John Marco: Starfinder

“Still alive,” said the bewildered Jorian. He glanced down at his bow, almost oblivious to the battle raging around him.

“What happened?” asked Fiona.

Another Redeemer came screaming out of the sky. Jorian twisted and galloped away just as Tyrin leaped for it. Two flashing blades cut the creature down. Young Tyrin swiveled back toward Jorian. Behind him, Kyros was pumping the air full of arrows.

“Too many!” called Tyrin. Blood streaked his gasping chest. “Jorian, the girl…”

“Don’t worry about me!” said Fiona. She wrapped her arms around Jorian’s chest. “I’m okay!”

Jorian bolted toward clearer ground, then nocked another arrow to his bow. Once more he spied Artaios. “Let’s see how many he can take!”

Nausea sloshed over Moth as the dragonfly spiraled toward the ogilorn. The Avatar ’s starboard guns halted as the crew spotted them approaching, streaking to their aid. Up ahead, Moth could see the bulbous eyes of the monster tracking them across the sky. He braced himself to crash, then heard the rat-a-tat of guns as Skyhigh squeezed the trigger. Bloody pinholes pocked the ogilorn. Tentacles flailed madly toward them. Skyhigh banked left, then right, then straight up high as a suckered arm whipped beneath them.

“Making another pass,” Skyhigh shouted. “We clear?”

Moth fought to stay concious as blood drained from his brain. His wobbly eyes searched the sky as the dragonfly leveled out. Skylords and Redeemers still beseiged the Avatar . The tenacious ogilorn—half its limbs shredded or limp—continued after the airship.

“I think so,” Moth replied.

“You think? C’mon, Moth, look!”

Skyhigh turned the craft hard, slamming Moth sideways. Moth peered through the filthy canopy for enemies. Something caught his bleary eyes.

“Wait…”

Coming at them from the left was a Skylord. Unlike the others, this one had broken free from the pack, homing in on them, an outstretched sword dripping fire as he flew.

“That’s Artaios!” Moth gasped. He twisted for a better look. Artaios’ sword was unmistakable, but now the Skylord wore a golden helmet and armor too. “He’s coming after us!”

Skyhigh throttled the engines and the dragonfly sprinted forward. “He’ll have to catch us, then,” he said, and slammed the craft into a steep dive, right through the storm of arrows.

“Why?” Moth wondered. He clutched his seat with white-knuckled hands. “Does he know I’m in here?”

“Keep a lookout!” ordered Skyhigh. “Where is he?”

Moth could barely turn his neck to see. Artaios and his burning sword were gaining like a meteor.

“He’s right on top of us!” he shrieked.

Skyhigh cursed and pulled up in a tight loop. For one quick second they glimpsed Artaios through the top—now bottom—of the canopy, changing course in a fluid arc and coming at them once more. Head to head, Skyhigh only had a moment. He lined up his guns and squeezed the trigger, spraying a fusillade of lead. Undeterred, Artaios kept on coming. He weaved through the bullets, raised his sword like a jousting lance, and put it through the dragonfly’s nose.

Metal screamed. Moth cried out. “Hold on!” Skyhigh shouted. “I got it!”

But he didn’t have it. They were going down.

Artois watched, stunned, as the dragonfly plummeted. For the briefest second he had seen something inside the craft, something he hadn’t expected.

Moth…

He hovered helplessly as the dragonfly went down, not even seeing the bolt until it struck him. Jorian’s glowing arrow slammed into his back, sending him tumbling through the sky. Artaios flexed his wings, shook off the shock, and spiraled down after Moth. Below him, another lightning bolt appeared.

Rendor tumbled, sliding across the floor as the ogilorn took hold of the Avatar . Men were firing their guns and shouting. A sliver of daylight shone through the open bridge as the ogilorn’s pink flesh pressed against the ship. Rendor kept hold of his rifle, managing to roll himself onto his belly. He fired off another shot, as ineffectual as all his others. The Avatar shook as the tentacles closed around her, the eerie noise of rubbery suckers pulling at her sheathing. Donnar stumbled across the deck, dropping down near Rendor.

“Order the swell!” he barked. “Now!”

Rendor looked at his friend, unable to speak. They stared at each other. Rendor nodded.

“Bottling, do it!” Donnar ordered.

Still at his station, Bottling steadily pushed the lever forward. A faint hissing noise filled the bridge as the Avatar ’s envelope swelled with volatile hidrenium.

Jorian and Fiona had nowhere to run.

Overhead, the sky turned black with Redeemers. Fairies and cloud horses blotted out the sun, and the Skylords circled like buzzards over the battlefield. Jorian and Kyros bounded over bodies. Protected by Tyrin’s double blades, they fired endlessly into the sky. Around them, their fellow centaurs fought on, snatching Redeemers out of the air and crushing them beneath their hooves. But Fiona knew their cause was lost. The Skylords were just too many.

“Where’s Artaios?” raged Jorian, searching the sky for him. He had launched five bolts against Artaios, all of them magically on target. Yet somehow the Skylord prince had persisted, flying on when even a single shot should have felled him. Fiona hugged her arms around Jorian. Unafraid for herself, she wanted only to save him.

“Jorian, go,” she pleaded. “Go back to Nessa. I’ll stay!”

Jorian glanced at her over his shoulder. “A centaur never runs, Little Queen. Remember what I told you? If they want you, they come through me!”

Fiona wanted to tell him it was hopeless; that he couldn’t win no matter what. But she couldn’t, and she didn’t apologize either. She looked up in the sky, saw the swirling hordes, and cast aside her bow. Forget arrows. What she really needed was a big stick to bash some Skylord brains.

“Let me down!” she ordered Jorian. “I want to fight!”

“Don’t you move!” Jorian thundered.

“Down! Let me—”

Fiona didn’t see the Redeemer until too late. Like a battering ram it came at them, slamming into Jorian and spilling Fiona to the ground. She landed hard, knocking the breath out of her lungs and rattling her skull. She clawed to her knees just as a trio of Redeemers fell upon Jorian. Kyros and Tyrin galloped toward him. More of the creatures descended to stop them.

Fiona didn’t cry or scream. She dug a rock out of the ground with her fingernails, gripped it like a hammer, and raced toward the Redeemers. She had almost reached them when another figure swooped down on her. Ivory arms swept around her waist. Suddenly she was flying, pulled aloft by snow white wings.

A Skylord!

Fiona hefted her rock. Twisting, she saw the Skylord’s beautiful face, then realized the creature was smiling. Long, golden hair fanned out over her naked shoulders. She bore no weapons, wearing only an ill-fitting wrap of fabric. Fiona looked into the Skylord’s mysterious eyes and knew her.

“Esme!”

Lady Esme carried Fiona away rapidly. But she hadn’t come alone. Behind her came three enormous dragons, spitting flames and winging easily through the Skylords and their minions. Down below, a giant, feathered female dragon dropped to the battlefield. She reared her muscled neck, let out a furious roar, then cut a burning swath through the Redeemers.

Jorian and his centaurs broke from their attackers. The centaur Chieftain stared up at the dragon. For the very first time, Fiona saw an expression she’d never seen him wear before.

Awe.

Up in the Avatar , Rendor cluched the Starfinder, ready to order the explosion. He had taken the artifact out of its lockbox, cradling it in his lap as he calmly counted the seconds, waiting for the ship’s envelope to swell with just enough hidrenium to make the stuff unstable. Around him his crew continued the fight, each man picking up a rifle and firing hopelessly at the ogilorn, its oozing flesh still bulging into the bridge.