3.2 - Alba

  The next day was spent preparing. They didn’t leave the small clearing, but the time didn’t pass idly either.

  Alba had to hack every weapon they’d looted to make them usable. All UN.SY. firearms required a genetic fingerprint ID to unlock. Zweihander, of course, didn’t have one.

  At worst, if he tried to fire the SMG he’d taken, the weapon would recognize that he wasn’t an officer and attempt to contact the nearest comm device — the omni-com they’d salvaged — to send out an alert.

  Alba had to hack into the wrist device too. It wasn’t a big deal, she’d done it before. Hers barely had anything left in its standard form anyway.

  She tried assuming the most professional act she could manage while working. It was finally the chance to show off her skills to Zweihander — in a jungle devoid of even a single wire, there wouldn’t be many others.

  While digging through the system, she noticed something strange. Her ID was still valid. She hadn’t been flagged as a deserter yet.

  The Parvus was probably too far to reach this particular omni-com. Or maybe the warship was no more — destroyed in a catastrophic crash.

  By the time she finished tinkering with the gear, the sun was already beginning to set. The day had passed in a blur of screens and circuits.

  Now she sat at the lake’s edge, her bare feet in the water, basking in the last warmth of the light. Zweihander was perched high in a tree, scanning for pod signals on his newly unlocked omni-com.

  She looked up toward the branches.

  “Still nothing, Zwei?!” The shout echoed across the clearing.

  He gave her a thumbs-down. The Alter had become accustomed to her not-so-military hand language.

  Skyros’s capsule hadn’t pinged anything. No signal. They still had no idea where to go next. Maybe they never would.

  She didn’t mind the wait — not yet. But maybe she should have.

  Zweihander had gone out of his way to avoid certain things in the forest, and those things were still there, lurking.

  She watched him shift his weight on the branch, crouch, then launch himself into the air. At least ten meters in a single leap, toward the top of the tree.

  Alba lost sight of him. She sighed and stood, still ankle-deep in the water, scanning the branches.

  A few seconds later, something crashed down — a gust of wind and dust following it. Zweihander landed two meters in front of her, perfectly balanced.

  “Found it!”

  As if falling from fifty meters and landing without a scratch was completely normal, he walked up to her pointing proudly at the holoscreen projected from his wrist.

  Her eyes followed his finger to the screen. A yellow dot pulsed at the edge of the projection.

  “Is that it? Skyros?”

  “Yes, Alter-nerd. That’s Skyros’s capsule — our destination.”

  He turned northeast.

  “Finally! Should we pack things up and depart tomo — wait. What did you just call me?!”

  “Yes, we’ll depart tomorrow morning— ” the Alter continued, clearly pretending not to hear her.

  Alba glared, puffing her cheeks.

  “What? Yesterday you said you wanted a code name like mine or Marte’s, didn’t you?” Zweihander shrugged.

  “And you came up with Alter-nerd?!”

  “Well, you’re so good with tech and stuff — watching you tamper with all those devices, with that professional look on your face—”

  A surge of embarrassment rose through Alba. Her own act had turned against her.

  “T-that’s lame!”

  Zweihander casually grabbed his sword and pretended to check its edge, feigning innocence.

  “What do you want me to say? I think it’s...fun, at least…”

  “It’s not funny! And I wanted something menacing! like your codename!”

  “Like, I don’t know—” She hesitated, thinking harder than she should have.

  “Machine Breaker… maybe? Machine Dawn might be better…”

  Zweihander froze — then burst out laughing.

  “As you wish then—” he said, smothering a chuckle and theatrically bowing.

  “I, Zweihander, formally bid you welcome into Eclipse, Alba Fauster—”

  He forced down another laugh.

  “Machine Dawn.”

  Alba turned beet-red and buried her face in both hands.

  “I take it back!" she cried. "Okay, I said it! I take it back! I beg you, Zwei! Just call me Alba!”

  “What’s our next move, Machine Dawn?”

  He didn't listen.

  “Stop it!”

