She managed to get out amidst a good deal of coughing and wheezing.

“I think not,” Kel’Uma countered, “I have much to do, and though you might be amusing to break on another day…I think that it would take very little time indeed. Since your death is assured, and since I would not wish to conflict with the order of things…”

As his words trailed off, his grip on her throat strengthened. He could feel her muscles clenching beneath his hands as she tried to open her windpipe and get air into her lungs which were no doubt beginning to her. Both of her hands were clasped on his own, trying desperately to pry and scratch it away from her throat. Kel’Uma fought back a mild grimace when her nails ripped across his own flesh and cut him. Still, he’d felt far worse pain and had not been fazed by it. He would not falter then. His grip continued to close.

Her face began to turn bright red as all the blood in her head found no outlet. She opened her mouth, but nothing but a sickly gurgling sound came out. He bared his fangs in triumph, the last thing that she would ever see, and held her high off the ground with the sheer strength of his one arm.

“Kry’Thala curse you,” He whispered. Kel’Uma didn’t know if she heard at all, though. Her eyes were rolling back in her head, and her jaw had gone slack. In one instant, like cutting the strings of a puppet, her entire body went slack and she became little more than dead weight in his hands.

He closed his hand entirely around her throat, reveling in the snapping and crushing sensation that shot through his arm. Then, with a mighty toss, he threw the body into the crowd, and watched closely.

To avoid being struck by the dead body which flew through the air like a rag doll, everyone scrambled madly over each other to get out of the way and to stay away from the Kryssk guards, causing a general panic in the crowd.

Everyone, that was, except for one man.

He simply took a step back and thus missed the body altogether. Though not looking directly at him, Kel’Uma studied him from the corners of his eyes. Though still frightened and worried, this vermin was calmer than the others. Moreover, there was something in his posture that none of the peaceable people seemed to have…a certain air of command.

Giving up all pretenses of being subtle, Kel’Uma strode forward toward the crowd. The vermin fell away, cowering before his looming presence. Even the man he sought backed away with the crowd, clearly having no desire to be anywhere near him. Kel’Uma lunged forward though and nagged him, catching him by the shoulder in an iron grip that allowed no escape. Whirling him around, Kel’Uma caught him by the throat. However, he made no attempt to strangle the life from him as he had the maddened woman, and simply threw the man behind him, into the street where he’d been standing a moment earlier.

The man struck the pavement and rolled, splashing through puddle after puddle as he did so. When he came to a stop, he was soaking wet and struggling onto his hands and knees, eyes locked on Kel’Uma, but occasionally darting to see where the other Kryssk were. It was this darting, a well-trained check to find one’s adversaries, which ensured Kel’Uma he’d found the right man.

He stormed back into the center of the street, toward the man. The man came to his feet and looked as though he were about to attack the Kryssk Warlord, but Kel’Uma beckoned to his guards and ordered, “Restrain him.”

They did so with surprising haste, lunging to grab him in their own claws. Any chance of escape he may have had was entirely gone now. With his arms pinned behind his back, he’d no choice but to stand and stare Kel’Uma in the face. His eyes widened in fear as the tall reptilian being approached.

“You serve Earth,” Kel’Uma growled quietly in fluent English, “And I know you run a Tactical Communications Center in this sector. You will take us to it at once.”

“Go to hell!” The man shouted back, spitting toward Kel’Uma feet and missing entirely.

Kel’Uma simply studied him placidly, letting no emotion show through his stony mask. Then, he shrugged and turned away, intent on resuming his tour of the fallen planet.

“We have our ways, vermin. One way or another, you will tell us. Since you rejected the easy way, we shall resort to some more…unpleasant means of extraction, as I’d hoped.”

Then, to the guards, Kel’Uma commanded, “Take him to the shuttle and tell Triphus to begin interrogation at once. Any results he has, he’s to send to me at once!”

Without so much as a word in response, the guards hauled the man away. The Earth officer kicked and struggled the whole way, but he could do nothing against the stronger Kryssk guards. Shouting a few random obscenities back toward Kel’Uma, the man was hauled to his fate.

Kel’Uma strode through the streets and studied the cowering faces of the humans who lined the road, watching the Warlord proceed through and murmuring amongst themselves in fear.

He studied them, and was reminded of livestock. Indeed, they shuffled and acted like nothing more than feeding animals when they were afraid. Kel’Uma couldn’t help but smile wickedly as he thought of the similarity. The similarity itself dispelled a number of worrisome fears that had been brewing in his gut.

What had he been concerned about, he thought. There was no chance the vermin could win. They were as little more than beasts when they were frightened, and fear seemed to come as easily to them as breathing. Moreover, Kry’Thala stood on the side of the Kryssk, and guided Kel’Uma down the just path.

Kel’Uma smiled.

He very much enjoyed the pitiful screams of a Human vermin who knew that he was going to lose everything and not be able to stop it…