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Chapter Text

Prologue

Morax strode the halls of Harsaĝ, running his gaze along the dappled, off-white stone walls as he went. His attention caught on the pulsating decals: the golden marks of Ensi thrumming across the surface, subtle as the veins below the delicate skin of a wrist. A sweet relief from the Kaskal’s perpetual blue, and the constant reminder of Azaroth — what he had taken from him.

He felt his jaw clench despite himself, the ever-present coals of anger within his chest stoked and spitting flames up his throat.

Azaroth had forced her into that pathetic little diagnostic pod — the pod Morax himself had charged her with repairing. The thought made the burning in his chest spread, engulfing his torso and limbs in trembling rage. To hear her tell it, Ilati had tried to stop him, to convince Azaroth to leave her behind. But Azaroth had insisted his Supplicant accompany him on the flight, had refused to accept Ilati’s excuses.

It would have looked more suspicious if I had fought him on it, Ilati had informed him in her calm, genial way. Impassive in the face of his fury. Impassive as he had ripped apart his own lab in his rage, his hands compelled to destroy something, anything, imagining it was Azaroth he was ripping apart. She did not understand, this Morax knew. Did not understand his relationship with his Supplicant. Did not understand that his human could not simply be replaced.

Morax reached his laboratory and swept inside. The room was too quiet, too empty without her, without the thrum of her heart. The way her pulse jumped when he addressed her, her scent heady whenever he touched her. The rage in his chest contracted and concentrated at his centre, collapsing inwards like a dying star.

He had lost her. No amount of destruction or fury or grief changed that fact. He had lost his little an-ki.

The memory of the last time he saw her brought him no comfort. Curled in a ball upon his bed, cringing from his touch. Later, after the pod had jumped and they had given up any hope of tracking it, he had returned to his bedroom and lain atop the spot where she had wept, pressing his face into the fabric, tasting her sorrow and despair.

He ran a hand through his hair and took a grounding breath.

Four in, hold for four, four out: his little human had told him once of how the Handlers had taught them to breathe to bring themselves under control. It had made him smile. She knew not that the Handler’s taught this because his research team recommended it. Knew not how much he had shaped her before she ever met him.

Morax had never intended to take a human Supplicant. This had surprised many in his inner circle. After all, he had assisted Ilati in the dominion of the species — by the Maker, his research pertained to their psychology. Surely, taking a Supplicant could only improve his understanding of his subject, Ilati had argued the point with him many a time. While he could not disagree with her, he had been resistant. Morax had studied humans for many years before the dominion and, in his view, never had there been a race that deserved their subjugation more. Humans were selfish, destructive, greedy. Seemed to savour hurting each other as much as they did hurting their own planet. Appealing once domesticated they may have been, but Morax had seen enough of their barbarism to thoroughly dissuade him from adopting one as his own. It would have been unjust to any creature to have a Master that so reviled their species, he had reasoned.

He attempted to draw himself back to the present by toying with his portal, pretending to read an exchange between Ilati and Commander Alviehna. The Commander of Harsaĝ bored Morax immensely. Even for a Nephal of the Warrior rank, Alviehna was myopic, her obsession with order no doubt worsened by her direct communication with Ensi. Even worse, she had cultivated a fixation with their missing Captain. To his bemusement and Ilati’s concern, they had discovered through the Commander that Azaroth’s name held a certain cache among the Warriors. Hero of such and such a battle — Morax had not been listening properly to Alviehna. Too busy watching Ilati’s reaction.

To her credit, Ilati had put in a flawless performance of sincerity in the moment. It was not until later, when they were alone, that she had let her mask slip.

‘That dolt, a hero,’ she seethed, lips drawn back into a sneer.

Morax had watched her rage patiently, faintly amused by the spectacle. A crack in Ilati’s carefully constructed facade of benevolence was rare. It would not do to point out that he had cautioned her against eliminating Azaroth. The Captain had been inserting himself into their affairs, true, but they had been not far off Harsaĝ by that point. And Azaroth was, if anything, a stickler for the rules. Once here, once their true mission had been revealed, he would have been bound to secrecy, just as the rest of them were. It was Ensi’s edict, after all. Their fine Captain would no doubt have been beside himself in his eagerness to serve.

‘He had been about to uncover the mission purpose,’ Ilati occasionally revived their old debate, for sport or reassurance, he could not tell.

‘And if he had, proper process dictates he should have been confined and dealt with once we had reached Harsaĝ,’ Morax had pointed out mildly. ‘Alviehna will not be impressed that you took the matter into your own hands. She will call it murder.’ He could have added, “which it was”, but he restrained himself. There was no use in winding her up further. He was fairly certain that, in Ilati’s eyes, Azaroth had precipitated his own demise by being difficult, a thorn in her side. Which Ilati would have likely admitted if her plan had not resulted in the loss of Moraxys. As it was, she was backed into a corner, forced to justify her actions or face his ire.

Fortunately, Ilati had the good sense not to suggest Morax simply replace his lost pet. Galiex, on the other hand, possessed no such shrewdness.

‘Her name was not Moraxys by chance. She was defined by you, her Master,’ the hulking midnight-purple Nephal had cajoled one night, in a doomed attempt to lift his friend’s foul mood. ‘The next one will also be Moraxys, and the one after that, and the one after that — be reasonable Morax, it is not as though they live particularly long regardless.’

Morax levelled him with a withering look but made no attempt to justify himself. He did not expect his peers to understand what his Supplicant had meant to him.

Moraxys had been his. His in every way, because he knew her better than she knew herself. Had watched her, studied her, strived to understand her long before he had ever met her in the flesh. Morax had seen her worst moments, her fight for survival in a land ravaged by the dominion. His fascination had grown quietly. He could not place his finger on a moment where the change in him had begun, when he had begun rooting for the little human female, one of many subjects in a study of feral human behaviour. Could not remember when he had decided he would take her as his Supplicant.

But feeling her. Smelling her. Tasting her.

Those memories were burned into him.

Hearing her sweet voice call his name as her naked form writhed beneath him had unchained something inside him. A need to possess her, to mate her. To fill her womb with his seed and her head with thoughts of nothing but him. A need so strong that he had lost control and hurt her, fragile as she was.

They would have learned, he lamented each morning he woke without her. He would have learnt control — how to hurt her just enough that she would have submitted to him entirely. And her to think of him, in time, as both her salvation and her demise.

With a sigh, he closed his portal and approached his bench, settling himself upon it pensively.

They had jumped. Moraxys and Azaroth had jumped to escape the meteor storm Ilati had schemed to place Azaroth in the path of. The Warriors were not permitted knowledge of programming; thus, it must have been Moraxys to initialise their hop through space. He had been unable to suppress a smile when the pod had disappeared from the Kaskal’s proximity scanners, the faint energetic signature of the warp engines all that remained. Proud of his smart Supplicant, his little an-ki.

Then, his world had inverted. Marh had informed them that all signal from the diagnostic pod had disappeared, her expression aghast. An expression that Ilati had faked flawlessly.

His reaction, his wrath, the tearing of his heart in two, had not been faked.

After he had ripped apart his quarters and exhausted himself into some semblance of pacification, he reflected that if it had been anyone else, anyone but Ilati who had allowed Moraxys to enter that pod, he would have eliminated them in that moment. Logic and order be damned.

It had been many cycles since Morax had attempted to appeal to the Maker. In his youth, he had worshipped devoutly, trusting in the Maker’s guiding hand. Trusting their design. Somewhere during his meteoric rise from a low-ranking juvenile to a foremost Creator, his fervour had cooled, his trust shifting to his own abilities, his own power. He would have laughed at his own folly, if he had not feared he would scream instead. In that moment, alone in his quarters on Harsaĝ, Morax had never felt more powerless.

‘You favoured me once,’ Morax spoke the words aloud, his voice hoarse.

As if in response, the screen of his Com came to life. A call request from Marh, which he accepted with trembling fingers.

‘Creator Morax,’ the pilot’s high voice was strained.

‘Speak,’ Morax commanded, his pulse roaring in his ears.

‘A signal— the Kaskal is receiving a signal—’ she stuttered, the quaver in her voice telling him all he needed to know.

Morax was stood and sprinting towards the vessel bay before the Pilot could finish her sentence.

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, many years ago, in a land as unreachable now as the stars in the night sky had felt at the time, Bea had visited an exhibition of renaissance art in her small city’s only gallery. Naturally, it had not contained Botecelli’s Venus, or Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. No Michelangelo or Raphael or Donatello. Nevertheless, Bea had found the collection breathtaking and haunting all at once. The shadowed scenes, lush with maroons and siennas and ghostly whites, had been utterly ethereal. Otherworldly people set against a backdrop of velvet drapery and cool stone so vivid she could almost feel them against her fingertips, leaning as close as she dared to pick apart the brush strokes that forged the textures. 

The scene she awoke to — Morax in a high-backed chair, watching her as she struggled to haul herself from nightmares that were part memory, part fever dream — would have slipped perfectly into the collection. She would have stared at the vulnerable girl on the slab and the enigmatic demon sprawled beside her, with his red skin and onyx hair, and shivered at his unreadable expression. Would have thinned her lips at the way the demon’s long, elegant fingers curled about the girl’s slender forearm. Wondered what passage of the Old Testament or myth the demon had come from; a more prescient question than she ever could have known, for the Nephalem had likely inspired many of both. The children of angels, that’s what Morax had told her the humans thought of them when they dropped by to check on their product, however many millennia ago. She could well believe it. Even now, knowing what Morax was — a member of an alien race that had steered her species’ creation — she found it easier to imagine him the child of a god than a being like her, made of flesh and bone.  

Bea could not bring herself to look at him, but when she shifted her gaze to stare at her body instead, an equally awful sight greeted her. Brick red encased her, the exact shade of the skin of the alien sat beside her. She was back in her old Env suit, Morax’s decal, entwined circles with a slash across them, emblazoned in black above her heart. 

The room twisted as nauseating panic rushed to greet her. 

The hand on her forearm closed.

‘Calm, Moraxys,’ the demon was saying, his voice as smooth and sonorous as she remembered. A voice that wrapped itself around her and constricted her ribcage like a boa. ‘You are awakening after a most grievous injury.’

Bea squeezed her eyes tight shut and fought to swallow the rising bile in her throat. 

Moraxys. Her Env suit. 

It was as if nothing had ever happened. As if he hadn’t allowed her to almost be killed in a meteor storm. As if she hadn’t spent months stranded with another Nephal, one who had held her hand and called her little love. With a lurch, the memory of her final moments in the cave with Azaroth came rushing at her. The creature, with its hideous, saucer-like eyes and its haunting scream. The awful fetid water rushing past her, so cold she had lost all feeling in her hands and toes. Then, finally, Azaroth’s face hanging over her, illuminated by white torchlight. His expression of pure horror, his mouth forming words that she could no longer hear over the rush of blood in her ears.

She was here, wherever this place was, with Morax, which surely meant that Azaroth must have made it to the checkpoint. Frigid fear seeped into her limbs and her stomach plummeted. 

‘Where…’ the word scraped at her throat like sandpaper, making it seize and spasm.

The metallic rim of a cup met her lips.

‘Drink, pet.’ 

His words took Bea so off-guard that she did as she was told, the cool water divine in her cotton-dry mouth. She could not help but to stare in amazement, checking thoroughly that the Nephalem tenderly tipping water into her mouth was indeed Morax. He withdrew the cup and smiled lazily at her. Undeniably Morax. She would know that smirk anywhere. Once, it had sent thrills through her, electrifying her from head to toe. Now, it just made her feel sick with dread. 

‘Where is he?’ She managed to rasp, unable to hold back the words. He might punish her, make her live to regret asking, but she could not bring herself to care. She had to know what had happened to Azaroth. 

Morax sighed heavily.

‘Skipping the niceties, are we?’ he arched one perfect, black eyebrow. 

Bea grit her teeth and held his gaze. Morax tilted his head a little, as if puzzled by her intensity. 

‘Captain Azaroth is alive and well, pet,’ he said slowly, his thumb tracing gentle circles across the sensitive plane of her inner elbow. She held her breath to keep from writhing at the sensation. ‘Rewarded handsomely, of course, for returning you to me. A promotion of his rank will be ordained by Ensi herself. You will see him soon enough, no doubt. He has elected that the Kaskal and her crew remain here, to serve at Harsaĝ.’ 

Bea felt the blood drain from her face as he spoke, his words hitting her like physical blows. She wanted to argue, to deny his tale — Azaroth would never have simply handed her back to Morax. But her survival instincts were returning to her, and with them, her sense and reason. She had no way of knowing if anything Morax was saying was true. However, if Azaroth was not only alive but in line for a promotion, she could only assume Morax did not know of their relationship. To reveal it would only place them both in peril. 