  —

  The following day — their seventh in the forest — they departed at sunrise, as planned. The undergrowth was as impervious and malevolent as ever, but rest and routine had made it more bearable.

  She was adapting, too.

  Zweihander hunted fresh and different prey each day, using only his favored weapon and never wasting a single bullet. They learned more about that place with every sunrise.

  At one point, Alba even made him try a few herbs and fruits she’d picked herself.

  He needed to earn a little forgiveness after the codename incident, after all. He’d truly be her lab rat for a while.

  They were marching northeast now, three days after leaving the clearing — only one night away from reaching Skyros’s cryo-capsule.

  “Alba, I don’t know… I think—”

  She watched him chew a handful of purple berries she’d found and thought looked edible.

  “I think this one’s poisonous,” he muttered.

  “What?! Shouldn’t you spit them out already?!” She started smacking him on the back.

  “Not that poisonous, don’t worry,” he said — then swallowed. “Actually, not half bad either. Spicy.”

  Alba sighed in defeat, then turned to other matters.

  “What would we do if we don’t find Skyros?” she asked suddenly. “Or if we find him dead?”

  It was possible. Plausible, actually. She wouldn’t have made it to the third day if she hadn’t managed to wake Zweihander — much less in that jungle.

  Skyros was a second-gen Alter: stronger, faster than a human, but nothing close to Zweihander. If he’d managed to leave the capsule, he would’ve already turned into monster food.

  “And even if we find him alive — what then?”

  They’d stopped to rest for the night.

  “You’re awfully pessimistic today,” he smiled.

  “We’ll keep heading northeast. This forest has to end at some point. And I think we’re on the right path.”

  He flicked his tongue again, tasting the air. “The air’s starting to feel lighter. The things I told you we should avoid are distant now.”

  Alba paused, thinking.

  “You know… I felt that too. Not smelled or heard — just a feeling. Like we’re moving away from the center of the forest. Like… relief.”

  She let out a soft chuckle. “But I think It’s just my mood swinging.”

  “It’s not,” Zweihander cut in.

  “You’re an Alter-human — even if only partly. Your instincts have dulled over the years. But the way we’re living now, I think they’re starting to awaken.”

  They soon made camp. Dinner was eggs from a large reptile, cooked inside the shell of an armadillo-like creature Zweihander had hunted — its carapace serving as a makeshift pan.

  Alba added a few herbs the Alter’s tough stomach had approved as edible. The result had a spicy, exotic flavor.

  After six hours of good sleep, they resumed their journey.

  They reached Skyros’s capsule as the afternoon faded and the air began to chill. Zweihander had fallen silent over the past hour, his movements sharper, more watchful.

  “There it is,” Alba murmured. “Skyros’s cell.”

  The landing pod was smaller than the one that had held Zweihander. It lay half-buried in the soil, glinting beneath a lone ray of sunlight filtering through the canopy — the greedy undergrowth already devouring its edges.

  It had pierced cleanly through the forest’s ceiling and landed almost gently, thanks to the grav-dampening parachute.

  The ground around it showed minimal damage: a small patch of scorched, plowed dirt, with new growth already pushing through the ashes.

  “A clean landing — better than ours, actually,” said Alba. “The guy should be fine—”

  She slowed.

  “Huh? Why is the door open?”

  She quickened her pace and reached the pod, Zweihander following a few steps behind. The single hatch on the cylindrical craft was wide open — the door warped and bent at the edges.

  It looked like someone had tried the same approach she and Zweihander had used to force open the Parvus pod back in the clearing, only cruder and with no welder.

  When brute force failed, they’d turned to another method — one no creature born on this planet should have known.

  The door was opened properly. That required a UN.SY officer’s ID.

  She thought of the monsters that had welcomed her to the planet with an axe throw. They surely couldn’t use an omni-com. Probably couldn’t even think of levers.

  Humans? She mused. Then why try bashing it?

  She turned to Zweihander. The Alter was crouched behind her, studying the ground.

  “Come to think of it… I get the pelts. Even the stone axes. But could those bald gorillas really forge something?” he muttered, tapping the greatsword twice against his shoulder.

