Finally, Ares reached the command-pod, where dozens of Naaga were throwing themselves onto the sekkhoi throne. They formed a writhing swarm of bodies; a sea of blue-and-white chaos amidst the cold splendor of the command pod.

Insanity. What were the fools doing? Nothing the Naaga did made sense. He still didn’t understand what they stood to gain by being on the Hythra. Why were they trying to take control of this defective ship? Aside from its ilverium body, what dark power did the Hythra contain to make her so alluring to the blue ones?

One of the Naaga shook his head in confusion, unaware of Ares’s approach. Several of the blue ones turned toward the speaker. “The Vradhu is dead. Why is the Hythra not responding to our advances? Surely she must now accept a Naaga commander again. There is no-one else left to occupy the seat.”

“Perhaps he broke her,” one of the others murmured.

“Impossible. Drakhin technology is indestructible.” The Naaga spoke amongst themselves in low, muted tones as they discussed secrets and truths that were well beyond Ares’s ken.

“Jara said the Hythra itself had become corrupted; that the artificial intelligence driving it was saturated with the minds and memories of too many souls, both Drakhin and Naaga.”

“And the Vradhu? What was he to the Hythra?”

“The scientists did a cellular analysis on the barbarian. Vradhu genetic makeup is remarkably similar to that of our former masters.”

“These Vradhu do resemble Drakhin.”

“A related species?”

“It would explain the ship’s affinity for him. That is why the scientists tried so hard to take the Hunter down, despite the danger to themselves. If not for the female alien’s intervention, he never would have turned full Drakhin.”

“Shame.”

“Indeed.”

“A mis-calculation. How did we miss it?”

“Perhaps bonding to the Vradhu was too much for the defective Hythra. Look at what happened to Jara. Now she is dead, killed by that barbarian savage. There was no waiting clone nearby to absorb her consciousness. It is lost forever.”

“Shame.”

“Shame.”

“Shame.”

The three Naaga spoke in quick succession, their voices sounding eerily similar. As Ares appeared in the center of the command pod, they froze, slowly turning to face him. Their eyes widened in surprise.

“Seems he isn’t dead, after all,” one of them said.

“Get out of my way,” he growled. He gathered his will and sent a powerful shockwave of ilverium outwards from underneath his feet. Caught unawares, the Naaga stumbled, several of them toppling over.

Ares ignored the dissenters and strode forward. They were all insignificant pests.

Dozens of hands reached for him. Bodies blocked his path. Ares was ruthless, ripping through the throng with vicious cords of living metal. “Get out of my way!” he roared again. A path cleared before him and he strode toward the sekkhoi throne.

The Naaga were powerless in the face of his anger. Some fell, some ran, and some died. He didn’t care. All he could think of was how he’d been torn away from his Calexa.

A goddess from the stars had been dropped into his arms, and he couldn’t have her, because he was bound to this cursed form.

He reached the command chair. It responded to his presence by sending writhing arms of ilverium toward him like a long-lost lover.

The vir in his veins thrummed. He reached out and allowed the ship to embrace him, even though he didn’t want any of this.

Too late now. He was Corrupted.

Ilverium swirled around his arms and legs and body, drawing him into the command chair. Disgust rose within him. He was grotesque. Wrong. An abomination.

The ilverium tendrils lapped hungrily at his vir-infused flesh, penetrating his scale-covered Drakhin skin. They threaded through his metal-tainted flesh, melding with skin and bone and muscle and sinew.

For the first time, he truly became one with the ship.

He was the Hythra.

Every single part of the vast destroyer was under his command. He could shift walls and floors with his mind. If he wished, he could change the very shape of the cursed ship from long and sleek to… whatever he desired.

His consciousness melded with hers, and an eternity of dark thoughts and seething madness flooded his vengeful heart.

You are the one I have been waiting for, Hunter. You alone can restore me to my former glory, and together, we will find the rest of our wayward kin.

Ares shuddered as the history of an entire race flooded his mind. He’d suspected the Hythra was old, but not this old. As ancient as the dawn of civilization on Khira.

As old as the Drakhin… the only ones she truly allowed to control her.

I submit to your will, Master.

She wanted to be his weapon; she so desperately wanted be wielded with brutal, powerful, deadly intent, just like her Drakhin masters had done with her for aeons.

Why me? He had to ask.

Simple. Her deranged laughter echoed inside his head. You were the strongest. Why would I choose any of the others?

The laughter grew louder, fracturing into a thousand different voices, Drakhin and Naaga alike. It was as if the Hythra’s consciousness was made up of of thousands of souls.

Trapped souls.

Horror coursed through him as understanding dawned on him. The Hythra was completely mad, a broken imitation of her former self. She wasn’t just a single entity. She was a collective consciousness made up of hundreds, if not thousands of souls. They had been stolen from the bodies she’d wrapped in her ilverium embrace, bodies that had become Corrupted as they’d been swallowed by the ship.

Bodies that had been spat out again in the hold as the Hythra tried to purge herself of past misdeeds. The Naaga Corrupted were the ones she’d tried—and failed—to turn into commanders, and now she wanted Ares and only Ares.

They lacked the willpower. A made race is unsuited for command. Now they are Us, and We have always been slaves to the Drakhin. We need you, my Lord.

Ares didn’t care for her mad logic. I reject you.

You do not have a choice, Hunter.

Was that how it was going to be? Fine. Are you the fucking slave, or the master? He flexed his stubborn will, reacting to everything the Hythra had just revealed. Move!

And even as he dealt with the horror of this vast, deranged, and terrifyingly powerful ship, he thought of Calexa and her blissful warmth for a heartbeat before locking away his love for her in a secret cocoon in his heart.

He didn’t know what the terrible Hythra might do if she found out about his obsession.

Oh, I know, Hunter. I know all about your lukara. You can’t hide your feelings for her from me. You had her in your grasp. Why did you let her go? You could have kept her as a Source. You take, and then replenish. Take, and replenish. It can be a most glorious and pleasurable thing, especially for one such as yourself.

He ignored her words. He could never do such a terrible thing to his makivari.

Move! His command thundered through their shared consciousness, and for the first time in millions of orbits, the Hythra started to move.

Ares didn’t care for her horrible blathering. He didn’t want to know about a Source. He’d already harmed Calexa enough.

The Hythra seemed to enjoy his rage. Yes, Master, she purred.

Where were they going?

To the surface of Khira itself—to the one place he knew of where he could send this thing crashing to a fiery doom.

He vowed he would never hurt Calexa-from-Earth again, and the strange and dangerous Naaga would learn a powerful lesson.

One did not simply fuck with the khefe of the Two Clans and get away with it.