The Klingon moved too slowly, and the fiery shot plowed into his chest, driving him to the earth. He was dead even before he came to rest in the parched soil, his loose-fitting and rough-hewn clothing erupting into flames as it was coated by burning oil. The stench of sizzling flesh assailed Morqla’s nostrils as he scrambled away from other patches of blazing debris.
More of the projectiles rained down on the village, now coming from points all around the forest perimeter. The steady whines of disruptors and the angered battle cries of his warriors echoed in the humid night as fire painted the settlement in blistering crimson that paled only fleetingly in any feeble moonlight that penetrated the low, heavy cloud cover.
A last gasp, perhaps,Morqla mused with some bitterness as he brushed dust and dirt from himself. Do what you must to retain what little dignity and honor you still possess. It will make no difference.
Looking down, he regarded the unrecognizable body of K’voq, now nothing more than a lifeless shell while his warrior’s spirit made the journey to Sto-Vo-Kor. Rage welled up within him, and Morqla felt his muscles tense, blood rushing in his veins as he drew air into his lungs and released a deep, bellowing howl that rattled every ounce of his being. The Heghtaycry echoed off the walls of the surrounding buildings, augmenting the glorious ritual and heightening the warning he issued to the dead that a warrior was about to enter their midst.
His anger refused to abate, however, fueled by the knowledge that there was no honor in dying before an enemy who attacked from the shadows, one too weak or timid to stand on the field of battle and engage an opponent while looking them in the eyes. It was possible that loyal K’voq might yet be denied the ultimate fate promised to all loyal warriors who died in service to the empire.
“Worry not, old friend,” Morqla said to the still-burning remnants of his long-trusted aide. “I will see to it that you are greeted in Sto-Vo-Koras you deserve.”
Turning away from the gruesome sight, the governor headed into the courtyard and the chaos threatening to consume it. There would be much blood spilled before the sun colored the horizon, he decided, and he wanted to be sure that some of it stained his own blade.
He ran through the narrow streets leading away from the courtyard, toward the sounds of running and screaming coming from the direction of the main entrance to the village. Rounding a corner, he emerged into an open plaza that prior to the occupation had been used by the villagers as a meeting and entertainment venue. Now it was the scene of unchecked carnage as dozens of jeghpu’wI’fell beneath the onslaught of a mobile disruptor cannon. Klingon soldiers added to the unchecked chaos of the scene by firing their own weapons into the scrambling crowd. Others had waded into the mass of villagers, attacking them with blades or with bare hands.
Ruthless bursts of brutal crimson energy sliced through the night air, cutting through wood, stone, and soft flesh with equal impunity. The stench of death filled the plaza, a disjointed chorus of horrific screams and plaintive, vain calls for help or mercy competing with the rhythmic, mechanical cycling of the massive weapon. In the cannon’s operator seat, a Klingon soldier sat with his face pressed to the gunner’s sight that covered the front portion of his head, focusing his view on the disruptor’s computer-generated targeting display. From his own experience as a young officer manning such a weapon, Morqla knew that anyone or anything unfortunate enough to fall within the targeting sights of the cannon’s fire-control computer was as good as dead.
Hurried movement from his right caught his attention, and Morqla turned to see an atypically large Palgrenai lunging for him, brandishing what looked to be a shovel. Feeble moonlight reflected off the tool’s dulled, rusted blade, and it was obvious to the governor that the villager was attacking out of desperation. Saliva dripped from both sides of its narrow, elongated mouth, and Morqla saw rows of teeth bared in anger and fear as it charged forward, releasing a garbled hiss.
Morqla ducked as the flat side of the shovel swung past his head, taking advantage of the Palgrenai’s sudden loss of balance to step forward and deliver a powerful punch to his attacker’s head. He felt bone cave beneath his fist as he drove it down into the villager’s skull, and the jeghpu’wI’dropped to the ground, already dead but its body offering up a final series of spasms as life drained from its dark, leathery carcass.
Now feeling the heat of battle coursing through his veins, Morqla turned away from his first kill of the night and began looking for another.
And then he saw it.
A dark, indistinct blur, it might have been humanoid but it moved with such speed that there was no way to be certain. There was no time to study it, for no sooner had it appeared than it lunged for the Klingon soldier closest to it.
“Defend yourselves!” Morqla shouted, but it was already too late. The creature, whatever it was, towered over the warrior, who saw it only at the last moment and tried to bring his weapon around. His movements were far too slow as the new arrival loomed closer, lashing out with at least two extremities that Morqla was able to distinguish from its fluid, undulating form. They slashed across the soldier, and the governor felt his mouth go slack as he watched his subordinate instantly separated into four lifeless hunks of dismembered flesh, bone, and clothing, each falling to the floor of the plaza and releasing a torrent of blood that stained the dark, dry cobblestones.
Uttering a tortured, enraged battle cry, Morqla raised his disruptor and fired at the creature even as it moved again, the pulsing red energy bolts chewing into the stone of the nearby buildings as the thing moved. Other soldiers were firing at it now, as well, a few of their shots even hitting it, of that Morqla was certain, but their efforts seemed to have no effect.
“What isit?” he heard someone yell above the hail of disruptor fire as the creature, all but formless and defying description, moved with deliberate haste, altering its path not the least in reaction to the attack now being directed at it. Instead, it charged other members of his garrison, and blood arced into the air yet again as whatever unholy blades the thing wielded found new targets, and two more of his men fell decapitated to the ground. The appalling scene was repeated twice within the space of seconds, with half a dozen of his soldiers unable to flee the creature’s unchecked wrath as it slashed again and again, with Morqla watching helpless as the thing cut through his men with the ease of a fish swimming through water.
Then it changed direction yet again, this time its trajectory bringing it directly at Morqla.
“Come to me, you filthy ha’DIbah!” he roared, standing his ground and firing at his nearing opponent, watching as the bolts from his disruptor were swallowed by the creature’s body, which reflected none of the light cast off by the cloud-dulled moon or the surrounding fires. Undeterred by the weapon, the thing drew closer, threatening to block out everything with its looming, all-encompassing darkness.
Then the concentrated whine of the disruptor cannon erupted in the plaza once more, and Morqla saw the creature enveloped by a cocoon of frenzied scarlet energy. A chilling wail of pain echoed off the walls around him, and he watched as the thing crumpled beneath the force of the cannon’s blast.
Thankfully, the soldier operating the formidable weapon had the sense to fire again, unleashing another hellish barrage upon the creature. This time the effects were more pronounced, parts of the thing’s formless, featureless hide exploding as its molecular structure was decimated by the disruptor cannon. Morqla saw the creature’s body start to come apart, finally surrendering to the weapon’s vicious fury before collapsing in upon itself in a burst of destabilized molecules that within seconds faded altogether.
The silence enveloping the plaza in the aftermath of the horrendous firefight was all but deafening now, Morqla realized. His soldiers could only stand in silent awe, staring at the patch of scorched stone where only moments before the creature had stood. Even those Palgrenai who had survived the initial wave of attacks by his garrison could only look on, the terror and uncertainty in their wide, dark eyes matching Morqla’s own as each of them tried to comprehend the staggering scene they had just witnessed.