NOVEL NEXT Sweet Embrace under the/ Steel Dragon
Horrid noise—the rake of claws, the choking stench of iron, the sweet scent of burning fat. Deeper and deeper, the needling feeling of desperation cried—called, there it is—the single most deafening feeling pressing hard against his skull.
"AAAAAAAAAAAH!"
Gira shot up—panicked, breathless, heart pounding. His eyes struggling in the dark, darting left and right, his muscles knotting, wrapping into himself as he slammed himself against the wall. The low red glow of the night sky seeped through his curtains, revealing scrunched-up sheets and blankets at his feet.
He ran his hands all over his body—searching for something, anything—but it was just him.
Just Gira.
He put a hand against his throat, it was dry, miserable, almost sandy.
"Oh god…" he whispered. "No…" His voice cracked into a whimper, too parched for tears.
He slid off his bed, wobbling slowly to his door, and out into the hallway. It was dark, the air cool but stale, the faint hum of the ventilation trudging along in the hall. He pressed himself against the wall, dragging himself with a jagged gait as he stumbled toward the stairs.
His sight hazy, lost in the hum, now met with the sinking dread of gravity as he wobbled on the edge of the old vintage stairs. He clutched onto the railing; the wood creaked under his feet as he wearily descended to the kitchen.
Dim light from the window traced crimson lines across the counter, guiding his eyes to the faucet. He stumbled forward, dragging himself across the counter before he slammed his lips against the cold metal. His hand fumbled at the base until a burst of water splashed against his face, spilling down his chin and flooding the numb kitchen in brief chaos. The cold bit into him—shocking him awake—as his throat greedily absorbed the soothing water.
He stumbled back, pressing his back against the cold stone counter. He brushed the lingering water off his face, his eyes settling on the world beyond the cramped dorm. Weakly, he wandered outside and onto the porch steps that overlooked the gardens. Cool night air bathed his exhausted body. His heavy eyes swept across the glowing flowers—somehow untouched by the bygone storm. Their pale petals fluttered in the breeze, drifting high into that beautiful crimson wound in the sky that spread across the purply dark blue.
Fatigue dragged him down onto the steps. His gaze lost in the celestial crack, searching for fleeting stars. A soft breeze passed through him, the brisk salty air caressing his body as he aimlessly stared into the sky. Free of worry. It was only him and the sky.
His black eyes a perfect mirror of the red glow far above—an alien comfort in beauty so disparaged.
"It hasn't been that long, has it? Since I stared up at you…sky-high red light." He smiled faintly. "Or maybe it has." He looked down at his hands, their contours deep, the red casting ominous shadows across his body.
"Mr. Gira?" A soft voice called out from across the garden path.
He looked up, his eyes flashing with faint recognition. "Mera?"
She walked over, her hands pressed tightly to her chest, and bowed."Th-Thank you… you saved us."
Gira froze, blinking in confusion. "I… saved you?"
She nodded, joining him on the steps. "Y-yes! You fought off those Caused all night for us. And when I'd given up on Mr. Serfet—you—your words…they gave me courage."
Gira's hair bits twitched. "I did?"
Mera leaned a little closer. "Don't you remember?"
He stared at her vacantly as a horrid feeling welled within as he searched his memories—but they were nothing but fragments. Flashes of consciousness here and there, the rending of flesh, the crackle of splintering bone, the raking reverberation of bone against his claws. Tears welled in his eyes as he managed a fragile smile. "I'm sorry… but I don't. It's just—my head's a mess. I can't remember things right. When I close my eyes all I see are these disconnected pieces of death. My hands, my mouth—the disgusting sloshing feeling of something fighting to not get swallowed… I—I'm sorry, I—"
Mera watched him writhe in his own skin, his hands trembling, his voice breaking. And she recognized something in that moment, past the crimson and ivory—she saw herself.
Without thinking, she pressed herself against his chest. "I-I'm no good when it comes to things like this, b-but…" She wrapped him in a tight hug, her awkward demeanor washed over by her earnest desire.
Gira fought to keep his tears in, but against the overwhelming wave of emotion there was little he could do. He hugged her tight as he cried. The two wept wordlessly under the crimson glow of the shattered night sky.
Their embrace lingered—quiet under the red glow. Its tendrils spreading wide, the red shine bathing something high above the sky. Over thirty-five thousand kilometers from Esthes-3's equator, in synchronous orbit, loomed the Leviathan's Perch—the apex of the Ermacless Space Elevator. And anchored to the counter-gravity of the far-flung space station was the imposing metal of the Steel Dragon. The vessel's massive frame, forged in the glorious image of a true dragon, housed mechanical guts vast enough for over 3 million Rak'da. Within its ancient halls, tattered banners of the Onryō still clung to the walls, its essence of steel and blood nothing more than relics of a bygone age.
Rue the rust of the old dragons—for their witnesses remain malformed and deranged in the afterglow of the last Expansion war.
Hundreds of thousands of Rak'da slumbered within the vessel's cold veins, their bodies entombed in iron wombs, their dreams drifting through the machine's endless corridors. The ship itself seemed to breathe with them—a quiet, mechanical heartbeat in the black of space.
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But caged animals only suffer. In the gunmetal halls of the Steel Dragon, unrest festered. A sect of Rak'da had grown impatient, their minds burning with old instincts, their growls echoing through the steel like thunder trapped in a cage.
Among them, a particularly massive Rak'da hung suspended in a pale blue fluid. His deformed body twitched inside a colossal containment cylinder, where wire and steel wove torn flesh and reforged his ire. Scales loosened and fell away, sinking into a substrate of wire and rotted tissue. And though his face was far from human, it carried a frown of deep resentment.