Azaroth was alive: this was what she had to focus on, draw her strength from. And guile and cunning were the only weapons she possessed to ensure that he remained so.

She had to be smart about this.

‘Harsaĝ?’ The word was strange in her mouth, its ending difficult for her throat to reproduce. 

Almost imperceptibly, she noticed Morax’s shoulders drop — a relaxation she might have believed she had imagined if he had not also released a quiet breath. One she had not realised that he had been holding. 

‘An Enclave pet. One the general population, Nephalem or otherwise, are not permitted knowledge of,’ he smoothed a hand over her hair, combing a curl back into place. Bea resisted the urge to shudder. 

Morax appraised her carefully, his gaze piercing as it ran over her from head to toe. 

‘How do you feel, Moraxys? The venom of the creature on that forsaken planet…’ he paused, eyebrows contracting as he leant in to cup her cheek, his hot, oversized palm swallowing her face. Bea froze in alarm as he drew forward, fearful that he might place his forehead — or worse, his mouth — against her. However, to her relief, he simply bowed his head, black hair tumbling forward from behind his pointed ears. 

‘When I saw you in his arms, I was certain you were dead. I could not hear your heart, little an-ki,’ he confessed quietly in his low, velvet voice, his eyelids falling shut. ‘You were so pale. So still.’

He drew in a long breath, before managing to shoot her a small smile as he caressed her cheek with his thumb, its pad rough and hot. 

‘When I saw the meteor storm. When the Kaskal lost the pod’s signal, I did not think I could have been more scared. I was wrong. Seeing you that way,’ he shuddered. ‘I will never let it happen again, Moraxys,' he concluded, with the finality of a promise. 

Silence hung heavy between them for a moment. In the quiet, her pulse quickened, adrenaline building from a trickling stream to a roaring river in her limbs. She took a breath, summoning every drop of courage her body contained. 

‘Bea,’ she murmured, the hushed tone all she could muster. 

Slowly, Morax opened his eyes, curiosity flickering across his expression as he settled his gaze upon her, heavy and probing. 

‘What was that, pet?’ He asked quietly, his tone eliciting a visceral image of a snake winding back upon itself. Silently readying itself to strike. 

Bea raised her chin a little, doing her best to draw herself up on the bed, though even this small effort made her feel faint.

‘My name is Bea,’ she declared, her voice a little stronger this time despite the black spots that danced across her vision.

For a heartbeat, Morax stared at her, blank as a slate. Somehow, it made the grin that inched across his face next that much worse; a true Morax grin, all glittering amber eyes and sharp white teeth. 

He chuckled, the sound emerging from low in his throat. 

‘Oh, my an-ki. It would seem we have some lessons to revisit.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Galiex was a Nephal who was used to getting his own way. And he liked to think that this still would have been the case, even if he had not been born to Ensi. Or raised to the rank of Delegate, along with the rest of his siblings, to consolidate her power after an admittedly violent ascension. He was impressive physically: as large as the Nephalem of the Warrior class, and with the strength to match. And while he knew that many, including his own dear twin sister, believed him to be oblivious, this was far from the case. Galiex understood perfectly the effect he had on others, Nephalem and off-worlders alike. He saw their limbs stiffen when he stood to his full height, smelt their fear when he turned his gaze upon them. But over time, he had found that by allowing others to perceive him as brash, unthinking, he could get away with behaviour that may otherwise be deemed villainous. Removal of his agency in turn absolved him of his crimes, and that suited Galiex just fine. 

However, every now and then, much to his chagrin, he found that his actions did indeed have consequences.

Ramifications for his behaviour were almost exclusively enforced by Zethra, one of the few Nephal over whom he wielded no power. As if being chastised by his sister were not humiliating enough, her stink of condescending disapproval as she swept into his quarters — without permission and without warning — was enough to make his blood boil with resentment. 

‘Sweet sister,’ he greeted her with acerbic sarcasm, ’to what do I owe the pleasure?’ 

Zethra’s eyes found him sprawled upon his bench, the dra’shirii fight he had been watching still playing mutely on his portal. Ever one for dramatics, she sighed and tossed her waist-length black hair behind her shoulder, folding her arms across her chest as she tapped a foot on the stone floor impatiently. 

‘Lazing the day away again, brother?’ she asked, rolling eyes as golden as his own. To anyone not aware of their shared Galiskekriel, their relation was made obvious by their striking similarities. Identical midnight purple skin, piercing golden eyes, and midnight black hair - though Galiex kept his cut short in the style of the Warriors. He found it added to the fear he inspired. 

‘What else is there to do?’ he drawled, placing his hands behind his head as he lounged backwards, showing off his massive arms to their best effect. ‘Not so many social calls to be made on Harsaĝ, being a secret Enclave and all. I have hardly seen Ilati leave her laboratory since we arrived, and Morax has been terribly busy mooning over his little Supplicant.’ 

‘Oh, I do not know Galiex, perhaps the small matter of supporting Ensi’s edict?’ Zethra spat back, ‘supervising Harsaĝ’s goings on, its staff, its facilities? She has entrusted us to be her eyes here, to enact her will.’

Galiex could not help but chuckle at his sister’s zealotry. 

‘Sister, if you cannot see that we are simply here to serve as a glorified front, behind which Ilati and Morax are free to do as they wish, then you are more empty headed than I give you credit for.’

Zethra scoffed and shook her head, her hair bouncing about her shoulders. She was striking today, dressed in an Env suit the colour of their eyes, with a high-necked collar that flared at the back to form a geometric ruff — an outfit Galiex had never seen before. The gold was stark against the stone of his room. Although Harsaĝ shared the same design features as many Nephal megastructures, it was unique in that it had been built into an ancient moon that had long ago abandoned its planet. The moon’s pale igneous rock featured heavily in most of its rooms, and though it had been homogeneously smoothed and rounded, the speckles and crystals encased within the stone varied about the Enclave. In Galiex’s room, the stone was dotted with black minerals that twinkled in the light. 

‘Excuse your behaviour however you see fit, it is not the reason I am here,’ she huffed, ignoring his jab. He was almost disappointed; he loved seeing Zethra wound up. 

‘Oh,’ he pantomimed intrigue, sitting forward and resting his head in his hands. ‘Do not leave me in suspense, Zethra. Is it regarding your fetching new Env suit?’

‘In a sense, I suppose,’ she replied icily, shooting him a look intended to pierce. ‘I have received a shipment of items that I had ordered to Harsaĝ. We may be in the back end of nowhere, but with enough credits and some idle threats, much can be achieved.’

Galiex picked at a speck of dirt beneath his fingernail.

‘No one is permitted to know of Harsaĝ, Alviehna will not be best pleased,’ he commented, though he cared little, already decidedly bored. ‘I imagine she will have to hunt the transporters down and eliminate them, sister.’

‘I fail to see how that is my problem. Besides, this shipment was entirely necessary.’

’Can new Env suits truly be deemed as necessary?’ he sniped. 

‘Not the Env suit, by the Maker, it is like talking to a juvenile,’ she threw up her hands and raised her eyes, as if indeed seeking patience from the Maker themself. He found it impossible to avoid grinning, pleased at having succeeded in irritating her as much as she had him by storming in unannounced. She narrowed her eyes at him. 

‘My patience with your harassment of my Supplicant has worn thin. Aphrodite is mine and you are ruining her. Each time she returns after you have satisfied yourself she is less entertaining, her light a little less bright. There can be no more, I will be unable to present her in company soon enough,’ Zethra said mechanically. A speech she had clearly rehearsed.

Now it was Galiex’s turn to narrow his eyes. Aphrodite was the most attractive human he had ever come across: tall for a human, graceful, and supple - and Zethra was banning him from touching her. 

‘That is ridiculous,’ he thundered, rising from the bench to his feet as anger coursed through his body. ‘You have no attraction to females, what is she to be used for if not for fucking?’ 

‘She is to be a companion, you fool. Recall, if you can, that before the humans it was not the norm for Nephalem to fuck their Supplicants,’ Zethra clenched her fists and took a threatening step towards him, unfazed by his threatening stance, or the fact he was a head taller and many times her weight.

For a moment they simply stared at each other, Galiex truly caught off guard by her demand.

‘I did not take you for such an unbearable prude, sister,’ he tried to needle, but it was weak. 

Zethra rolled her eyes so violently they momentarily disappeared into her skull. 

‘I am not stopping you from fucking humans, brother,’ she hissed indignantly. ‘Just my human. I have got you a replacement.’

Galiex paused in his pacing, head snapping towards his sister, attempting to judge her sincerity. 

‘A replacement,’ he repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief. ‘I have made it clear that I do not desire a Supplicant—’

‘Well then, it is fortunate that I have not acquired one for you,’ Zethra cut him off, waving a hand to open the doors to his chamber, before barking, ‘come, human.’ 

To Galiex’s astonishment, a creature crept into the room, quietly and swiftly, though she wobbled a little as she stopped, teetering as if inebriated. She was small and soft, with generous curves and eye-catching golden hair that he was sure would tumble down her back most magnificently if it were not so dishevelled. He inhaled in surprise and almost choked on his breath.

She smelt mouthwatering. 

‘Where did you…’ he trailed off as he took a step towards her, grinning with delight as the little creature cringed away from him, gaze firmly affixed on her feet. So skittish. 

‘Bought her from an off-Earth trader. The Maker knows how he got her, but he has assured me she is clean. I have seen her blood work.’

‘Trained?’ he approached until he stood before her. This close, he could hear her erratic heartbeat, see the tremble that ran through her as he stooped towards her. Still she refused to look at him, her shoulders reaching her ears as she did her utmost to shrink into herself. 

’Not that I know of,’ Zethra replied, though he barely heard her, captivated by the little creature before him.

Uzuh, the very top of her head barely reached his sternum. 

He had to see her face. 

Without giving her any warning, his hand shot out, fingers capturing her chin as he wrenched her gaze to his. 

Eyes as blue as the Earth’s midday sky met his, flared wide with true terror. None of the practiced ease of a Supplicant, or the hollowness of a pleasure slave. From her reaction, he could almost believe that he was the first Nephal she had ever seen. She was undeniably adorable, all round pink cheeks and reddened eyes, as though she had been crying for a long time. He snorted in amusement. He bet Zethra had hated that.

‘Do as you like with her,’ his sister was saying as she headed to the door, ‘but know that if you kill her, I will not replace her. The process of smuggling her on to Harsaĝ was far too taxing to repeat.’ 

‘I am ever grateful for your boundless generosity,’ Galiex called to his sister, without taking his eyes off the little human. She continued to stare up at him, frozen in place like some prey creature. He felt himself stir beneath his Env suit as her red lips parted, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts. 

He heard Zethra snort, before the sound of her footsteps disappeared as the door slid shut behind her. 

Leaving Galiex and the human alone. 

Terrified. She smelt utterly terrified. He moved his fingers from her chin to her jaw, his thumb and forefinger wrapping around her little face from temple to temple, savouring the erratic flutter of her pulse at her throat. 

He had not wanted a Supplicant. Nor a pleasure slave. Did not want a creature to be responsible for in any capacity. If he had been on Galietiel, or Immaru, or — uzuh — even Giš, he would have fucked her and promptly sold her on. But Harsaĝ was at least ten times more monotonous than Giš, and company was almost non-existent, with the majority of its population being Creators, Warriors, or their respective underlings. The truth of the matter was that Galiex was thoroughly bored. Bored enough that this blue-eyed little human might actually be diverting, given the circumstances.

Galiex scanned her. Her voluptuous body was covered by a featureless, light-grey Env suit that was clearly oversized on her short frame, the legs and arms rolled at the wrists and ankles. The breasts that heaved beneath it caught his attention, and when he ran his free hand down her side, he found her hips were as pillow soft as they had appeared. She whimpered, and the sound went straight to his cock, already growing thick and heavy as he fondled her. Thoughts of impaling the little creature upon it as she wept made his grip on her jaw tighten until she squeaked in pain. 

Music to his ears. 

Tears were streaming down her cheeks again, following the stained tracks that he had noted earlier. Crying fascinated Galiex. Nephal had a version of it, he supposed: many made noises similar to human wails when overcome by sadness. But there was none of this leaking water from their eyes — a most captivating visual display of fear or grief or both. Oh yes, Galiex very much liked it when they cried for him. 

His cock twitched impatiently, and he snapped forward to capture the creature’s dainty hand and place it against his throbbing length, burning hot and hard as rock beneath his Env suit. She tried to flinch away but he growled at her warningly, digging his fingers into her hip hard enough that she would bruise. Humans were fragile. Both and curse and a blessing in his eyes. 