  There had already been hints. She’d just ignored them.

  “Neither could they ride anything this size.”

  “What do you mean, ride?” Alba asked, frowning.

  She neared him and followed his gaze to a set of footprints in the wet ash surrounding the pod.

  Something had walked up to the capsule. An animal, maybe — a large bird or two-legged reptile, judging by the long, clawed tracks.

  Then, unnaturally, it had stopped.

  A smaller second set of footprints began from there. Like a rider dismounting. A barefoot rider. And judging by the shape of the prints — long, clawed feet — not human.

  “Didn’t the Bureau say this planet hosted no intelligent life?” Zweihander asked, brow raised. “Those creatures in the plains might’ve been an exception. But I’m starting to see a pattern.”

  “They can’t be Alters either,” Alba said quietly. It was too soon for everyone to have tamed a wild beast. “They must be born here.”

  Alba turned to the pod’s entrance, a growing knot in her chest. After grabbing a torch from her tech belt, she stepped inside.

  A faint trail of dried blood streaked the floor. Following it, her light caught the cryo-capsule.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Its lid wan bent and cracked — bashed open.

  She knew well that no officer ID would have worked on it.

  “It’s empty,” Alba said, turning toward Zweihander still standing outside.

  “Can you find out who opened the pod, Machine Dawn?”

  Alba gritted her teeth, then sighed.

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that — and yes, I can. I’m just trying to figure out how. This wasn’t the work of humans — and yet it couldn’t have been done without a valid ID.”

  As she swept the beam of her torch along the walls, something caught her eye.

  At first it looked like a dead spider flipped on its back, legs curled tight.

  Gray-green. Half-rotted. Crawling with tiny alien insects. It took her a second to realize what she was looking at.

  “I-is that a hand? A-a human hand?” she stammered.

  It was.

  Severed at the wrist, a chunk of palm missing from what looked like a bite mark. It lay near the back of the capsule, half-sunk in dried blood. Discarded.

  Zweihander stepped beside her, scanning the interior with his sharp golden eyes.

  “T-this makes less and less sense, Zwei,” Alba muttered.

  The sight didn’t faze her much after the initial shock subsided — not after the charred bodies in the Parvus pod. That had been worse.

  “Torture. Or punishment, perhaps,” he said quietly. “Looks like the crash survivors will have to survive a few more things.”

  Zweihander suddenly stepped out of the pod and began circling the area.

  “They were at least ten — fifteen, probably. All males. All mounted. Their weight and height — a little above human average. And—”

  Zweihander paused and crouched low, studying the ground. He pointed at two sets of footprints.

  “There were two humans with them. One barefoot. Both bleeding.”

  Then the Alter moved to the side, facing the capsule’s entrance.

  “Skyros was dragged out — unconscious. Still more than half-frozen, but alive.”

  “Alive?” Alba asked, doubtful.

  “Told you — these capsules won’t kill their hosts.”

  He flicked his tongue lightly, tasting the air — then fell silent.

  “This happened no more than two days ago,” he said finally. “I’ve picked up something.”

  “Now to find out where they took him." He turned to her. "And who.”

  Alba smiled wryly; the literal glint of amusement in his eyes didn’t look promising.

  “Find out who opened that cell, if you can, Nerd Dawn — and any useful intel,” Zweihander's tone was almost a command now — if not for the tease he’d slipped in.

  “We’re moving after that.”

  —

  As the sun began to set on yet another day, they moved northeast, making camp a few kilometers away from Skyros’s landing site.

  “Lieutenant Commander Leilai. He was with the Navy personnel on the Tabula Picta. He’s the one who unlocked the door.”

  “Mhm... Tabula Picta? He came out of a civilian pod, then — any nearby?”

  “Let’s see…”

  A holoscreen lit the area faintly as she searched the map, one hand under her chin. No fire was lit tonight.

  “There’s one, eighty kilometers east — and it’s sending an SOS. Do you want to go check it?”

  “Not my priority. We won’t get much from a civilian pod right now.”

