Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

”The Fixer Club,” she said. Her voice was soft, melodic, but there was no warmth in it.

”I’ve heard of you.”

”You killed them,” Nero said. ”Liana. Theron. You made them kill themselves.”

The figure tilted her head, considering him. ”I gave them peace.”

”You murdered them.”

”They were suffering. I could see it. The weight of their lives, the pain, the fear. I released them.” She raised her glowing hands. ”I can release you too.”

Nero’s grip tightened on his sword. ”Try.”

The figure smiled. It was the same smile. Crooked. Unnatural.

And then the room exploded into light, but the light was wrong—pale, silvery, like moonlight made solid. Nero threw himself sideways, the beam passing where his chest had been. It struck the wall behind him, and the stone blackened, cracked, crumbled. Not fire. Not lightning. Something older.

The figure moved. Her robe fell away, revealing skin that was not skin. It was chitin, black and gleaming, ridged like the shell of a beetle. Her arms elongated, splitting at the elbow into multiple joints. Her fingers fused, curved, became sharp. Her face stretched, the jaw unhinging, the eyes multiplying.

She was becoming something else. Something not human.

Nero did not wait. He lunged, his sword blazing with fire, and struck at her chest.

She caught the blade.

Her hand—or what had been a hand—closed around the steel. The fire hissed against her chitin, but did not burn. She squeezed, and the metal groaned.

”Foolish,” she said. Her voice was a rasp, a chitter, no longer human. ”The organization has waited a long time for you. You will not escape.”

Nero pulled his sword free, leaped back, and raised his free hand. Fire gathered in his palm, white-hot, concentrated. He thrust it forward, and a jet of flame erupted, striking the creature in the face.

She shrieked, stumbling back, her chitin blackening. But the fire did not consume her. She shook her head, and the burned layer flaked away, revealing fresh shell beneath. She was healing. Adapting.

Nero circled, sword low, fire dancing along its edge. The others stood by the door, watching, ready. They had faced the organization before. They knew what she was. A demonized human. A monster wearing a human mask.

Her transformation completed. She stood on eight legs now, her body hunched, her arms become claws, her face a nightmare of eyes and mandibles. Threads of silver light trailed from her fingers, spreading across the room, weaving a web of death.

”Your friends,” she said, her mandibles clicking. ”They died smiling. Because I gave them peace. I can give you peace too.”

Nero attacked. ℴ

He moved low, sweeping his sword toward her nearest leg. The fire blazed along the blade, and this time, when it struck, the chitin cracked. She hissed, staggering, and lashed out with a claw. He raised his sword to block, but the force of her blow sent him sliding across the floor.

She pressed her advantage, her legs carrying her forward, her claws striking again and again. He parried, dodged, retreated. She was fast, faster than her size suggested, and her threads were everywhere, filling the room, waiting to trap him.

One brushed his arm, and he felt it—a cold, pulling sensation, like something trying to dig into his mind. He shook it off, fire burning along his skin, incinerating the thread before it could take hold.

”You resist,” she said, almost curious. ”Most do not.”

”I’m not most,” Nero said.

He stopped retreating.

Fire exploded from his body, a ring of flame that pushed back the threads, cleared the space around him. He raised his sword, and the fire gathered along its edge, turning the steel white-hot. He leaped.

She tried to block with her claws, but the white-hot blade cut through them like paper. She screamed, stumbling back, her legs scrambling for purchase. He pressed, striking again and again, each blow finding a joint, a gap, a weakness.

She was strong. But fire was stronger.

She lashed out with a thread, aiming for his face. He caught it with his free hand, the fire on his skin burning it away. She tried another, then another. He burned them all.

”You cannot kill me,” she hissed. ”I am blessed by the king. I am immortal.”

Nero looked at her, at the monster she had become, and felt nothing. No fear. No pity. Only the calm before the strike.

”Let’s find out,” he said.

He gathered all his fire, all his will, into a single point. The tip of his sword blazed with light so bright the others had to look away. He raised it high, then brought it down in a sweep that cut through her chest, through her chitin, through the thing that had once been a heart.

She froze. Her eyes, all of them, went wide. Her mandibles opened, but no sound came out.

Then she crumbled. Her body fell apart, piece by piece, the chitin turning to ash, the flesh dissolving, until nothing remained but a dark stain on the floor.

Nero stood over the stain, his sword still raised, his fire fading. His chest heaved. His arms trembled. But his eyes were clear.

The others moved. Lux generated light, banishing the shadows. Adam knelt by the stain, examining it. Blake stood by the door, his gaze sweeping the corridor. Khione walked to Nero’s side, her hand touching his arm.

”Are you hurt?”

He shook his head. ”It’s not my blood.”

Lux straightened, his expression grim. ”She was from the organization. A demonized human. Like the ones in the mountains.”

”We expected this,” Adam said. ”The festival, the lax security. We knew they would try something.”

Nero sheathed his sword. ”Normally, we need to report this. The headmaster needs to know.”

Khione’s eyes met his. ”He already knows. That’s why security is lax. To draw them out.”

Nero nodded. It was a gamble, using cadets as bait. But it was working. The organization was showing itself. And now, they had proof.