‘You can understand me?’ he grunted, wrapping his fingers about himself through the fabric of his Env suit, forcing her hand beneath his to do the same. A low groan from deep in his throat escaped unbidden as he noticed her fingers were not even close to encircling him. 

She nodded once, so jerkily he almost mistook it for another flinch. 

‘You stink as though you have just come out of ma-mu,’ he told her coldly, herding her body closer to his until it was pressed against him, the plush coolness of her torso blissful against the unyielding planes of his muscular form. So small, that his chin was practically tucked to his chest to maintain eye contact with her. Thus far, she had had the good sense not to look away, but Galiex almost wished she would. The Maker only knew how he would savour the opportunity to correct her. 

When she just stared back at him, dumb and mute, he forced her closer with fingers splayed wide across her pleasingly rounded behind, releasing her hand so he could press his length against the softness of her stomach.

‘Ma. Mu. Deep sleep,’ he repeated impatiently, ‘I cannot fuck you while you smell like transport pod. Remove this hideous Env suit and wait here. If you do not have it off by the time I am back, you shall have your first lesson on the consequences of misbehaviour.’ 

He released her and swept across his quarters, headed to the antechamber with his tub. Typically, Galiex would not have cared to indulge in what he deemed to be unnecessary extra steps before fucking. But the little creature was clearly still teetering from the anesthetics used to render her unconscious for her journey, and the reek of the pod smothered her scent. Galiex wanted her lucid, and he wanted to be able to smell her fear as he took her for the first time. When the tub was filled with scalding water, he turned and ducked back into his main living space, the sight that greeted him making him pause.

The little human had shucked her suit, her delicate skin almost translucent under the white overhead light. For an instant, he was caught up in drinking in the sight of her breasts, heavy and teardrop shaped, adorned with tight, pink nipples that he could glimpse even as she attempted to cover them, before something else caught his eye. Her Env suit, folded into a neat square on the floor at her feet. A strange sensation drifted through Galiex’s chest. 

She was a good little girl. He was about to do terrible things to her, and yet she had still taken the time to perform this strange gesture. An attempt to keep his quarters clean, to respect the clothing she had been given? Galiex was unsure, and this uncertainty disquieted him. 

The way she wrapped her hands around herself, however. Trying to hide herself from him. This was an insubordinate act that he would relish correcting. 

‘Hands at your side,’ he growled, stalking towards her. She looked so vulnerable, so alone, standing nude in the centre of his chambers; the sight sent a thrill down his spine. Slowly, reluctantly, she forced her hand away from the apex of her thighs, unfastening her forearm from across her breasts.

When he reached her, he wasted no time, grabbing her by the waist and flinging her over his shoulder, chuckling at her shrill gasp and scrabbling hands, pawing at his back in a desperate attempt to steady herself. He took advantage of the moment to caress her ass and the backs of her thighs, the heat in his stomach building at the texture of her silken skin beneath his rough palm. 

He was so hard it was becoming painful, his cock straining forcefully against the confines of his suit.

Once beside the tub he settled on its edge, swinging the little creature forward and arranging her over his thighs. Her entire body trembled now, quivering as she attempted to hide her face against the plane of his thigh, each one thicker than her torso. He took a moment to fondle her pert little ass, squeezing it roughly, groaning gutturally as the red imprints of his fingers blossomed atop the pale skin. 

‘I told you to remove your clothing, but you tried to hide yourself from me,’ he begun, trailing the pads of his fingers over her core, perfectly presented to him, finding her folds slick. Galiex huffed in surprise, exploring her a little deeper. He had certainly not expected to find her body aroused, and he could not decide if it would ruin the experience for him. The girl wailed as he slid a forefinger inside her to his first knuckle, and Galiex grunted as he felt the tight, wet hole clenching around the digit.

Uzuh, if she clenched this way around a single finger, his cock was going to rip her in two. 

But he was becoming distracted. He had a lesson to impart.

‘You never cover yourself from me, do you understand?’ he murmured, as softly as his deep voice would allow. ‘You are mine, and you will never cover yourself from me. Repeat it back to me’

The little creature across his knee drew in a rattling breath, hiccuping as she sobbed into his thigh. 

He struck her, the flat of his hand making contact with her perfect little ass. The way she jolted and yelped was delicious, and Galiex knew she could feel his member pressed into her side, rigid against his abdomen and aching for friction. 

‘You speak when I command you to,’ he growled, brushing his hand over the bright red hand print his blow had left behind, massaging the flesh, soothing its sting. He wanted the next blow to be just as painful as the first. 

But the human only whimpered pathetically. Galiex sighed, and raised his hand again, winding up for another smack. As he hoped, this motivated her sufficiently to stitch together the first sentence he had heard from her. 

‘I am n-n-never to c-cover my-myself from you, M-Master,’ she stuttered, her ribcage heaving as sobs wracked her. 

At this, Galiex laughed aloud.

‘Oh, little human. I am not your Master,’ he cooed, before bringing his hand down against her behind with a slap that made her scream. 

Chapter Text

‘Let us try this again, pet.’ 

Bea stared out at Morax from under the pile of sheets she had constructed at the centre of his bed. Discharged that afternoon by Harsaĝ’s healers, Morax had promptly squirrelled her away back to his quarters for “reeducation”. His bedroom was expansive, its ceilings high and vaulted, the stone speckled with flecks of something like mica. It glittered in the light below Morax’s feet as he crossed his arms and quirked an eyebrow at her, his patience clearly wearing thin. Stubbornly, she summoned her best Azaroth scowl and aimed it at Morax, wrapping herself tighter in the silken sheets.

‘I will not go,’ she hissed through gritted teeth, even as the compliant parts of her — the versions of herself called Human and Moraxys — screamed at her to obey. Compliance was a compulsion, woven as tightly into her fabric as her other instinctual urges. Resisting Morax’s commands felt akin to forcing herself to jump off a high cliff into choppy seas: every cell in her body railing against an action it perceived to be antithetical to survival. The sensation only worsened as Morax narrowed his eyes. Ridiculously, she burrowed herself deeper into the sheets, squeezing her eyes tight shut.

Morax released a long suffering sigh. Since they had returned to his quarters, she had been mostly silent, responding to his direct questions with a nod or shake of her head. At this, Morax had thinned his lips but said nothing. He had ordered her to fetch him a naag, and she had done so, grateful for the opportunity to break in her unsteady legs. While she was immeasurably stronger than she had been on waking the day before, her body still felt like it was not quite her own. Her limbs responded jerkily, as if they had forgotten how to perform their regular tasks. He had worked and ordered her to rest, and she had dutifully curled up on the bed.

But then, he had told her to ready herself for dinner. With whom, he did not say, though she could guess all too well — and the thought of interacting with Galiex in her current state made her want to disappear under the sheets indefinitely. 

The mattress dipped to her right, a weight that could only be Morax seating himself upon its edge. Like a child labouring under the belief that if she could not see Morax, he could not see her, she screwed her eyes shut tighter and locked the silky bed covers in her fists, in case he tried to tear them away. 

A touch on her side made her startle so badly that she released an audible squeak. 

‘Moraxys,’ he chided, and although his voice was gentle Bea felt the undercurrent of warning in his words run along her spine like the tip of a knife. ‘I have been inordinately patient with you. I dread to think what your time on that planet must have been like—‘ 

A pang of grief plucked at her heart. Her time on the desert planet had been a dream, a blessed escape from her life, even including the near death experiences with its awful inhabitants. She imagined what Azaroth would do if he could see her in this moment, pictured his power and rage, and did her best to make it her own.

‘— but you are back in civilised society. An insubordinate Supplicant invites elimination. You know this.’ 

On this, he was entirely correct. She knew all too well that insubordinate behaviour would see her murdered — if Morax chose to report her. Bea cursed in her head, and reluctantly began the struggle to untwist herself from the sheets, Human and Moraxys watching smugly all the while.

With a huff, she drew the final sheet from atop her head and squinted up at Morax, an idea striking her. 

‘Why is it insubordinate to want to be called by my name?’ she asked, slipping seamlessly into the soft tone the Handlers had encouraged at the Facility. Morax had once told her that she was allowed to ask him questions when they were alone; she was playing by his own rules. If she accepted her Supplicant name, it would not be long before she lost her grip and plunged back into compliant thinking. She did not want to be Moraxys, pet to Creator Morax. She wanted to be Bea, partner to Captain Azaroth, serving aboard his ship as assistant to Tsal, just as they had fantasised. 

Morax peered down at her, his expression unreadable. Bea had not yet reacclimatised to his ethereal beauty: the imperious arch of his brows, the curve of his mouth, the framing of his high cheekbones and sweeping jawline. Looking into his eyes was as blinding as staring into the sun, so she picked a spot on his forehead and focused there instead — an attempt to at least pretend that she could return his eye contact.

‘Supplicants are renamed when selected to ease their transition into their new life. To ground them in their new purpose. It is your purpose to serve me,’ he took ahold of her chin between his thumb and forefinger and dipped his face into her eye-line, forcing her to meet his gaze. ‘And you used to enjoy it, quite a bit, pet, if memory serves,’ he murmured, closing the gap between their faces, his voice low and resonant. 

To her horror, she felt heat pool in her belly, and Morax’s face split into a hungry grin.

‘Just so, my an-ki,’ he rumbled, closing his eyes for a heartbeat as he inhaled deeply, hovering his mouth over her pulse point. ‘How I have missed your scent,’ his words vibrated through her body, making her shiver. ‘I almost forgot quite how mouthwatering you are…’

A wave of nausea ripped Bea from her trance, her entire body going rigid as a corpse as she felt his lips brush across her lower jaw. 

She had to make him listen. Had to focus on her goal.

‘I can serve you and still be called by my name,’ she breathed, cursing herself for the wobble in her voice. 

Morax paused in his advance, retreating just enough to study her face. To read her. Bea’s throat tightened, and she decided to go for broke, before she lost her nerve completely.

‘Moraxys would not have survived on that planet,’ she whispered, ‘I did, the version of me that survived on Earth.’

Silence greeted Bea, and she wondered what calculations Morax was performing as his gaze flickered about her face. 

Unfortunately, she needn’t wonder long.

In an instant, Morax flipped her on her front, both her hands captured in just one of his oversized fists, knocking the air from her lungs as he drove his broad knee into her back. On instinct, she attempted to flail, yelping as he yanked her arms back and forced her into the bed. Her struggles were futile — even if Morax had not been four times her size and infinitely stronger, she had no leverage, barely able to lift her head free of the mattress to gasp in a desperate breath. 

‘My tolerance for your insubordination appears to have confused you, my little an-ki,’ Morax purred, running his free hand along her body, making her whimper with unbridled fear. The weight on her back, her obstructed vision, the burning of her arms as he twisted them behind her. It was all too much. 

‘My mistake, for which I should apologise,’ he continued, his fingers effortlessly finding their way to her Env suits seam. Bea’s eyes flared as she realised what he was reaching for, what he intended to do, releasing a wordless cry of protest. 

Morax clicked his tongue at her reaction, pausing for a moment to run his fingers along the curve of her back. 

‘Hush, pet. I understand I may seem harsh, but I am doing you a kindness,’ he murmured soothingly, even as he parted her Env suit, the sight of her bared skin pulling a satisfied rumble from his throat. 

Bea’s lungs, arms, eyes burned, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

Helpless. She was utterly helpless. 

‘You cannot be what you once were, Moraxys. There is no place now in the galaxy for a free human, and it would simply be cruel of me to allow you to pretend that you could be one.’ 

Morax’s words rolled over her, her breathing becoming more ragged as he slipped the Env suit over her arms, trailing his mouth over the skin of her shoulder as he exposed it. 

‘You were happy before as my Supplicant. You will be happy again. Submit to me, and I will spend each and every day pleasing you,’ Morax’s voice was like honey, thick and sweet as he caressed her, shifting ever so slightly to draw her Env suit back over her hips. Bea keened in fear as the cool air of the room kissed her ass, her thighs. Ever resourceful, Morax did not bother removing the Env suit, instead using it to bind her feet, tightening the knot until the bones of her ankles bit into one another. 

‘There,’ he rasped, folding her arms behind her to better admire her naked form, ‘a sight I have sorely missed.’ 

‘Please, please don’t, please,’ Bea pleaded, her voice garbled and hoarse, not even recognisably her own.

Her Master chuckled, the distortion in his voice enough to make every muscle in her body lock up. 