  Alba chewed on a canned ration that was supposed to taste like salmon instead of replying.

  Zweihander wasn’t here to rescue humans.

  “Straight for Skyros, then… who or what do you think we're dealing with?”

  “Not a smell I know,” the Alter replied flatly. “But they can’t be weaklings — enough to survive this forest and handle a group of armed officers.”

  They kept chatting quietly for a while — until Zweihander jolted upright and gestured sharply.

  The same sign he’d made before the serpents attacked.

  Keep quiet.

  She reacted instantly, pulling down her night-vision goggles.

  Nothing. Only him and the trees.

  —Then she heard it.

  *GLUCK—clak-clak-clak-clak-clak-clak-clak-clak.*

  It began as a single suction-like pulse echoing from afar, then grew into a dull, snapping rhythm — like two wet stones being tapped together again and again.

  Another gesture from Zweihander: hide.

  Alba nodded, slid behind a nearby tree, crouched low.

  But she wasn’t defenseless this time.

  From her pack, she drew the Gladius-60 — the assault rifle from the Parvus pod.

  The gun was loaded with self-propelled bullets that detonated on a delay: micro-rockets designed to pierce and then explode, shredding whatever they hit.

  She flicked the safety off. The rifle chambered its first round with a soft mechanical cue.

  *Zoom—TAK.*

  —Not soft enough.

  Zweihander’s eyes snapped toward her, as the sound began to echoe trough the trees.

  Rookie mistake. She realized.

  Another rhythmic sound answered.

  It was louder now, like it was aimed straight at them.

  Then a chorus of the sound rose.

  Afterwards, silence.

  Alba held her breath as tightly as her weapon.

  The forest rustled. Something was coming.

  Zweihander faced the direction of whoever was coming, planting his sword in the soil before him to bar the way.

  Her heartbeat quickened as the rustling turned into footsteps. Heavy and deliberate: the stride of beasts approaching.

  She pressed herself to the ground, eyes locked on her companion. And then they appeared.

  “SORF!”

  The sound burst from a creature’s throat — guttural, slurred. But it was still a word. A word in an unknown, alien tongue.

  The one who had spoken reined in its mount nearly three meters from Zweihander.

  He sat tall and proud atop a raptor-like beast — two-legged like an ostrich, but the size of a horse, covered in a scaly hide whose color vanished under Alba’s night vision.

  Sparse, bristly plumage sprouted from its narrow head and robust neck. The skull resembled that of a prehistoric vulture: small cranium, lateral eyes, a long snout ending in a hooked, bony beak, teeth jutting from the edges of the jaw.

  Its muscular legs contrasted with the scrawny, three-fingered upper limbs folded tight against its sides like naked wings. A heavy tail swayed behind it.

  The rider dismounted nimbly.

  More followed. Five others on similar beasts surrounded Zweihander.

  The first creature stepped forward and, facing the Alter, repeated that same rattling sound:

  *GLUCK—clak-clak-clak-clak.*

  It was stranger to see than to hear: the suction pulse came from the creature swallowing its long tongue, the dull clicks from snapping it against the back of its throat. Up close, it was deafening — but it didn't felt outright hostile.

  A call maybe? She thought.

  Zweihander didn’t move as the sound washed over him.

  “Ei hu-wann — wo wei,” the creature muttered.

  Alba watched, unmoving, as her goggles caught their features fully.

  Humanoid silhouettes — tall, broad-shouldered — but faces feral.

  Flattened noses like severed stubs. Jaws thrust forward, lined with canine teeth. Bristly hair running down the back of the skull and down their backs into narrow manes. Ears long, furred, curved inward like half-cones.

  —They wore clothes.

  At least trousers. Some were shirtless, others in sleeveless jackets or leather armor.

  Their abdomen was pale, mostly hairless skin mottled with dark spots and nix nipples like dogs.

  But if she had to sum them up from their ears and faces: not dogs — but bat-people.

  Every one of them carried weapons: spears, hatchets, clubs.

