Chapter Forty-Two
"One wrong decision can alter the course of your entire life." – Coach Williams.
James
“You’re giving them a nexus vein?” Steel's voice sharpened, disbelief etched into his tone as he glared across the room.
“One more word, Steel, and you cross the line,” Elric’s reply came with venom. The tension in the air thickened, charged with the weight of the discussion. The command room, situated above the Guardian’s Hold, felt smaller than usual as the council gathered—a small assembly of power and duty. Elric, the Chief, sat at the center of it all, his presence commanding even in the dim light. Steel, head of the guard, stood rigid, his armor catching a faint glimmer from the lantern above. Vix, the smithing leader, leaned against a table strewn with sketches and tools, her hands marked by soot and calluses. Gill, second in command, appeared calm, his gaze steady as he assessed the room. James, the newly appointed outside guard, held his post not only for his skill in surveillance but also due to his connection to the village. Yet, one member was notably absent—Uma, the representative of the Weavers’ Den, who seldom attended these meetings despite her nominal position.
“Sansa’s spoken of the Taint only growing—the mountain, it’s ravenous,” Elric continued, his voice grave as he addressed the group. “The demand is justified. We need to shift, to rebalance the fragile peace we’ve held here.”
“Peace?” Steel scoffed, the dismissal in his tone barely restrained. “The Vul’Raxx aren’t just growing; they’re evolving—both in power and in ferocity. If it weren’t for Brick and his people—” He stopped, glancing at James before correcting himself, “Sorry, for Grace and his people—we’d have more blood on our hands. This isn’t peace, Chief. It’s survival at best.”
“And that’s exactly why we need to break the cycle,” Elric countered, his chair scraping against the stone floor as he leaned forward. “Are you suggesting an all-out war with the Northerners and... whatever monstrosity stirs within the mountain over a few monster attacks?”
“Grace’s intelligence gives us every reason to prepare,” Steel argued. “That bloody Vrax—or whatever they call it—is a ticking time bomb. We need to change course. We need to prepare. And what guarantee do we have that this offering will even work? Do we trust that Sansa speaks truthfully?”
“ENOUGH!” Elric’s voice shattered the rising tensions, silencing the room with a forceful command. The air grew still, heavy with unspoken words. “Yes, she is a Northerner. But she is my daughter. You will watch your words.”
James, stepping carefully into the space left by the Chief’s rebuke, added, “We still should prepare, though. My team and I can bolster our defenses.”
“To what end?” Elric shot back, his tone cooling but laden with conviction. “To strike down those who were once our people? Our kin? Am I truly the only one here who seeks to avoid bloodshed and death?”
Gill cleared his throat, his voice softer, diplomatic. “Sir, if I may?” He waited for Elric’s nod before proceeding. “I believe all of us here are speaking about the future of our people. The question, as always, is the law of numbers. Will our decisions today and tomorrow preserve more lives than our current path?”
Elric let out a slow breath, the weight of leadership visible in his gaze. “Steel, you have my approval to coordinate with Grace and his team to implement secondary defense measures. However—” his tone hardened—“everything must be cleared before activation. Our defenses will focus on intercepting intruders, not senseless killing.”
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“Thank you—”
“I’m not done,” Elric interrupted, his authority closing any attempt at dismissal. “Vix, I still expect us to willingly relinquish a nexus vein to challenge the current status quo. You’ve told me before that one vein signals a divide. Am I correct?”
Vix nodded, her voice flat but resolute. “Yes, Chief. By our calculations, it’s the oldest vein. Over the past months, it’s shifted, pulling away from its connections.”
“Then it’s a risk we must take,” Elric concluded, his voice steady with determination. “Prepare it for the village. We have days before the Northerners return.”
***
Milky Way Galaxy – Unknown Space
Coach Williams
“If this shit doesn’t just keep getting worse,” Williams muttered under his breath, his frustration barely contained as he assessed the predicament unfolding around him.
“Could they have been referencing the Prowler? As in, the 1138th Games Champion?” Viggo asked hesitantly, his tone laced with uncertainty.
“Do you know another?” Williams snapped, his irritation clear as he clenched his jaw to hold back the choice words that threatened to spill. “Tell me, is this the outcome you envisioned when you dragged me away from coaching the team meant to face the single greatest threat to the broader Cosmos?”
“I think you should know—this outcome wasn’t our intent—”
BOOM! The ship rocked violently, throwing the three men off balance as they struggled to regain their footing.
“And here we go,” Williams muttered, his voice heavy with resentment, steadying himself as the chaos intensified.
“Sir, I’m picking up a large energy signature—surrounding the ship,” Shukar interjected, his eyes fixed on the glowing, erratic patterns flashing across his monitor.
“You don’t think…” Viggo began, his voice trailing.
“Oh, I absolutely do,” Williams replied, his tone sharp as the ship’s front door exploded inward. The hinges splintered as a dense, black mist surged into the room. Darkness and electricity swirled together, forming a storm-like entity that roared to life.
The three men stood frozen in place, escape already an impossibility. In an instant, the mist coalesced into a powerful stream, flashing toward them with predatory intent.
“W-Williams…” A low, distorted humming echoed from within the mist, the sound twisting until it grew into a chilling, resonant voice. “I thought I recognized your energy signature…”
“It’s good to see you too, Balker.” Williams’s tone was unwavering, direct.
“Ohhh, that name has long since died.” The voice carried an eerie finality. “I go by Prowler now, Mr. Williams.” As the words took form, so did the figure—condensing from the swirling mass of darkness into a humanoid shape. It stood unnaturally tall, its neck unnervingly elongated, with fingers and toes stretched to grotesque proportions.
“I take it you’re working for the System now?” Williams questioned, his composure unshaken.
“Another knowing guess,” Prowler replied, his tone dripping with malice. “You should know by now that my task remains open-ended. Death is but one option in achieving my path. What you should be asking is: What options do you have in this engagement? Outside your conveniently restricted area, away from those governing the games you and I both hold dear?”
“Mr. Prowler,” Viggo interjected, stepping forward with a feigned confidence that quickly dissipated. “I speak for the CNC Games’ decision and take full—”
Before he could finish, a dark tendril shot out from the swirling mass, moving with an unnatural, deadly speed. Before the strike could land, Viggo’s body was abruptly shoved aside, propelled across the room by an unseen force. He crashed painfully into the far wall, his neck twisting awkwardly midair. The tendril snapped back, striking only the empty space where Viggo had stood moments before.
“They’re with me,” Williams said coolly, his tone measured, though his posture remained unyielding. His hand dropped back to his side as he locked eyes—or rather, darkness—with the creature before him.
“And they should know I don’t waste words on the greedy corporations,” Prowler growled. “I answer only to the System.”
“Then offer me options,” Williams replied, his voice steely. “Because if you kill me, I imagine it would create quite a predicament for you.”
“Oh, Williams… how amusing,” Prowler hissed, his elongated frame bending as though he were inspecting Williams with predatory delight. “Fate will not be on your side today.”