‘Oh, little one.’ Bea could hear his grin rather than see it, unable to twist her head around far enough. ‘Your pleading may not have the effect you intended,’ he shifted his weight, and to her horror, he pressed his himself against her ass, letting her feel his throbbing cock beneath his Env suit. When she gasped, he released a groan of his own and began grinding himself against her, grabbing at her ass with one hand and bearing what felt like his entire weight down upon her with the other. Each roll of his hips brought the rigid outline of his cock against her core, the stimulation making her breathe catch even as she fought to block it out completely.

Bea battled the urge to writhe; a difficult task, half-frantic with fear and — to her humiliation — arousal as she was. Morax liked it when she thrashed, she remembered all too well. It excited the feral part of that overtook him when the urge to “couple” became too strong. She had to distract him, bring him back to himself, before he—

Bea could not acknowledge the word for what Morax was about to do to her, even to herself. Her mind had shuttered itself, restricting its focus and compartmentalising into the strict, narrow lines of thinking necessary only for survival. 

She had to distract him, say something, anything to make him pause.

‘Please, Master. You said I was happy being your Supplicant before, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t happy. Not at the end,’ she rasped, hoping her use of his title would soothe him. 

Morax grunted, wrapping his hand around her neck from behind, his long fingers overlapping at her windpipe, his grinding only picking up speed.

‘You let them leave me during the meteor storm, we saw the Kaskal moving away from us,’ Bea continued, voice rising in pitch and her throat convulsing under his grip. ‘You took me away from Sacha—’ she broke off, a sob catching in her chest. 

Somehow, nude, trussed up on her belly like a bird ready of roasting, half-crushed beneath Morax’s weight, Bea had spoken the words that had been lodged in her chest like bullet shrapnel. Uttering them aloud felt like dredging the fragments out with a blunt instrument, and she wailed into the mattress, no longer not bothering to attempt to raise her head. She either wanted the world blocked out, or to disappear entirely herself. 

Naturally, she would not be so fortunate, but all the same, Morax’s crushing body weight abruptly relented. 

Deft hands found her shoulders and flipped her over — Bea cringed from the light, feeling for all the world like a limpet torn from a rock, her soft, vulnerable underside on full display. Eyes and nose and cheeks so wet with tears and snot and drool from her weeping that she was certain she must look an utter disgrace. Squinting up, she grimaced as she blubbered, humiliation swallowing her whole. 

Morax was staring down at her as though he had never seen her before, as though she had somehow spawned there without warning. His mouth hung open as though he had been about to say something, but no words came out. Bea blinked up at him, bewilderment momentarily stunning her. 

It was at least ten of her own stuttering heartbeats before Morax finally spoke. 

‘I did not want to leave you. If the Kaskal was moving, I knew nothing of it,’ he breathed, his words ragged and mangled. ‘My an-ki. The pain I felt when they told me we had lost track of the pod. I told you when you awoke — you cannot imagine.’

‘I can imagine,’ Bea whispered, her energy all but spent, tired to the bone. ‘I lost everything I ever loved,’ she let her eyes fall closed, unable to keep staring into his terrible, beautiful face a moment longer. ‘I can imagine.’ 

Silence stretched between them, cold and immense as a glacier. Still, she refused to open her eyes, refused to check what effect her words had had on the Nephal who owned her. 

To her surprise, when Morax next spoke, he sounded almost like himself again.  

‘If I find the child for you…’ he begun carefully, as if selecting his words one by one. ‘If I find out what happened to him,’ he revised, perfectly blank, ‘you will be content, Moraxys?’ 

Her heartbeat roared in her ears, time dilating strangely as her eyes flew open in shock to regard Morax, to assess his sincerity, a single moment stretched until it felt like minutes.

‘If he’s alive,’ she begun, biting her tongue to keep more tears from spilling over and down her cheeks. ‘If he’s alive and captured, Earth or another planet… would you—’ her demand got lodged in her throat, and she cursed herself for her weakness.

‘If he is alive, I will allow you to visit him,’ Morax interjected smoothly. 

Bea widened her eyes at him, stumbling over her next sentence; negotiating with Morax while naked and pinned beneath him was about as tricky as she could have anticipated. 

‘And if he’s in an awful situation, a mine or— or a—‘

’Then I will find him more suitable employment.’

And just like that, Bea realised that Morax had ensnared her. It had been deftly done. She would give anything to see Sacha again in a heartbeat. Even her own freedom. 

‘You would do that for me?’ she asked, voice cracking mid-sentence.

With a deliberate slowness, Morax pushed himself off all fours and on to his knees, winding his hands beneath her limp body. Bea felt too weak, too feeble to do anything but let him scoop her up into his arms and cradle her against his chest. Shaking all over, she drew her arms tight to her sides in an attempt to hide their tremble. Morax was everywhere, his wide shoulders and chest and arms encasing her in heat and the soft white of his Env suit. Tenderly, he pressed his mouth to the top of her head, breathing her in before releasing a sharp huff. 

‘That you would even ask me that question, Moraxys,’ he muttered darkly, though he drew her closer. ‘I am not a sadist, pet. It brings me only sadness and anger to see you truly in pain,’ his breath rushed through her curls as he begun gently untying her feet. Bea stiffened when his palm met her bare thigh, abruptly aware of her nakedness — until Morax growled a wordless protest. Bea restrained from cringing at the admonishment and forced herself to become boneless, to melt against him. 

She hated how easy it was. How much easier it was to give in to him. 

‘Moraxys, I know how smart you are. You must understand that if I did release you, grant you your freedom, I would merely be placing you in danger.’ 

His words resonated through her body, pressed to his chest as she was, and Bea turned her face into his clavicle, doing her best to disguise her attempt to hide her face as an affectionate gesture. 

‘Humans cannot work. You cannot earn a wage,’ Morax continued, with the soft intonation of a parent explaining that, really, there was nothing hiding under the bed that she need be afraid of. ‘And neither could you function in galactic society. On one hand, you are small and defenceless, but on the other, your people were violent. Selfish. Driving your own planet towards destruction. Not yet ready to steward yourselves.

I can see your perspective, that of a free born human. Serving me may seem unjust to you, especially given what you know of the way humans treated their own kind that they enslaved. But you are fortunate, pet. The Nephalem are wardens of the Galaxy. We maintain balance and order. And the next generation of your people will come to see themselves as indescribably lucky to serve, not just for their own sake, but for the sake of their home planet, and ultimately, the long-term survival of their race.

Do you understand, my an-ki?’ 

Morax drew his speech to a close, capturing her face in his hand and tipping it until she was looking at him again. A tear slipped silently down her cheek, and Morax wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. 

‘I understand, Master,’ she mumbled, doing her best to look reverential as she lay her head against his shoulder. It wasn’t difficult. Fear was very easy to pass off as reverence, if you were careful. Wide eyes, racing pulse, slack jaw. All too similar.

‘Good girl,’ he smiled warmly at her, ‘then let us dress you. Commander Alviehna has invited Azaroth to attend the dinner. I imagine you would want to see him, hmm? Show him some gratitude for keeping you safe for me.’ 

‘Yes, Master,’ she chirped, her heart missing a beat, which Morax of course heard, but fortunately promptly misinterpreted.

‘There is no cause for fear, Moraxys. You may be pleased to hear Galiex has been gifted his own human — he is apparently quite taken with her. I expect he will be less fixated on you,’ Morax informed her, his tone absent-minded as he captured her calf in one enveloping hand. Instinctively, she tensed, but when Morax simply began sliding her Env suit back on her, she took advantage of this distraction to consider his words. 

His assertion that the Kaskal had not in fact been trying to abandon them in the storm. That he had searched for her. The thought startled a chattering flock of conflicting emotions. She had been furious when she and Azaroth had awoken on the desert planet. Furious and betrayed that Morax would allow that to happen to her, both emotions that had been key to her initial bonding with Azaroth. Yet here Morax was, assuring her that he had played no part in their accident. A wave of shame washed over her as she considered how she might have acted if she hadn’t blamed him. 

How much simpler life could have been if Azaroth had never shown her that she could have more than what Morax had to offer. 

Morax finished dressing her and slowly, tenderly, pressed his wide mouth against hers, taking her by surprise. Even before he’d lost her, they had kissed in this way, on the lips, very few times. His mouth was soft and hot and uncharacteristically gentle. No sharp teeth or snaking tongue, and after a couple of seconds, he pulled away respectfully. She blinked up at him in shock, her poor, stumbling brain not yet caught up with what had just happened. 

He smiled at her bewildered look.

‘I thought about doing that many times when you were gone,’ he confessed in a low whisper.

All Bea could think to do was throw her arms around his neck to hide her face from him, praying to whatever gods might be left to her that he could not smell the guilt that filled her to the brim. 

Chapter Text

The Nephal who was not her Master made her think of the Greek myths she read as a child. Not the silly cartoon retellings, with their songs and their heroes. No, he was as terrible and capricious and cruel as Gods and Goddesses in the books her father had owned. The beings that toyed with mortals and then punished them for no good reason at all. She had not caught his name on the night his equally terrifying sister had delivered her to him, and neither had he offered it. So, she begun thinking of him as Zeus in her head. Zeus, ruler of Olympus, who raped and tortured the innocent. 

Though, Anya doubted anyone could mistake her for innocent anymore.

Before this, she had believed herself fully adjusted to off-worlders. Serving the La’Emiyraa grove who had purchased her from Earth had put her in the path of a great range of them, Nephalem included. But he was different. Unchecked power and conceit poured into the human construct of the masculine ideal. As huge and muscular and chiselled as Atlas holding the globe aloft. Hands the size of a tennis racket head, with thick, powerful fingers capable of inflicting great pain or pleasure, depending on his mood. Even his undeniably alien features only heightened his magnificence: eyes of molten gold and skin a purple so dark she might have mistaken it for black, if his hair had not been a true obsidian. 

The first night she had been so groggy, so disoriented, equal parts terrified and in awe of him, unable to quite grasp the situation she had found herself in. As though her brain had thrown a blanket over the worst of the experience to hide its true form, lest it break her. Most of her memories of that encounter were hazy, distant, like trying to remember a dream. The sequence of events was jumbled. How she had gotten from location to location — the pod, his room, his bath, his bed — was blurred. 

But there were certain moments. Particular images and sensations. Snapshots so vivid, they seemed more real than anything that had come before them. The sharp pain of his hand against her bare rear as he smacked her, juxtaposed against the careful way he washed her in his enormous bath tub. His long, burning hot tongue playing over her nipples and breasts. The moment before he had first forced himself inside her, both of them staring at his cock lined up against her folds, its bulbous head and strangely ridged shaft comically huge in contrast with her hips. At the sight, he had released a groan so low she had felt it reverberate through the mattress beneath her. 

That first time, he had only managed to get half of it inside her, no matter how threateningly he growled at her to relax, wrapping his hand tight enough around her throat that she saw stars. Even accepting that much of him into her body had been enough to make her scream, despite all her attempts to swallow her cries. She need not have worried, she realised later. He liked it when she screamed, even more when she cried. Liked it when she babbled for mercy.

What he seemed less certain of was her traitorous body’s reaction to him. 

Arousal. Anya’s ultimate shame. Her body reacted to him in a way it had never done for a human before the dominion. She could not have been certain — naturally, the La’Emiyraa did not measure time Earth’s units — but she thought it had been about four years since the sky above her home had caught fire. She had been too young back then to have explored much, not far into adulthood when the Nephalem came, and her exploits to that point had mostly been drunken fumbles in the dark. Never before had she been physically punished. Never before had she been strangled, or restrained, or forced to cum until she sobbed.

So really, she could never have anticipated how his training would set her body alight. Part of her wondered if she should be thankful that she seemed to be as sick and twisted as he was. 

A match made in heaven. 

It is still rape, even if some disturbed up part of you enjoys it, she shook herself by the shoulders in the long stretches of the day he left her alone in his room. He never took her with him. She slept in his bed when he was pleased with her, on his bench when he was not. He had not provided her with an Env suit, leaving her to exist entirely naked. Initially, she had felt horribly exposed, even when she was by herself. Anya had not grown up comfortable in her own body, and the feeling had never quite left her. Not to mention how it gave her no choice but to wrap herself in his sheets to hide herself from the human man that brought her food and water. He was the only other soul she saw, and she learnt quickly that he would not talk to her. Anya of course knew the term insubordination, but on Giš, she had not been monitored with a Com, and her owners had not particularly cared who she spoke to. The man’s skittishness made her only more fearful of this place she had found herself in. More fearful of him.

God, she was not adjusting well to solitude. 