  The leader was the largest and best equipped: a curved iron greatsword not unlike Zweihander’s, leather cuirass, matching bracers amd shin guards.

  He sniffed the air, snarled, and barked an order: “KORSIK! Tin hu-wann saargh! Ishget wannhett peut!”

  The others answered with rattling calls that almost sounded astonished. Then the leader pointed at one of the soldiers behind Zweihander.

  “Bluttar! Hu-wann mun!”

  He stepped back to his mount as another dismounted and approached.

  This one looked… different.

  Less feral — more human.

  His face less protruding, ears smaller, no mane — just dark hair down to the base of the neck. He wore a sleeveless leather jacket.

  After a short exchange with the leader, he turned toward Zweihander, raising open palms in a pacifying gesture.

  “Hal… hal… hallo?”

  Alba’s eyes widened.

  No way.

  “Me in pease… me fend? Eh?”

  The creature was trying to speak UN.SY.

  Zweihander tilted his head, curious but silent.

  “Y-Yo und-stand me?” the alien said, uncertain.

  The Alter clicked his tongue, irritated, then gave a short nod.

  “Hu-winn… w-womman? Eh?”

  The bat-person pointed straight at Alba, beckoning her.

  “Alba. Come out,” Zweihander said evenly. “Looks like our guests have sharp senses.”

  She stood, stepping into view. A rider shifted aside, gesturing for her to enter the ring. She moved closer.

  “Faupuck! Faupuck!”

  The aliens shouted in alarm, pointing at her rifle. They knew what it was. That it hurt.

  “Lower your weapon,” Zweihander said calmly. “We don’t want to upset our guests — not yet.”

  Alba hesitated, then slowly laid the Gladius on the ground. She still had her pistol.

  And the real weapon was him.

  The circle tightened as the riders urged their mounts a step closer — one by one, no clear pattern. But at least they looked calm now.

  “Yo ski m-man?”

  The bat-person continued, struggling through the UN.SY. tongue. He pointed his clawed finger upward, gesturing to aid communication.

  “He’s asking if we came from the sky,” Alba whispered.

  “Yeah, thanks, Alba. I can get that much.”

  “At least let me be the brains!” she hissed under her breath.

  Zweihander ignored both her and the alien’s efforts at negotiation.

  Alba’s gaze flicked from one creature to another.

  They might be the ones who took Skyros.

  One thing was certain — they had met humans.

  The alien negotiator stepped forward and curled his wide mouth into something that might have been a smile. All his teeth were predatory, though smaller than those of his peers.

  “Yo saargh, eh?” He flexed his arms, puffing his biceps in the universal strong pose.

  “He’s asking if—”

  “I know, Alba,” Zweihander cut her off.

  The alien then pointed at the Alter’s sword — and at the leather wineskin still strapped to his pack, the one they’d taken from the monster.

  Alba frowned, not following.

  “Yo wannhett... kill?”

  He pointed again at the two objects, then made a gesture she didn’t like at all — a finger dragged across the throat.

  Clear. Unmistakable.

  Alba began to speak, but Zweihander was faster.

  “They want to know if we killed the owner of the sword and wineskin.”

  “They live here — they might know about those creatures,” said Alba.

  Then realization hit. The creature wasn’t being friendly.

  He was measuring them.

  To these humanoids, those pale gorillas were known enemies. If the newcomers had slain them — taken their things — then attacking might come with a price. The pack leader’s earlier caution suddenly made sense.

  She saw Zweihander smile.

  “Alba. Pull out the pelt we wrap our food in.”

  That came out of nowhere.

  She didn’t know why — but didn’t question him. Slowly, she reached for his backpack and drew out the pelt while Zweihander gestured for the humanoids to stay calm.

  He handed it to the negotiator.

  The alien inhaled deeply through his nose. And that’s when she understood.

  Zwei doesn’t see the world like I do. And neither do they.

  Their ears: long, cupped, constantly twitching. Their eyes were clearly able to see in the dark. And their noses, always tasting the air.

  Zweihander was showing them how dangerous he was without lifting a finger. The pelt told their story — a tale of hunts, to those who could read it.