From the darkness above, a helmet descended—angular, its metal frame decorated with horns that gracefully arched forward. The Rak'da's scales bubbled as the helmet joined his flesh, covering his disfigured skull. Then, the helmet came to life as amber gashes flicked to life along the helmet, bleeding light into the chamber.
Mechanical wires descended, lowering new components into place as the black armor crawled across the rest of his body, sealing each joint with hissing bubbles as Primer/R/X-90—Balehorn—completed maintenance. Beneath him, the floor split open, a grated hatch draining the blue fluid and sludge below while jets of hot air blasted his armored frame from every angle. With a deep hiss, the cylinder disengaged, and Balehorn stepped forward, heavy feet thudding into the maintenance bay.
A smaller Rak'da chirped nearby. Balehorn answered with a low growl, striding past rows of hanging limbs and rusted machinery that swayed gently in the recycled air.
Balehorn passed through a massive industrial door and into one of the Steel Dragon's central decks—a vast arterial corridor that stretched the hollow of the Dragon's guts. His claws echoed sharply across the wide corridor, the silence broken only by the distant thrum of the Mercier Gravity Generator and the ambiance of the ventilation systems. He drew in a deep breath—the electrical sting of ozone entwined with metal, coursing into his synthetic lungs.
Though beyond our language, his thoughts weren't too dissimilar, filled with ideals, and an unquenchable desire for purity beyond what these metal halls could provide.
Gara Gara Gara Gara…
A transceiver embedded in his neck rang in his brain. He let out an annoyed hiss as he noted the caller, and answered.
"What is it, pest?" he growled, his coarse voice warping through the throat modulator.
A panicked voice replied in a hushed tone. "They failed! The Coarseblood has become their top priority! Vizor has taken over the Order—AEGIZ has lost control. Vizor is insane, his plan is beyond deranged. He's after the Steel Dragon! He's coming. He's coming for all of you!"
Balehorn's quills perked up. "I'll pressure the Titan to expedite the resource exchange," he said coldly. "You will use every ounce of leverage you have with the Tarantula."
"What? Are you crazy? The Order's rats were sniffed out!Pressure from the Court of Dissipation and Ranger High Command has reached its apex—security's tighter than ever!"
Balehorn hissed, the sound metallic through his modulator. "What of your fellow pests? Are the humans not enraged by the rangers' negligence—by their weakness in the face of that wretched disease?" He quickened his pace, stomping deeper into the vessel.
The voice faltered, thinking fast. "I-I'll try to figure something out."
"No," Balehorn growled, his voice crackling through the transmission. "You will."
"uh...Of course," came a defeated reply.
Balehorn stepped into a massive cage-like tram. "If anything new arises, contact C-1-11. I'll be sending him planetside."
"Yes, sir." the human voice answered.
Balehorn ended the call with no further exchange. The tram lurched forward, gliding along a vast, dark passage that led toward the central spine of the ship. His thoughts were in violent disarray—the few encounters with Vizor's group still burned fresh in his memory. A guttural snarl escaped him, alien static garbling through his modulator. The rhythmic clacking of the tram became the only grounding sound in the endless dark as he journeyed to the Titan's chamber.
After a long session of hugging each other both Gira and Mera had seemingly exhausted themselves, their emotional display, leaving the two in awkward silence.The cool air had settled, and a drifting cloud muted the red glow, leaving the two bathed in the dim light of the ranger lodge.
Gira had his chin on her head, his tears dried and his eyes flicked between her and the garden. What now? The thought crossed his mind as he held her, unsure when—or if—he should or could let go.
Mera similarly had been over taken by emotion and too found herself in an awkward hug with someone she barely knew. Her cheek rested against his chest as she slowly realized just how intimate their hug had become.
Why did I hug him like this? Am I going crazy? What should I do? This is bad… I mean… is it? She could hear his heartbeat, steady but rising. It's bad—well not that bad, but pretty bad… He just looked so sad and… She began to feel her face turn red.
Gira glanced down at her unfurling feelings distracting him from the grating ring of flesh in the back of his mind. Holy Symbols, she's so soft… is this creepy? Why am I hugging her like this? Why is she not moving? Is she okay with it? How do I stop? Do I stop? My leg's starting to fall asleep…
Footsteps.
They both jolted upright, fumbling and tripping over each other in a clumsy mess before finally breaking apart. An awkward pause followed as they stared into each other's eyes, unsure who should speak first.
"Why the hell are you two out here?" a familiar voice barked.
"M-M-Mr. Morray!" Gira shouted as the looming shadow Morray overtook him.
Morray just kinda glared at them. "You know, normally I don't mind relationships—but Gira, please wear protection if… you know."
"HA?!" Mera squeaked, her face burning crimson. "N-NO, SIR, I-IT wasn't—we—I—" Her words fell apart as she bolted upright and practically crashed through the door.
Morray watched her disappear somewhere in the lodge. "Hmm, did I say something wrong? I was just saying—if you have sex just make sure to wear a contraceptive. Especially you— honestly, I think one Coarseblood is enough for our little planet." He exhaled through his nose, then gestured for Gira to follow. "Anyway, we've got some talking to do."
Gira blinked at him, brain lagging behind. "What the heck is sex?"
Morray's eyes grew wide. "Oh.Ooooooh…"He let out a long, pained sigh.
Gira tilted his head. "And what's a contraceptive?"
Morray scrambled for the pills on his belt but they were empty. "...Aaaaaaaaagh…"
And with that, Gira joined the unfortunate Morray beneath the shattered night sky, as unworldly machination began to unfurl in the hush that followed the tragedy of the Môry'Plu. As the once-empty halls of the rising towers of Krreat began to fester with all sorts of people, monsters, and machines in a race to see who would lay claim to the Steel Dragon.