For the first few days, she had almost been grateful for the quiet, the moments of respite between his assaults — but the novelty had rapidly turned to tedium. She would lounge on his bench, jog around the sprawling quarters to keep her body active, or simply lie on her back in the antechamber with a force field for a ceiling and stare out at the stars. Anything to keep herself from obsessing about the one thing she wanted above all to avoid thinking of. Him. When he would return. What humour he would be in. He was quickly becoming her entire world, and she was almost certain that this construction of her life had been designed to make him so. He was callous, brusque, but his every move was deliberate. Calculated. Those molten golden eyes missed nothing. 

When he was happy, or content, or pleased, her life was easier. He would sweep into the room, booming voice announcing his arrival. Anya would scurry from whatever corner she had been hiding in — having of course made sure that she looked presentable — and fall to her knees before him. If she was lucky, he would chuckle and ordered her on to his lap while he lounged on the bench, scrolling through his portal, his long, broad fingers trailing up and down her body until he got bored and shoved them inside her. In her mouth, her vagina, or — if she was particularly unlucky — her asshole. 

‘Got to practice stretching you out for me,’ he would coo into her ear, watching her expression with rapt attention as he tried to see how many of his fingers he could fit in her before she wept or split. 

His bad moods were similarly obvious: he would lope into the room silently, wasting no time before grabbing her bodily and throwing her over the nearest surface, impaling her on his cock as she writhed and begged for mercy. What incited these tantrums was beyond her. He did not appear to have an employment, judging by the hours he kept. Important enough not to need to work or earn credits; what he did when he left his room was a mystery.

Until, that was, about a fortnight into her new life.

Anya lay, her bare back against the cool stone floor, staring up at the stars and thinking about the sun. Her sun. How much she missed it. The winters in her home country had been long, dark, and cold. Her father, a professor of history at the small, local university, would return home long after the weak sun had fallen, worn ragged from the extra classes he taught to support them. Too tired to keep the house. Before she had even become a teen, Anya had learnt to cook, and clean, and manage herself. To have dinner ready for her father when he returned. They would eat, and chat, and on his good days, she could breathe some colour back into his grey cheeks. He would call her his sunshine, read to her from one of his books, and tuck her into bed, and for a short time, she would feel completely loved and safe.

Memories she had not indulged in for a very long time.

The La’Emiyraa grove she had served had been kind enough owners. Never cruel, never vindictive. Anya had been very fashionable on Giš; not many plants could afford their very own human, and her life had been straightforward, if not necessarily enjoyable. They had kept her incredibly busy, running her off her feet with never ending political events to serve and be seen at. No time to wallow and grieve the loss of her home, the death of her father.

Now, left to her own devices, she had all the time in the world. 

A tear had trickled all the way to the hair at her temple when she heard his footsteps, his hiss of frustration.

Anya sprang to her feet and bolted to greet him, not bothering to wipe away the evidence of her crying. Her tears were yet another thing he coveted. 

She did not get far; the sight that greeted her as she entered the main living space of his quarters made her feet stick fast. 

He was sat upon his bench, as he usually did upon returning, but his countenance was unfamiliar. Sprawling limbs thrown haphazardly about, great chest rising and falling as if he had been sprinting. Head tipped back to rest against backboard. He radiated exhaustion. 

Silently, she crept forward, dropping to her knees a few metres away, the hard floor biting her shins.

He must have heard her. The Nephalem heard everything. But he did not move.

Anya crawled a little closer, until she was almost knelt between his knees, his hulking thighs spread wide as he slumped, so close that she could feel the heat they emitted.

The instinctive fear response she felt in his presence was only heightened by her confusion. By now, he should have grabbed her with his burning hot hands and crushed her against whatever surface was closest to take her. 

What was he waiting for?

From this angle, she could not see his face. Just the underside of his perfectly squared jaw, the bob of his throat as he swallowed.

Every muscle in Anya’s body was coiled tight, begging her to flee, but she forced herself to remain quiet and absolutely still.

‘Are you just going to stare at me, human?’ he rumbled finally, without shifting from his position. 

Anya indeed stared up at him, eyes round as plates, uncertainty eating away at her already frayed nerves. He had given her no rules to follow to guide her through this scenario. Other than that when he spoke to her, he expected an answer.

‘Is there something else I can do for you, sir?’ 

Her voice sounded very small and very nervous. They had settled on sir a couple of days in. It did not translate to Nephal, but when she explained the honorific’s context, he had been pleased. To him, she was mostly just human or little girl. Anya could not explain the shiver that ran through her whenever he used the latter.

The Nephal scoffed, running his hand down his face, and though he still did not sit up, Anya noticed a muscle in his enormous thigh twitching. 

‘Are you…’ she begun tentatively, and his thigh stopped twitching, his entire body freezing. Waiting for her to finish speaking. ‘Are you well, sir?’ Anya managed to squeak, immediately regretting the question as he slowly raised his head to stare down at her. His frigid gaze ran up and down her body with the calculating air of a being summing her worth. 

‘I lost a sparring match, human,’ he informed her coldly. Huge. He was so unbelievably huge from this angle, knelt between his legs, his muscled arms slung across the back of the bench, gazing down his nose at her. Anya felt like a beetle on the floor, anticipating being crushed at any moment. She cast about desperately for something to say.

‘I cannot imagine you losing a fight to anyone, sir,’ she mumbled, completely truthfully. A being that could topple Zeus was inconceivable. 

This made him chuckle darkly, his shoulders shaking softly. 

‘Of course you could not.’ 

Each sentence he spoke to her came with the tone of a command. She wondered at who he was that he dominated with such ease, as if it was the most natural thing in the galaxy that all should yield to him. 

When she merely continued to stare back at him — she had quickly learnt the painful consequences of dropping her eyes to the floor — he simply released an empty sigh, and dropped his head back once more.

Anya fidgeted nervously, entirely unsure of what to do. 

He seemed bone weary. If he had lost a fight, he must have been aching — if Nephalem could do something as human as ache, that was. 

‘Can I run you a bath, sir?’ she offered quietly, wincing in anticipation of his ire. 

But he simply grunted, which Anya guessed was an affirmative, and she scurried off, eager to put some distance between them. 

The tub was enormous, big enough for him to soak in, a small swimming pool to her. Despite its size, it filled rapidly, the water scaldingly hot compared to her relatively tepid body temperature. It had no taps — she simply had to press a command on the room’s portal and water rose up from gaps at the tub’s base. In under a minute, it was full, and with a little hop she balanced herself over the rim, legs dangling behind her as she swirled the water experimentally with a few fingers. 

‘What a sight to greet me.’

Anya froze as she felt his hands encircle her waist and his hips meet her rear as he nestled his heavy erection between her buttocks. Somehow, he had removed his Env suit and entered the room all without her noticing — how a being that large could move so silently was beyond her understanding. 

‘Good little girl,’ he murmured, wrapping her hair about his fist and pulling as he slowly rubbed himself against her. ‘Do you think if you try to care for me I will be nicer to you, hmm? Think I will fall to my knees to thank you?’ his voice was soft but the danger in his tone was unmistakable. 

‘No, sir,’ she breathed, the edge of bath pressing uncomfortably into her stomach as he bucked his hips against her. 

‘No? Do fuck toys run baths now?’ he growled, shifting his weight to part her legs, resting his bulbous head at her entrance. Anya gasped and writhed at the contact, his fist in her hair all that was stopping her from slumping face first into the steaming water just inches from her nose. 

‘No, sir, I am so sorry,’ she choked out, cringing as he rubbed his head about her slit and released a hiss of disbelief.

‘Slick. Why are you wet, little human? You like it when I do this to you?’ 

What a question. One Anya did not know if she could answer. She, Anya, hated it. Hated him for what he did to her. Yet some part of her, this masochistic stranger who shared her body, was burning with desire, with need. Heat coiled in her belly at the thought of her helplessness, at his total control over her. Desperate for him to even brush against the swollen bundle of nerves at the apex of her slit. 

A white hot smack of his hand against her ass broke her from her reverie, and she wailed aloud, legs dangling uselessly in the air.

‘Answer me, does my little slut like it when I force my cock into her? I will know if you are lying, I will smell it,’ he threatened, fingers pinching her clit hard enough that she jolted as if electrocuted, crying out. 

‘Yes, I do,’ she whimpered, disgusted with herself. 

He barked a laugh, savage and abrupt. 

Of course you do,’ he rumbled, running a single, immense finger through her folds. A finger thick enough to fill her all on its own. ‘Such a good little girl. You want me to put my cock inside you? Want me to fill you up, my little slut?’ 

Anya shuddered as the wide pad of his fingertip found her clit again, circling it lazily, the pleasure transforming the pain of his fist in her hair into something which made her quiver.

‘Oh god, yes, sir, please,’ she moaned, unable to answer anything else. To ask him to stop was an impossibility. But truthfully, sickeningly, Anya did not want him to stop. The languid circles he traced around her swollen bud of nerves were electrifying, as renewing as the first breath of air on surfacing from deep underwater. More than anything, she wanted him to continue. 

‘Such a wet little cunt,’ he moaned, momentarily dipping a finger into her before replacing it with the head of his cock again, leaning over her body to brace himself against the tub. She could not twist to see him, pinned as she was, but the feeling of his great torso against the bare skin of his back made her mewl and writhe, until he growled menacingly and smacked her again.

‘Stop wriggling,’ he hissed through gritted teeth, ‘I want you to feel every bit of my length as I fill you.’

With a grunt, he shifted his hips, and his head entered her.

Every time, Anya forgot how impossibly thick he was, her walls fluttering helplessly around even his head. Every time, it hurt so bad. Every time, it was pure agony. 

Why then, did it feel so fucking good? 

‘Too much for you already? Uzuh, you are so tight, so wet for me, such a good little girl,’ he crooned, inching his way inside her, laughing darkly as her body tried to resist him. With another chuckle, he circled her clit again, making her spasm and whimper at the sensation. ‘Tell me how it feels, little human,’ he breathed, leaning far enough over her to whisper the words into her ear, his hulking chest and shoulders eclipsing all light from overhead. 

‘Feels so good,’ she choked out, breathless. 

Her entire body felt like it was on fire. 

‘Maker, perhaps Zethra has accidentally purchased me a whore. Good little girls do not want to be split in two by a monster,’ he rasped in her ear, tongue darting out to lap against her neck. ‘You want more of me, little whore?’ 

Anya wailed as he stopped touching her clit, writhing to make up for the lack of friction.

‘Please, sir, please fuck me, please— just don’t stop touching me,’ she babbled, arching her back in an attempt to take him deeper inside her. 

He laughed again, the sound utterly predatory.

‘Dumb little slut, that is all you are — say it, tell me what you are.’ 

Anya could hear the feral grin in his voice, feel his cock twitch inside her, and the finger circling her clit suddenly bore down on the bundle of nerves hard enough to make her scream.

‘I am a dumb little slut,’ she wailed, her body convulsing beneath him, barely able to even string the words together. 

He rumbled his approval, rewarding her with more of his length. 

‘So tight,’ he groaned as he forced himself forward, slipping himself further inside her inch by inch, ‘clenching around me as if you are trying to strangle me — am I hurting you, little slut?’

‘Yes,’ she breathed, tears blurring her vision, the heat from the bath water beneath her making her head swim. ‘Yes, it hurts so bad.’ The ache as he stretched her to her limits was almost unbearable, in more ways than one. Even as she hissed in pain, her eyes rolled back as his head hit the spongy flesh of her front wall, the angle of his cock making her see stars. ‘You are so fucking huge,’ Anya breathed, the words slipping from her lips before she could stop them.

He grunted: the sound of pure, male satisfaction.

‘Good little girl wants to be fucked by the monster, does she? Want me to fuck you properly, human? Want me to ruin you?’

Before she knew what she was doing, Anya was nodding her head, and he scoffed and smacked her again, hard enough that she knew she would be covered in the imprints of his hands for days to come. 

‘Say it out loud, little girl, beg for it.’

Pleas fell from her mouth before she could stop them, as though he had opened a sluice gate and released a river of words. 

‘Please sir, please ruin me, p— please, just don’t stop touching me, oh god, please, sir—‘

With a groan that shook her to her core, he wrapped a hand about her throat, the fingers overlapping at the nape of her neck, his bulging forearm supporting her entire upper body. 

Then, agonisingly slowly, he forced himself inside her, further and further until her hit her cervix and she saw stars, her ribcage heaving and yet unable to draw a complete breath. Each ridge of his shaft was heaven as it entered her, the protrusions notching against the tender flesh of her front wall until she was keening wordlessly. Further and further, until his hips kissed her reddened ass cheeks, her walls frantically clenching around him, the pain both unspeakable and euphoric. 

‘Such a good little whore taking my cock,’ he growled into the shell of her ear, hot breath tickling her neck, ‘Maker, I thought I would break you, but my little slut’s cunt fits me just right, squeezing me so tight, my good little girl.’ 