  Every enemy and prey he’d slain had been wrapped in that hide.

  The negotiator’s eyes widened. He understood.

  Turning sharply, he brought the message to his leader.

  What Alba judged as the alpha of the pack took the leather pelt and pressed it to his face, inhaling hard.

  Then he froze — thinking. A low growl rumbled from his chest.

  “Wann-hett. Gron Duph Ub-ul. Fimik peurath.”

  He nudged his mount forward, eyes gleaming through Alba’s goggles.

  *GLUCK—clak-clak-clak-clak.*

  The alien opened his mouth again, that awful sound bursting out — not in aggression, but confirmation.

  Like he was trying to verify something. To see in a way she couldn’t comprehend.

  Is that some sort of sonar?

  Bat-people, truly.

  “Tin hu-wann… saargh jaart,” the alpha of that pack muttered. Then he turned and made a sharp wave with his hand.

  He wan't us to follow him, Alba realized.

  “What are we gonna do?! Are we seriously going with them?!” Alba hissed.

  “Why not? Shouldn’t we try to blend in with the local culture?”

  “Zwei! Damn it! How can you joke at a time like this?!”

  “What should we do then, brains?”

  Alba exhaled hard.

  They followed.

  —

  A couple of hours passed as they moved through the forest in the dead of night.

  The aliens guided their mounts with uncanny precision — never brushing against a branch, never slipping.

  Their leader rode at the front; the others followed in pairs.

  Every so often he emitted that dull sound. Probing. Scanning. For danger — or maybe for prey.

  Nocturnal hunters, led by echo.

  Alba and Zweihander walked among them.

  The situation was unnerving.

  She didn’t know where they were going, couldn’t see clearly even with her goggles on.

  She just kept following.

  The humanoids sometimes cast glances her way.

  Creepy ones.

  Ones she didn’t want to interpret. One even tried to offer her a seat on his mount. Repeatedly.

  Alba felt those predators could smell her fear.

  But she knew he could smell theirs too.

  They were scared of Zweihander.

  Whatever the creatures had learned from that filthy pelt, it was enough to keep them from meeting the Alter’s glowing eyes.

  The pack was mostly silent, but now and then whispered among themselves in that jagged tongue.

  She couldn’t understand a word, except one that surfaced again and again: Jaarmuth.

  Sometimes spoken with fear, sometimes with what sounded like reverence.

  The humanoid she now reffered to as "the Interpreter" — the one who had tried to speak UN.SY. — rode at the rear, quiet and apart. His kin ignored him, and he ignored them.

  He was probbaly too human. Too different — an outcast.

  She watched him and felt a small, bitter thread of empathy.

  Eyes down, she kept her thoughts moving just to stay calm.

  The sun still hadn’t risen when they reached something that looked like a clearing — long, narrow, unnatural.

  A path.

  “That’s it. Perfect.”

  She turned to the one who’d spoken — Zweihander.

  His arm shot toward her, grabbing her by the belt.

  “Z-Zwei!? T-this is not the time for—”

  “Sorry.”

  He tossed her like she weighed nothing.

  Alba yelped as she flew over the riders, slamming chest-first onto a thick branch at the path’s edge.

  She managed to cling to it, coughing.

  “Why did you do that?!” she shouted down — and then froze.

  Electricity surged below.

  Ars Arcum had lit the forest again.

  Four riders were thrown from their mounts before they even realized she’d vanished.

  The beasts hissed and screeched, bolting in every direction.

  One humanoid managed to wrestle his mount still, gripping its neck. Two others lunged at Zweihander in unison.

  —Unwise.

  Holding his weapon in one hand, he made the curved blade hiss once. Both were cut diagonally in half in a single clean strike.

  A cloud of blood burst through the air.

  Another rider charged, still mounted — spear leveled at Zweihander’s chest.

  The Alter slipped aside — in the same motion brought his blade down, cleaving mount and rider together.

  Only the alpha remained mounted, alongside the rider Alba had seen earlier — the one who’d calmed his beast.

