“Tschht… come in… tschht… this is…… tschht…. Victorious… We’ve……… tschht…… and……. tschht….. pods. Our defenses…. tschht…. Through the hull…. tschht…. Not a drill….. tschht…. Alive. Come find….. tschht…. Crescent shadow…. tschht…. Ambush.” — Recording found on a loop. Whereabouts, unknown.

  “You cannot go in there!” a servant shouted at the shadow that walked toward the throne room, “Our Lord is not ready to receive visitors this day.”

  “Your Lord meets with us when we choose, not the other way around,” they said, barely breaking their stride.

  They’d arrived a few minutes ago and marched straight into the palace with little care for the guards’ protests. Why would they care what a guard thought? The weak XanRai’d hadn’t even blocked the obvious attack that came as a response to being publicly challenged.

  Fortunately for the guard, he would have another chance to learn from his mistake in the next life.

  “I understand, your inkiness,” the servant groveled, trying pitifully to be spared.

  It didn’t matter when this creature died, the cursed Light had already tainted its tarnished silver skin. At this point, relieving the thing of its existence would do it a favor. With luck, it would even be reborn in a world blessed by darkness.

  “The Most Gifted needs time to prepare before he can accept visitors.”

  The creature was bothering them. Why couldn’t it realize that Sexton would go through that door, and there was nothing it could do to stop them? Struggling against the might of the Stygibora was futile, especially while the Hated Ones slept.

  Ignoring the servant, Sexton kicked open the door and walked down the ornate carpet. The XanRai’d prided themselves on the beauty of their art, but the Stygibora could never understand why. It was all just lines, colors, and clutter in the eyes of the collective. At the end of the carpet, an ornate wall of paper screens separated the god-king from the eyes of his people.

  “Most Gifted,” the creature mocked, “We need to talk.”

  “We surely do. Why is it you feel you can kill one of my people and barge into this room as if it were your home?” the Most Gifted asked, never moving from his throne.

  “Because it is ours. Don’t you remember? All the lands of the XanRai’d belong to us in exchange for help destroying your enemy.”

  “That is a debt yet to be paid. So far, all I’ve seen are empty boasts from a collective that sees itself as gods. Your people have lost every time they’ve faced the human military. How can we know you will honor our agreement?”

  The words angered them. Did this dignitary of unimportant people think he could turn his back on the Stygibora? Anything less than complete loyalty was a betrayal. Any species foolish enough to turn their backs on The People deserved a quick and brutal end.

  “Surely you don’t mean what you say, Most Gifted,” they replied, mocking the god-king openly.

  Around him, servants and aids gasped in astonishment at the disrespect shown to the greatest of their people. The king—the Most Gifted—was perfect and not to be questioned. One simply did not question the word of the Voice of Silver itself.

  “My people promised to pay homage to the Stygibora in exchange for freedom from the humans. Until that freedom is achieved, the XanRai’d do not, will not, recognize your authority.”

  “That is not how deals with The People work. If you refuse to bow to your betters, we will break your knees and make you kneel. This is what, your fourth planet? How many of your people have suffered at the hands of humans?” The anger in Sexton’s voice was nearly tangible as rage boiled inside.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The Most Gifted knew he needed to be careful. No matter how much he wanted to back away from the deal, it was the best move for his people. The humans claimed they would begin working with them as equals, but had immediately treated the XanRai’d ambassador like an uneducated barbarian.

  If the Stygibora could in fact remove the human threat from their corner of space, the XanRai’d could even return home.

  But was it worth the trade-off?

  “Ambassador Sexton, calm yourselves so we may have a civil conversation. I have not claimed that we wouldn’t pay our respect to your people, only that you haven’t completed your part of the deal.”

  “Calm ourselves?” They whispered, inky skin rippling in response, “You—a slave—dares to tell the Stygibora how to feel? What makes you think you have that right?”

  “Because as partners, even vassals, we have the right to civility.”

  The creature’s laugh was strange, like many voices overlapping one another in a cacophony of sound that rattled his ears. “You have no right to civility. We are not the Sa’Rashi with their customs and democracy. Did you really think that allying with us would end in victory? Autonomy?”

  “We were told-”

  “You were told what you wanted to hear so we didn’t waste resources conquering you. Once this war is done and your people are no longer of service, we will kill your stars. In fact, we already positioned the warhead in orbit around your sun. All it would take is the push of a button.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we need the metal? Because the Light is evil and must be destroyed? Because without a star, the Starborn cannot exist? Pick your favorite answer. They are all valid.”

  The Most Gifted felt horrified. Without a star in their system, it was only a matter of time before his people would die of starvation. No light meant no crops, no crops meant no animals, and without the animals, the entire civilization would collapse.

  “We see you begin to understand your place in this war, Most Gifted. We will erase your customs, enslave your people, and use your star’s alloy to defeat the wielders of the Cursed Power,” it said slowly, stepping closer to the dividing screen.

  “Your people never intended this to be a fair arrangement?” The king whispered.

  “Why?” it said, echoing the Most Gifted.

  Why indeed?

  Like the humans, these people didn’t actually want anything from the XanRai’d. They just wanted to strip them of their resources, yet only one had done so. While the ambassador was tired of being treated like a child, at least he was allowed to survive.

  If these people—these Stygibora—continued to hold the yolk of the XanRai’d, there would be no life left to live.

  The Most Gifted knew what had to be done.

  Calling on the power given to all his people, the Most Gifted drew the silver out of his body and into the shape of a mask. Even though this creature didn’t abide by the traditions, his people did. If they saw his face, even once, they would throw themselves from the palace roof in shame.

  The mask he wore was not one he’d ever felt the need to call upon. For over three hundred years, the Most Gifted has rarely needed to show God’s Rage. The twisting features crying out in the agony of war, demanding release, had remained a secret for so long.

  A heartbeat before the mask solidified, Sexton slapped the wooden frame away and revealed the Throne of the Most Gifted. Stepping forward, the creature stood upon the dais within arm’s reach of the monarch. If ever there was a time to act, this was it.

  “Kneel, Most Gifted, and show your people how weak you truly are.”

  Rising slowly to his feet, the Most Gifted stepped forward and came face to face with his oppressor.

  An oppressor that he’d willingly given his people to.

  The silver-faced man bent, swallowing his pride and accepting the fate of his people as his knee got closer to the floor.

  “Airam?” he said.

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “Get word to Wpieryu.”

  Just before his knee touched the ground, the Most Gifted called on the Lifeblood to sharpen his fingertips. Looking into Sexton’s smug face, he exploded with movement and drove the clawed hand into the creature’s stomach.

  With every ounce of will he had, the Most Gifted pumped the liquid metal into the creature, draining himself of the very thing that gave him his title. As the metal flowed, the smug looked changed in rapid succession from astonishment to rage.

  But it was impossible for Sexton to react. The volume of silver in his body was already so great that any movement was at the grace of the Most Gifted. The Stygiboran slaver thrashed in defiance, limbs dividing into a mass of tentacles as it struggled to break free of the power holding its body hostage.

  Eventually, the thrashing stopped.

  “We will fight with the humans.”

  The Most Gifted's skin, which had shone like the purest silver due to the sheer volume of Lifeblood in his veins, had become tarnished.

  Wavering, the monarch stumbled away. The mask of God’s rage was a stark contrast to the skin of his blood-soaked hand as he struggled to climb the dais.

  They had chosen their path. The humans would either help the XanRai’d, or they wouldn’t. It wasn’t fair, but what part of life ever was?

  At least this way, when they died, they would do it on their feet.