Black spots danced in front of her eyes and she was distantly aware that she was screaming, something about being too full, about it being too much. But his fingers found her clit again, inhumanly precise in spite of their size, and all at once the pain was pleasure and the pleasure was pain; one inseparable from the other, a snake eating its own tail. His hips thrust back and forth with enough force to knock the air from her lungs, driving his cock against the spot inside her that made her come apart at the seams over and over and over.

‘I want to feel you cum around my cock, little slut,’ he was rumbling, his voice rolling over her like thunder. ‘I want to feel your little walls clench around me as you scream for me.’ 

His circling fingers sped up, and Anya’s lower stomach twisted and clenched, her cries melting into each other at the unrelenting tidal wave of pleasure that swamped her body. 

‘Oh god, sir, fuck I— I’m going to—‘ 

He lifted the hood of her clit to touch the little nub directly and Anya fell apart, her orgasm upending her and sending her tumbling. 

He roared as she clamped around him and snapped his hips forward, forcing himself as deep inside her as could. Her entire body was both over-sensitised and numb, as if static filled her limbs and head and belly, her world jumping about as he hammered into her, each thrust producing a loud, wet slap against her sopping pussy.

‘Maker have mercy, sheer bliss, sucking me inside you,’ he muttered, the muscles in his thighs and abdomen trembling as he neared his own release, ‘such a sweet little cunt, perfect for ruining, I am going to ruin you, my good little girl—’

His breath hitched as he came, her core quivering around his twitching member as he buried himself inside her to his base, his pulse thundering through her as he gripped her tight to him. For almost a minute, they remained in that pose, his great chest heaving against her back, her skin slick with sweat from the furnace heat of his body above and the bath water below. 

‘Uzuh,’ he muttered finally, gathering himself enough to straighten and pull out. Anya whimpered at the sudden emptiness, her walls fluttering in an attempt to clamp around a cock that was no longer there. He huffed a laugh at her, stepping back and spreading her cheeks wide to inspect her.

‘Such a pretty little cunt, all pink and swollen and full of my seed,’ he cooed, swiping his fingers through the rivulets of his cum that trailed down her thighs and stuffing it back inside her. Anya whimpered at the sting of his probing fingers, the ecstasy of her orgasm receding and leaving in its wake all the pain it had numbed. 

‘Were you going to bathe me then, little girl?’ he lifted her from the edge of the tub as if she were light as a feather, her weakened body slumping against him as her legs folded beneath her. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, the small noise alone enough to make Anya scramble to right herself. 

‘Fuck toys do not run baths,’ she managed to rasp, throat hoarse from sobbing. And begging for his cock, a snide voice in her head chimed in.

‘No, they do not,’ he agreed, grinning his sharp teeth at her. ‘But they do need to get cleaned up.’ 

Anya had all of a moment to stare at him, mouth agape, before he chucked her unceremoniously into the tub. 

Scalding water filled her nose, her mouth, and she floundered wildly in an attempt to right herself. When her head popped up to the surface, the sight of him laughing raucously greeted her as he slipped into the tub beside her.

‘Oh, you float?’ he snorted in amusement, his great hands swallowing her waist, plucking her from the surface like an eagle capturing a fish and pinning her to his lap, his great body surrounding her on all sides.

‘Were you hoping I would sink?’ she muttered, eyes going round as saucers as she realised what she had said. 

She had just spoken back to Zeus. 

She cringed away from him, stiff as a post as she waited for her punishment. 

But to her amazement, he just chuckled, and flipped her round so she was straddling his hips. His huge hands wrapped her legs around him, pulling her closer until her core met the bulging muscles of his abdomen. His inhumanly beautiful face filled her vision, wicked golden eyes flashing in the soft, warm light of the bathroom. Anya blinked up at him as she steadied herself against his broad chest, feeling his powerful pectorals tensing beneath her palms. Somehow, her hips began rolling against him of their own accord, small huffs escaping her parted lips as he brought his mouth to the delicate skin at the underside of her jaw. 

‘Oh, I cannot drown you just yet, little human,’ he murmured against her neck, trailing his incisor down its column. ‘Our fun is just getting started.’ 

Chapter Text

She was so cold. 

Colder than her little body usually was, he was certain of it. He had expected her to be icy from the lake but, by the Maker, she felt like a corpse.

He cradled her crumpled form in his arms, pressing her chest to his ear, holding his breath in an attempt to catch her heartbeat over the roar of his own blood.

‘Please,’ he rasped, cocooning her as best as he could, breath hitching. 

Azaroth had suffered countless injuries, even taken a dra’shirii blade to chest, and yet the wrenching pain he felt currently in his sternum was like nothing he had ever experienced.

The medkit was useless, it had no cures for venom, and she had used the emergency dose on him before they had even begun their journey. How he wished he could take it back, offer himself in her place, the thought fracturing what remained of his composure.

He had failed. Promised to keep her safe and failed her and himself. Bile rose in his throat and the impulse to tear at his own flesh overwhelmed him. Failed to protect his little love. 

‘Please, darling, you cannot leave me,’ he whispered hoarsely, voice cracking even as he felt himself shattering. 

Anything. Azaroth would do anything.

‘Please. Come back to me, my Bea.’

His breath hitched, his eyes falling shut as his face twisted.

Then, suddenly, there it was. 

For a moment, he feared he had imagined it, a hallucination driven by grief and sheer, fervid desperation. 

A flutter. Weak as the wings of a Nim, but a fluttering of her pulse nonetheless. 

Azaroth’s eyes flew open and he lurched forward, the blade he slept with in hand and held aloft, his breath ragged and his lungs burning. 

Alone in his quarters on Harsaĝ. He need not glance at his Com to know it was the dead of the Enclave’s sleep cycle. He had awoken this way nigh on every night since getting here. Awoken without her. Without the comforting weight of her slight body atop his own, her scent in his nose, the sound of her thrumming heartbeat. Each time, the pain in his chest was as sharp as the last.

Lurching out of bed, he paced the room, knife still in hand, his grip so tight that it could only be deemed a miracle of the Mechanics’ engineering that the hilt did not crumple.  

It took all the strength he possessed to hold himself back. To restrain his body from storming to Morax’s quarters, ripping through the door, plunging his blade into the Creator's throat, and freeing his love. Usually, this fantasy felt like the only thing keeping him sane, but tonight, he held on to his self-control with a grip that felt as though it might slip at any instant. 

A growl ripped from his throat, a feral noise he hardly recognised, as he cycled through every reason he could think of to hold himself back from going to her.

They had nowhere to go. No means of escape. If he eliminated Morax without an exit strategy, he would not only be sealing his own fate, but Beatrice’s in the process.

This faultless logic did nothing to cool the maelstrom of fury and misery that raged at his core.

He paced the length of his room, calling instead on the memory of his discussion with Tsal. Combing over the details of their plan.

Shem has had word from Giš. 

He had to be patient. He had to wait. 

All at once, Azaroth’s energy abandoned him, a fatigue so deeply embedded within him it seemed to seep from his very bones. Defeated, he slumped on the edge of his bed and laid his knife across his knees, his gaze falling upon on the cruel curve of its short, bronze-coloured blade. His Emvaruf, as familiar to him as his own face, its blade the length of his hand and intricately engraved with the mark of Ensi. An Emvaruf was presented to each Warrior upon joining the cause: a symbol of their commitment to their people, to Ensi, and to order. The weapon was mostly ceremonial, though Azaroth had worn his sheathed at his thigh in battle. 

Yet another item he had wished he had on his person on Là le ki gi é ne tar tag-gal, when they had first crashed. Now, the superstitious part of him wondered whether his former talisman would have kept him blind to her. An alternate reality that was torturous, even if just imagined.

He forced himself to lie back down, to return the Emvaruf to its resting place beside his cot. 

And thanked the Maker for giving him eyes to see, hands to feel, and a soul capable of loving his little alien.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bea trailed reluctantly behind Morax, gaze fixed on his wide shoulders, emphasised by the panelling of what she now recognised to be a more formal version of his standard Env suit. Only, unlike the one she had seen him wear on Galietiel, the elaborate overlapping scales that covered his chest, shoulders, and thighs were now bordered with silver. He glimmered in the low lights of Harsaĝ’s corridors, silent and ethereal as a spectre. 

Harsaĝ was also unlike Galietiel in almost all ways, she was realising. It was possible to walk down a street in Galietiel and believe yourself to be outside. There was no such luxury on Harsaĝ. It was smaller, the passages close and dimly lit, giving a sense of confinement. Morax had told her a little about the mysterious moon enclave. It orbited no planet, circling its nearby star at the very edge of the solar system. Its sun was so far away, in fact, that the moon did not spin — not that there would have been enough light to really differentiate between night and day regardless. The moon was cold, barren, and Harsaĝ felt the same. Devoid of life. They passed only a few Nephalem on their journey to dinner: a handful of Warriors, huge and looming in black, and Creators bearing the unknown crest she saw repeated everywhere. It was on the walls, in the lights, carved into the floors. Unnerving. 

‘I take it you know better than to flaunt your charming insubordination in front of company,’ Morax interrupted her thoughts. He did not turn back to face her as he spoke, his tone cool and casual. 

‘Yes, Master,’ Bea murmured, her cheeks heating at her use of Morax’s title. 

‘Good. I would hate to have to punish you in public,’ he replied silkily, as though, actually, he might in fact quite enjoy such an outcome. 

Bea grit her teeth. She would give him no resistance tonight. Not when she would be seeing Azaroth. Just the thought of being in the same room as him was enough to make her nauseous with equal parts anxiety and anticipation; her heart raced and palpitated uncomfortably, as though it were being squeezed by a clammy fist. Bea suspected that ego prevented Morax from considering Azaroth a rival for his affections, but that benefit of the doubt would shrivel if she was not exceedingly careful. 

Just a glimpse of his face. That was all she would allow herself. Any more, and she felt sure that it would be impossible for Morax not to recognise her feelings for the Captain, no matter how oblivious he appeared to be. 

A pod ride across an open plane, void of all but rock and shadow, brought them to a spiralling tower hewn directly into a great mountain. Natural rock, adorned and reinforced with Nephalem metal — silver joinery stitching the very land together. The Nephal relationship with the territory they invaded was involved, intimate. Symbiotic or parasitic, Bea could not decide, though she supposed in Harsaĝ’s case, it did not matter. The moon was dead already. 

They were, of course, meeting at the very top of the mountain-tower structure. The Nephal tendency towards grandeur was interplanetary, it seemed. The pod came to a stop behind an elaborate set of airlock doors, adorned with that symbol again. An intricate whorl, drawing into a perfect circle at its centre. Staring at it, Bea could not help but feel as though she were being pulled into that circle at the centre, as if the mark had a gravity all of its own. She shuddered and blinked hard to disperse the sensation.

As the pod doors slid open and Morax stepped out, he took her by surprise, turning to offer her a hand. For a moment, she merely scanned him, caught entirely off guard. The step down from the pod was indeed a considerable distance for her shorter legs, especially given her lingering wobbliness from her long stint in the land of unconsciousness.                     

At her hesitation, Morax treated her to his softest smile: all chivalry and amiability, no leering hunger. Bea swallowed drily and compelled her arm move, slipping her hand into his. The grin Morax rewarded her with was blinding, the brush of his thumb over her knuckles as he helped her down a perfect caress. Rewarding her for good behaviour. A smile, a kind word, and a stroke, as though she were a dog being trained to salivate at the ringing of a bell. Which, with a sickening lurch, Bea realised was exactly what Morax had been doing. Fetch Morax a naag; receive a gentle touch to her face or hand. Perform well in company; receive whispered praise and a mouth pressed to her curls. 

And it had worked perfectly. Had she not been obsessed with him, drawn to him as the moth is lured to the flame that will burn its wings?

Bea smiled back at Morax, making sure to crinkle her eyes at their edges. 

The ceilings in this part of the complex were far higher, small orbs of light bobbing freely about the space like fireflies. They rounded a corner and approached a great opening. Bea had expected magnificent stone architecture, glittering with the moon’s natural minerals, but as they passed through into the atrium, her breath snagged in her throat. 

The space was teeming with strange structures, contorting and sprawling in an explosion of colour that made her stop and blink in awe, her racing thoughts momentarily silenced. As she stared, she was vaguely aware of Morax’s warm hands falling on her shoulders, pulling her until her back came into contact with his abdomen. The heights of the twisted forms ranged from level with her own head, to scraping the forcefield a hundred feet above them. Purples, reds, oranges, greens, from fleshy protuberances to long trailing fronds. 

‘Plants from the Nephal home world,’ a pleasant voice drifted through the space. 