  Zweihander assumed a guard stance, sword overhead. An invitation.

  The alpha shouted.

  They charged.

  A flicker of lightning — and Zweihander vanished.

  In a blink, he was behind them, crouched slightly as if he’d just landed from a leap.

  One of them was headless.

  The other… chestless.

  Their mounts thundered on — corpses atop them.

  The battle had ended in seconds.

  She hadn’t even had time to process it — much less grab her rifle and start shooting.

  It had been a perfect sniping position, too.

  She watched as Zweihander cleaned the blood from his blade with a powerful swing.

  “Being an FPR foot soldier during the war...” she muttered, swallowing. “Must have been pretty bad.”

  She dropped from the tree and ran to him.

  Zweihander was walking toward a moaning, struggling shape on the ground — the only one left alive.

  Pinned beneath his dead mount, legs trapped, was the Interpreter.

  That wasn’t a coincidence.

  Alba glanced at his reptile mount's s throat — slit clean.

  That wasn’t a coincidence either.

  That beast had been Zweihander’s first kill. All accounted for.

  “Z-Zwei... are you going to kill him too?” she whispered.

  “That depends.”

  The humanoid managed to pull free from the carcass — only to meet Zweihander’s hand. The Alter seized him by the throat and lifted him until his feet dangled.

  “Hello, friend. You really thought you could fool me with that pathetic act?” he mocked.

  “Aah... aah... please, n-no kill me! Aah! No k-kill me! I beg! I beg!” The creature thrashed helplessly in Zweihander's grip.

  “Don’t waste your breath.”

  The hand tightened — barely perceptible, just a shift of fingers — but the alien’s face swelled red, veins bulging, ready to burst.

  “Zwei!” Alba shouted.

  He released him.

  The alien collapsed, gasping, then buried his face in the dirt at Zweihander’s feet.

  “Please no kill me! I beg! Forgive! Let go! Let live! Let live!”

  “Curious vocabulary,” Zweihander said coldly. “You know a lot of words when it comes to pleading for your life. How did you learn them, I wonder?” He smirked. “What were you doing when you heard them?”

  Alba didn’t understand what he meant — but his tone made her skin crawl.

  “A-ah...? M-me no u-understand! Please! Have mercy!”

  He crouched beside the Interpreter.

  “Let me give you one small piece of advice, alien,” he said softly. “If you want to act like a friend... pick your meals better next time.”

  He grabbed the leather of the alien’s jacket and hauled him upright.

  “Let’s see what you’re hiding — inside.”

  “Me no—”

  Zweihander’s fist slammed into his gut.

  The force was devastating.

  Alba saw the alien’s spine bulge, then the body was sent skidding on the ground meters behind.

  “Zwei! That’s enough!” she shouted. “Why do you have to torment—”

  The interpreter tried to rise but crumpled again. Then began to vomit.

  She froze.

  Something had fallen from his mouth. Something intact among the contents of his stomach.

  A human pinky finger.

  She was reminded of the hand in the capsule. Severed. Bitten. After that, discarded.

  The realization hit a second later.

  “T-t-they e-eat—”

  “They’re eating humans,” Zweihander spat. “They’re food to them. And they probably wanted the same for us.”

  He stepped forward again.

  “The stench of blood in your breath — you thought I wouldn’t notice?”

  The alien crouched on his hands and knees, retching and shivering.

  “You learned to speak from those who begged for mercy.”

  Zweihander paused, watching the alien crawl to a seated position.

  “Those words you know so well,” the Alter continued with measured tone, “they’re the words of prisoners. The ones you tortured. The ones you killed — and then ate.”

  Alba couln't say anything. This world was beyond hostile.

  But her civilization had probably seen worse. She hadn’t witnessed it.

  But the man in front of her had.

  “But don’t worry, new friend,” Zweihander said softly. “Maybe I’ll spare your life.” He patted the creature’s shoulder lightly.

  “The scent of blood was strong even where I come from.”

  The humanoid looked up at him — confused and still coughing. Zweihander stared back.

  “You'll see... we’re not so different.”