"They're slowed down." My eyes scan the feed for Draevik. "Sector Four intersection is clear. Take them, Draevik!"
On the monitor, his silhouette towers—a shadow drowning in a sea of his own violet fire. He enters the corridor like a kinetic strike, his violet light so intense it leaves streaks of purple in my vision. He moves with a grace that defies his size, his double-hearts beating in perfect synchronization with the visceral thud of my own.
He slams into the first soldier, his hands grabbing the ridges of the man's armor and tossing him aside like scrap metal. The air in the corridor is alive with static, his hair standing on end as his power warps the reality around him.
"Advancing," Draevik notifies with the roar of his power. "The line is holding. They are breaking!"
I feel a surge of fierce, burning joy. I view another squad flanking Draevik from the ventilation ducts. My salvage instincts scream a warning. I know those ducts; they are thin, covered with a specific alloy that becomes brittle when exposed to high-frequency vibrations.
"Draevik, look up!" The warning snaps like a live wire, a sudden surge of high-voltage energy that crackles through the corridor. "I'm collapsing the ventilation manifold!"
I slam my fist onto the command key, sending a massive power surge through the ship’s environmental grid. Every footfall sends a reverberation through the floor while the ship shifts power into the dampeners. A deafening screech of tearing metal echoes through the med-bay and into the corridors beyond.
The ventilation ducts above the enemy squad shatter, raining down lethal shards of metal and heavy support beams. The soldiers are buried under the weight, their screams cut short by the absolute silence of the void.
"Area secure." I gasp for breath as I lean against the console.
K-Seven zooms past my shoulder and parks itself above the console, its tri-lens cluster cycling through a rapid damage assessment of the surrounding systems. "Unit is cataloging structural compromise in the ventilation manifold," it chirps, proving it was designated for exactly this kind of chaos. "Atmospheric integrity in the adjacent corridor is holding, though Unit recommends against collapsing any additional infrastructure in Sectors Three through Five. The ship's skeletal tolerance is approaching the threshold where 'creative demolition' becomes 'catastrophic self-harm.'"
"Noted, K." I wipe soot from my eyes.
"Additionally, Unit has been monitoring the Commander's biometric feed through the mark's passive relay. His auxiliary pulses have stabilized since your last tactical intervention. Unit believes your presence on the command deck is having a measurable calming effect on his autonomic systems." A pause. The drone's primary lens narrows. "Unit finds this data point extremely inconvenient, as it suggests you are now medically obligated to remain in a combat zone."
"You're a real comfort, Seven," I mutter sarcastically, swiping a streak of soot from my brow.
"Unit aims to serve," it chirps back faithfully, hovering just a little closer to my shoulder.
I feel Draevik’s adrenaline through the mark—a warm, golden thread that points straight to the crux of the combat.
"Excellent work, Nyra," he compliments with a fierce, quiet pride he thinks I don't notice. "I'm pushing further into Sector Five. There are more signatures heading for the auxiliary engine room. I will clear the path."
Before Draevik leaves the bridge,I drop to my knees beside the primary junction box, prying the heavy floor plate open with a grunt of effort. I plunge my hands into the guts of the ship, bypass-linking the manual hardware directly into the digital command deck to ensure Selra cannot lock me out from the outside. The ancient wires are coated in a thick, oily grime that smears across my skin, and a small discharge of static sends a puff of black soot into my face. I ignore the sting, twisting the leads until the bridge terminal chirps with absolute authority.
I wipe soot from my forehead, my eyes darting between the thermal feeds and the structural blueprints of the auxiliary engine room. The air on the bridge feels charged, crackling with the residue of Draevik’s power and the ship’s own awakening.I sense his movement through the mark—a predatory glide through the shadows of Sector Five that makes my own heart rate quicken in sympathy.
"Nyra, they are setting charges on the secondary cooling line," Draevik's voice booms continuously from the bulkhead speakers, the sound of metal rending punctuating his words.
I return my focus to the central display, my hands flying across the glass to isolate the footage. I zoom in on the sector, my teeth gritting as I spot the soldiers planting magnetic detonators. They are committed to crippling the vessel to prevent our jump. My salvage instincts scream at the sight. I know that specific model of cooling line—it’s a pressurized system wrapped in a hyper-conductive mesh. If they blow that, the thermal runaway will melt the floor plates within heartbeats.
"They’re using a standard pincer maneuver to keep you distracted while the demo team works." My fingers fly across the secondary console as I hunt for a counter. "Draevik, the demo team is tucked behind the lead shielding of the coolant tank. You can’t reach them with a direct strike."
"Then I will go through the shielding," he declares in a dangerous rumble.
"Wait," I interrupt, a sudden realization clicking into place as I study the ship’s plumbing. "Korr's fleet always relies on superior armor and heavy cover. They assume the environment is static. I will make this ship bite back."
I discover a malicious spike of code from Selra trying to lock me out of the auxiliary pumps.
"You are introducing paradoxes," Selra's voice crackles through the local comms. From the safety of theCarrion King, she is pushing her remote neural implants to the absolute limit, trying to sever my connection. Her icy, detached tone quivers with the exertion of battling the ship's living logic. "Theship's architecture will reject a human overriding its primary lockdowns. Your control is mathematically unsustainable."
She’s anticipating a flood, applying her usual cold, analytical approach to ship takedowns. I will bypass her logic entirely, unleashing the ship's raw instincts. I let out a short, sharp laugh as I let her ‘win’ the pump battle. "Watch me," I challenge the empty comms, silently rerouting the command authority to the emergency purge valves instead. I let her think she’s blocked my move, keeping her occupied remotely while I prepare the real trap.
"Draevik, step onto the primary grounding plate!" I command. "Your organic armor is insulated, but their cheap plating isn't. I’m reversing the polarity on the magnetic containment field in that room!"
"Nyra, that will ionize the air!" he yells back, though I feel his immediate compliance through our bond.
"Exactly." My thumb hovers over the purge command.
I slam the key.Virex Primeshudders as the magnetic field flips. In an instant, the armor of the Korr soldiers—iron-rich and highly conductive—becomes a liability. The massive magnetic pull yanks the iron-clad soldiers off their feet, pinning them against the lead shielding they thought was cover. Draevik remains planted, his boots securely anchored and his organic armor shedding the magnetic distortion without a flinch. Their pulse rifles fly from their hands, clattering uselessly against the bulkheads.