Bea tore her eyes away to find Ilati strolling towards them, a small smile playing about the edges of her lips as she regarded the dumbstruck human. She looked breathtaking as ever, a majestic white cloak flowing from the shoulders of her Env suit and floating about her like the wings of an angel. Any and all wonderment in Bea’s chest shrivelled at the sight of her. If Morax had been telling her the truth and he had not been responsible for the crippling of the pod’s sensors, then certainly, it had to be Creator Ilati who was. Her bow to the ethereal pink Nephal was as much to hide her grimace as much as it was to pantomime good, compliant behaviour. She was about to turn back to Morax when another figure caught her eye: smaller, clad in pink, their fiery red curls longer but unmistakable.

Ilatys stepped out from behind their Mistress to shoot her a small, sad smile, and Bea stopped breathing. 

‘May I greet Moraxys, Mistress?’ they murmured quietly, sage green eyes sliding respectfully to the floor. 

‘Morax?’ Ilati inquired politely, glancing at him over Bea’s head, her expression the picture of goodwill. Bea twisted her neck to look up at Morax, unnerved to find him watching her closely, his warm, amber eyes inquisitive. When Bea grazed her fingertips over the knuckles of one of the hands on her shoulders, he smiled calmly, and his grip fell away.

‘Of course.’ 

Bea just had time to turn to see Ilatys launching themselves at her, barrelling into a hug with enough momentum that Bea almost teetered over.

‘Careful, Ilatys, Moraxys is still recovering,’ Ilati chided gently, but Bea heard Morax chuckle over their heads as she returned their bone crushing embrace with all the strength she could muster. 

After so much time embracing only Nephalem, it was indescribably soothing to hug someone her own height and size. Like returning home after an impossibly long day. 

Ilatys adjusted their grip and sniffed, and Bea realised with a start that they were trembling. Hastily, she shifted her arms about their neck, wrapping their head in an embrace that would hide the insubordinate tears she could feel as she pressed her cheek to theirs. They took a deep breath — four seconds in — and released it, the words buried so faintly in their exhale that Bea almost missed them.

‘So sorry.’ 

Fiercely, Bea shook her head, doing her best to communicate without words what she knew Ilatys was attempting to pass along, tears brimming in her own eyes now. Months spent with each other aboard the Kaskal, able to speak only in subtle looks — a thinning of the lips, an imperceptible narrowing of the eyes — left her able to read Ilatys like no other being in her life. Ilatys had been the one to approach her, soften her, bring her to the others — to Tsal, Shem, Aphrodite, Tsalys — to convince her try to find the truth from Morax about the purpose of their journey. And then, she had gone missing, apparently killed alongside Azaroth. Worse, they had all been wrong. If Morax could be trusted, by his account, Ilati and Morax were the very opposite of Malefactors, bound to Harsaĝ’s secrecy by the will of Ensi. None of the crew could know of their destination until their arrival, where their communication could be monitored and the location wiped from the Kaskal’s logs before they left. 

But Ilatys could never have known any of that, just as she could never have guessed that Harsaĝ was their destination; their lack of understanding of the Nephal prevented them from ever intuiting such a possibility. However, the fact that Tsal and Shem and Azaroth had been clueless — now that was curious. Bea had gleaned enough from her conversations with Morax since waking to understand that what happened here was kept from the rest of the galaxy. They couldn’t just be creating a new race — Azaroth had been told that was the mission purpose. It had to be something else. Something unspeakable.

With a jolt, she came back to herself as Ilatys released her. 

‘Shall we embrace too, Morax?’ Ilati asked, laughing her bell chime laugh, ’it seems our Supplicants are closer than you and I.’

Over her head, Morax chuckled, though Bea could hear the strain laced through it. The bite of his fingers as they returned to her shoulders was enough to make her wince. 

‘Come, I am famished,’ he announced, grinning down at her suggestively as he took her hand, leading her along a path through the lush surroundings. Bea supposed, now it had been pointed out to her, that the odd organisms did resemble plants, though they reminded her more of coral than anything, their colours vivid and fantastical and completely overstimulating. The feeling of overwhelm began to creep up her spine as she stepped through the foliage, lacing its tendrils about her ribcage and constricting. Too much. There was too much happening at once, too much to try to concentrate on: Morax, Ilati, their plan, her friends, the setting, and—

‘Ah, Captain Azaroth,’ Morax called, his grip about her hand tightening, ‘so glad you could make it.’

Fast as she could manage, Bea dropped her eyes to her boots, certain that if she looked into Azaroth’s face at that moment, into the face that she had held and kissed, she would burst into tears. 

Fucking get it together, every version of herself screamed, Human and Moraxys tearing out their hair at her already piss poor performance.

‘Indeed, it is a wonder I managed to carve the time out of my teeming social schedule,’ Az’s low, rumbling voice came floating back across the space, setting every nerve in her body alight. 

One glimpse. That was the deal she had made with herself. One glance at him to last her the night. She couldn’t use it up yet. 

She let Morax draw her forward, gaze glued to floor until the edge of a silvery, high-backed seat came into her line of sight, and she realised she had reached a grand table. It appeared to be hewn from the stone of the mountain itself and polished to a shine.

From her left came amused scoff in an unfamiliar voice. It was wry, smooth, dulcet.

‘Very droll, Captain Azaroth — Creator Morax, it is heartening to see your Supplicant conscious and mobile.’

‘I am touched by your words, Commander Alviehna,’ Morax replied smoothly, settling into his seat, ‘Moraxys, can you introduce yourself to the Commander?’

Bea swallowed nothing, turned to greet Harsaĝ's Commander, and froze.

Azaroth. 

Panicking, her eyes skipped over him, finding the being she had expected to see. Azaroth was seated beside a female Warrior practically of his height, her cropped gunmetal grey hair drawing all focus to her sweeping cheekbones, icy blue skin, and vivid teal eyes. Her black Env suit was embossed with bronze filigree, her torso aimed at Azaroth even as she regarded Bea. Her expression was one of vague interest, reminiscent of the attention Bea might have afforded a neighbourhood cat on the street, back when streets and neighbourhoods and cats had existed.

‘It is an honour, Commander Alviehna,’ the words fell automatically from Bea’s mouth, her voice weak and pathetic. 

Alviehna scoffed again and Bea’s eyes slid back to her feet, cheeks heating as the Commander spoke, clearly unimpressed.

‘Timid little thing, is she not, Creator Morax.’ 

‘Moraxys has been through a great deal of late, Commander,’ Ilati interjected smoothly, but Alviehna only snorted.

‘Nonsense, Captain Azaroth has told me of their little misadventure and, frankly, it almost sounds like a holiday,’ Alviehna exclaimed, and out of the corner of her eye, Bea saw her hand find Azaroth’s forearm. The sight made her want to fly at Alviehna and claw at her face, and she welcomed the rush of anger with open arms. Anger lent her courage. Anger put steel into her spine. 

‘Aside from the cave-dwelling beast that almost drowned me and poisoned Creator Morax’s Supplicant, I could almost agree, Commander,’ Azaroth responded drily, ‘though, the location would perhaps not be my first choice.’

Alviehna laughed again, louder this time, and Bea clenched her teeth so tight her jaw clicked. 

‘Good girl, Moraxys. You may take your place behind me,’ Morax instructed her quietly, hands gently steering her behind her chair. For a moment, their eyes met, and Bea could tell from the set of his jaw and the glint in his eye that he too was swallowing anger of his own. 

Suddenly, Zethra’s voice swept over the table,

‘Captain Azaroth, an unexpected but undeniably delightful wit. Who could have guessed?’ 

Out of the tail of her eye, Bea watched her and Galiex approach, followed by Aphrodite walking hand in hand with what could only have been Galiex’s new human. She was short, blonde, young, and, to Bea’s surprise, dressed in an ill-fitting grey Env suit. It took all her restraint not to turn her head to follow the pair of humans as they passed. 

Reluctantly, she returned her gaze to the floor, fixing it upon a particularly large fleck of mica embedded in the rock. Azaroth was here, barely a few of her own paces away, his presence magnetic. Without even looking, she was drawn to him. Like the needle of a compass to true north: the comparison was as true as it had ever been. Every cell in her body seemed to align itself in his direction.

For a blissful moment, the chatter of the table receded as she let her imagination draw a curtain around her, projecting memories and fantasies upon the cloth. Azaroth’s hands: huge, all thick fingers, cable tendons, and square knuckles, yet capable of the gentlest touch she had known. Azaroth’s laugh: low and gravelly and resonant enough to make her toes curl with pleasure. Azaroth’s eyes upon her: yellow as a buttercup and running over her body in the soft white light of the dawn.

‘Finally, we are to meet your human, Galiex,’ Ilati’s unwelcome voice invaded her refuge, ‘have you given her a name yet?’

‘She is only here because my sweet sister insisted,’ came his reply, his low drawl bored and aloof as ever. He sat, completing the table. ‘And human is more than good enough. I suspected in the past that you coddled your Supplicants, but now I know it to be true.’ 

‘One cannot expect to inspire loyalty in a human through fear alone,’ Morax shook his head. ‘Obedience, to a point. But not true submission.’

A low huff from Galiex.

‘I care not if she is truly loyal to me. She will not have the chance to behave otherwise.’ 

‘Well, I personally do not understand the obsession with the humans,’ Alviehna’s strong voice bundled into the conversation with all the precision of a blindfolded child swinging a bat at a piñata. ‘We are shielded from much of the political turmoil here at Harsaĝ. Can it really be true that this unnatural reorder group is actually gaining traction?’ 

At the edge of her vision, Bea noticed Morax’s hands tense.

‘Order is a delicate balancing act,’ Ilati murmured, her sweet voice pious as ever. ‘Groups that would disrupt that balance have long existed.’

‘But the Commander is correct, they are gaining popularity,’ Zethra intoned sharply — Bea did not need to see her face to sense her sneer. ‘Nephalem sympathising with their humans. Did you ever hear of anything so pathetic?’

At these words, Bea felt her heart rate pick up, her palms growing sweaty.

‘It is a disgrace,’ Alviehna agreed, her tone cold and cutting. ‘Warped. I mean no offence, Creators. I suppose, in a sense, the response to the humans is a testament to your work.’ 

‘You are awfully quiet, Captain Azaroth,’ Galiex’s voice was low, but pointed. 

‘The discussion of these reorder groups is alarmist and pointless,’ Azaroth replied dully, as if entirely bored by the conversation. Convincing enough that her stomach flipped and squirmed.

He is just playing a part, Bea hissed at herself, ignoring Moraxys’ eye roll. 

‘Captain Azaroth is correct,’ Alviehna agreed briskly — seemingly forgetting that she was the one who had introduced the topic. 

‘My dearest brother is perhaps bitter over his recent loss,’ Zethra needled. 

At this, Alviehna laughed. 

‘A most entertaining sparring match indeed. It was most satisfying to observe you Captain, and to know the rumours of your skill were not exaggerated.’ 

‘The Commander flatters me,’ Azaroth murmured, his low voice soft and respectful. ‘Though a spar between a Warrior and one who is not can only go one way.’ He paused to clear his throat. ’If you will have me, Commander Alviehna, I feel a spar between you and I would be far more satisfying.’

Silence settled momentarily across the table. It took all of Bea’s restraint not look up, to search the reactions of the Nephalem to Azaroth’s proposal.

‘Oh, Maker, please, Commander,’ Zethra was the first to regain her footing, ‘such a spectacle would be a most welcome reprieve from the—‘

‘I am certain such an event might provide morale,’ Ilati interrupted her friend before she could say something indelicate about the Commander’s enclave. 

‘An event for the aphelion,’ Azaroth suggested lightly, ‘Harsaĝ will be furthest from its sun in what, a subcycle?’ 

‘I never knew you to be a being who sought such diversions, Captain Azaroth,’ Morax’s voice was crisp, pointedly enunciating Azaroth’s title. It had not escaped Bea’s notice that he had remained largely quiet thus far. 

‘I would argue that there is much you do not know of me, Creator Morax,’ Azaroth responded, politely enough to make Morax’s tone seem unreasonable. 

‘A spar on the aphelion,’ Alviehna repeated slowly, as if tasting the idea on her tongue. ‘Yes, that could be quite compelling, and it has been cycles since I had a worthy opponent.’ 

‘Oh, how fun,’ Zethra clapped her hands together, the unexpected sound making Galiex’s human — stood to her left — flinch. ‘There, see Galiex, perhaps you will have something else to look forward to other than torturing your girl — did you know, he refuses to dress her? I walked in to his quarters to find her naked as the day she was born.’ 

With this, the table erupted into chatter, Ilati and Zethra scolding Galiex, Alviehna addressing Azaroth. Everyone, except Morax. Bea tried to concentrate on him, on the fleck of mica in the floor, but her vision was beginning to swim. After what had to have been almost half an hour of standing, she could feel herself swaying, her weakened muscles cramping with the effort of stillness. When she tipped over, correcting her feet with a little shuffle, Morax spoke her name,

‘Moraxys. Come to me,’ he murmured tenderly, just loud enough to make himself heard over the hubbub. Without raising her eyes, Bea stumbled forward to his side, a statue suddenly animate, as if Morax had spoken an incantation and brought her to life. His hands scooped her up before she could overbalance, pulling her up and on to his lap. He released a quiet sigh as her back met his torso, draping her thighs over his such that she faced outwards, arms securing her in place from behind. Her cheeks burned at the thought of Azaroth seeing her like this, Azaroth watching Morax’s hands settle on her inner thighs. Helplessly, Bea fixed her eyes on those hands, tracing the veins across the back and up to his long, elegant fingers. 

Her blood thundered around her body. 

One look. 

Any moment now, she would allow herself her one glance at Azaroth. She could hardly draw breath. 

‘See what I mean about coddling your Supplicants,’ Galiex broke off from his argument to deride Morax. ‘Is your little an-ki feeling delicate, Creator?’ 

Bea waited for Morax to bristle at the mockery of his pet name, but he simply chuckled sardonically.

‘I might be more convinced by your antipathy, Delegate Galiex, if you had not spent the last subcycle locked away with your human. It is no secret I care for Moraxys, and I feel no shame in admitting it,’ he announced, before clearing his throat and straightening his shoulders.

‘And she is alive today because of you, Captain Azaroth. I know you are no lover of humans. You had no reason to protect my Supplicant. And yet, you kept her safe for me. We may not have always seen eye to eye, but you have my sincere gratitude.’

‘Your words honour me, Creator Morax.’ Azaroth’s response was neutral, free from inflection. 

‘Good. Now, Moraxys,’ Morax abruptly caught her jaw, twisting her face sharply until she met his gaze. His eyes were narrowed and probing. Studying her every reaction. ‘Go and thank the Captain.’

‘Yes, Master,’ she rasped, and slid gingerly from his lap. To her humiliation, she spilled forward and fell, crashing to her knees with a quiet hiss of pain, the stone floor biting into the heels of her hands. 

Galiex released a booming laugh, but Bea scarcely heard it over the pounding of her heart in her ears. When she glanced back up at Morax, he was glaring across the table at Azaroth, arms crossed across his chest, providing no indication that he meant to assist her in any way. Steeling herself, she positioned her hands beneath her shoulders, ready to push herself back up, before Morax interrupted.

‘No, sweetling, do not get back up and risk falling.’ 

Bea stared up at him, startled, but Morax had not taken his eyes off Azaroth.

‘Crawl to the Captain.’ 

His words were an ice bucket over her head. Morax knew. Or, at the very least, he suspected Azaroth’s relationship with her. She could think of no other reason to debase her so publicly, if not to seek a reaction from Azaroth. 

‘I hardly think that is necessary, Creator—‘ 

‘Nonsense. Besides, you will enjoy Moraxys on all fours, Captain. It is a sight I have certainly come to admire.’

Bea’s face was aflame, but the she swallowed the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes and begun the slow crawl around the table. The floor was frigid and bit into her hands and knees, her head swimming as she systematically chased down every ounce of self-pitying woe and replaced it with tempered rage. She would give Azaroth no reason to misstep, to let his mask slip. 

Morax had been at one end of the table, Alviehna and Azaroth to his left, Ilati directly across, all on the opposite side; Zethra and Galiex to his left on the same side. Collecting herself, she chose the shortest route, taking her around the head of the table, past Ilatys and Ilati. Ignoring, respectively, their worried green eyes and carefully blank expression. She reached Azaroth’s feet and sat back on her heels, her head bowed. He had pushed back his chair from the table to face her. Morosely, she fixed her eyes on his heavy black boots. Thick soles, capped toes.

One glimpse.

Slowly, she raised her head, shoving down the sadness that threatened to swell up and drown her. 

Bea let her eyes flicker upwards. 

Azaroth stared down at her with a face carved from stone, its stern, blocky angles emphasised by his freshly shaved buzzcut. His eyes met her own, yellow and piercing, knocking the air from her chest as if he had dealt her a physical blow. For a heartbeat, thoughts of his embrace, of him picking her up and cradling her, swamped her— 

Bea slammed her walls down. She could not cry. She would not allow it. 

‘Thank you, Captain Azaroth.’ Her voice was tremulous, quavering. Shame made her skin crawl and writhe, as though aksu covered her.

Azaroth dipped his head in acknowledgment, the motion stiff. 

His expression did not flicker.

And neither did hers. 

Chapter Text

The decision to begin sending his human out on errands had been in the spur of the moment, driven primarily by laziness, and a reluctance to miss even a moment of a particularly enjoyable dra’shirii fight. 

Also — if Galiex was being honest with himself — he may have been mildly inebriated. 

He had required more ĝestin, his last cup entirely drained of the dregs of the sweet liquid Zethra had imported alongside her Env suits and his human. Alviehna’s ban on the drink Harsaĝ was frustrating, but unsurprising. Warriors were not permitted to indulge, and Alviehna was exactly the kind of poor sport who would spite the rest of them for it.

‘Go to Zethra and get her to give you another cask,’ he had told her, tapping at his Com to send the route to her own device. ‘Go on, it is not far. And if she says no, tell her to call me. I know she has enough to last another cycle, so there is no need for her to be precious about it.’

Demure as ever, his human had dipped her head, her long, pale hair sliding over her eyes. 

‘Please, sir, may I wear the Env suit?’ Her voice was meek, her mellifluous human language pleasing to the ear. Maker, how he loved the little noises she made, the mewls and whimpers. As distracted as he was by the fight, he gestured to her to come to him. Without hesitation, she slipped across the room, almost tripping over her feet in her hurry to obey. 

Galiex watched her approach him with a smirk, feeling smug, and uncharacteristically content. He was growing to crave her smell and her supple curves, so tender and soft. Increasingly, he could hardly keep his hands off her, even when he was not using her for his pleasure. Seemingly unable to school her face, he savoured drinking in her expressions. The gleam of fear in her wide eyes when he frightened her, or the way they crumpled when he hurt her. The red flush of her cheeks and the way her lips fell open, just the same whether he was hurting or pleasuring her. 

When she reached where he sat on his bench, he drew her atop his thigh, lazily lapping his tongue along the underside of her jaw as he considered her request. 

‘I must say, I am surprised to find you concerned to be wandering Harsağ naked,’ he rumbled mockingly, fingers finding her nipple and rolling it until it stiffened. ‘The noises you make for me—’

He pinched the little pink bud, chuckling as she whined. 

‘— the whole enclave must have heard them by now. Must already know that you are a little whore.’

‘Please, sir,’ she gasped, squeezing her soft thighs about the steel of his own, unable to stop herself from grinding herself against him. What she was asking for now, her Env suit or his fingers at the apex of her thighs, was unclear. Galiex could feel her heat through his Env suit, smell her growing arousal — even more intoxicating than the ĝestin. 

Maker, he wanted to taste her. He had not yet filled her with his tongue, an error he was keen to rectify. Dreamily, he wondered how far he could reach inside her with the appendage, whether he could make her come around it from that stimulation alone…

She startled abruptly as a roar erupted from the crowd on the portal: the dra’shirii tournament welcoming its champion to the arena. Galiex grunted in annoyance, but found himself skating his fingertips over her round cheeks to soften the admonition. He released a dramatic sigh.

‘I suppose I do not want to scandalise my sister. Again. Put the Env suit on and quickly fetch the cask of ĝestin.’ He tipped her from his lap. ‘Quickly, being the operative word, human.’

‘Yes, sir,’ she mumbled, bobbing her head gratefully, before running to pull on the lumpy grey Env suit. Galiex hated that Env suit, hated the way it covered her; he glowered disdainfully as she drew it over her limbs. But the alternative would be to obtain another for her. It was not the physical effort of the task that harangued him — ordering a new Env suit from stores could be done with but a tap of his portal. It was the emotional labour of the matter that he refused to engage with. She would not wear his colours, he was certain of this. She was not a Supplicant, she was his plaything. But the thought of putting her in any colour other than his was also disconcertingly unappealing. He had solved the issue by simply leaving her naked — a preferable result regardless. 

He was still clearing his mind of the Env suit conundrum when she finished dressing, her gracefully arched nose practically glued to her Com for directions as she darted from the room. 

To his vexation, she had not been quick. By the time she returned, he had been ready to punish her quite severely, until he saw the pathetic way she dragged the cask — almost half her size — into the room. The sight made him shake his head in amusement. Just a feeble little human. Strange, for a moment, he had almost forgotten.

After this, he began sending her out more often. He found it useful, and she appeared to enjoy her excursions. No need to think too deeply about why the latter was of consequence. The arrangement worked, and that was what mattered to him.

That was, until, a few sleep cycles later, when she did not come back. 

He had ordered her to fetch his sparring gear, mostly because he wanted her to polish it. But also, undeniably, because the thought of placing his helmet atop her tiny head and watching it wobble as she sucked him off sent blood rushing to his cock. However, time passed — enough for her to have done the journey twice over — and still she did not reappear. Reaching the end of his naturally meagre supply of patience, he checked her location on his Com. And frowned. She was in a corridor halfway between his quarters and the sparring arena, her location unmoving. 

The logical next step would have been to message her Com, or call her directly. Instead he did neither, standing abruptly and striding from his quarters. Curiosity or a sense of foreboding, he could not quite place his finger on the emotion that blossomed in his chest. Both options were unfamiliar and unwelcome. The closer he got, the more acute the sensation became, until it was as though a sharp stone had lodged itself behind his sternum. Driven by this uncomfortable sensation his pace increased, and suddenly, he was all but jogging, his heart rate steadily increasing even as he did his best to tighten his grip on his thoughts. 

Thoughts that spiralled when Galiex smelt her: the bitter taste of her terror clouded in the air, the corridor he had turned into was rank with it. A scent he usually savoured, but to find it out here, away from him, made his hands ball into fists. He had not noticed he was sprinting until he screeched around a corner, stumbling across a scene that made his heart temporarily stop beating.

Her, stripped naked and weeping aloud, pinned against the wall by another Nephal. For a moment, he could do nothing but blink in shock, stunned by the unwelcome familiarity of the scene. 

Only, before, it had been him, and he had been crushing Morax’s Supplicant to the wall. 

Bile rose in his throat. 

Desperate Earth-sky-blue eyes found him and the vigorousness of her thrashing reached a crescendo, as if the sight of him had granted her some last measure of strength to fight with. Quelled all too easily; viciously, the male — some green-skinned Creator’s minion — slapped her across the face, her head snapping to the side with a crack. The sound unfroze him, releasing him from his paralysis and unleashing his rage.

‘Drop her. Now.’ The words came out clipped and mangled, his entire body beginning to tremble as fury flooded him. 

The male went rigid, head jerking towards the voice that had addressed him, his snarl morphing into open mouthed horror in the blink of an eye. 

‘Delegate Galiex,’ he stuttered, carelessly dropping his human to the floor as he straightened to face him. She hit the ground with a thud, the air leaving her lungs in a wheeze of pain. 

Galiex felt as though he had been struck by lightning: his body was an inferno, his limbs crackling with energy, unable to hear his own thoughts over the static that filled his head. 

‘My most sincere apologies, Delegate,’ the male dropped to his knees, bowing his head, ‘I knew not that this creature was yours, she— she does not bear your colours— nor your mark— I simply did not—’

‘Silence. Or I shall rip your head from your shoulders and quieten you that way,’ Galiex thundered, and the male cringed away from him, cowering, arms flinching upwards to shield his head. It should have been a satisfying sight, but his nausea only intensified. 

She had not moved, her form alarmingly still upon the floor. 

Galiex wanted to tear the other male in two, and the hypocrisy of the desire sent him reeling. With great effort, he managed to move forward, feeling as though he was wading through chest deep mud, his limbs slow and heavy. 

‘Get up,’ he heard himself ordering, faintly surprised to find his voice dull and monotone. 

When she stirred, a crushing weight he had not realised was resting upon his rib cage abruptly lifted. He could breathe again, and with the return of oxygen to his synapses came also his bloodlust.

In one fluid motion, he pivoted and snatched the neck of the male, lifting him bodily from the ground. He was a head shorter than Galiex and his legs flailed pitifully in thin air, hands flying to Galiex’s fist, as if he stood any chance of freeing himself. 

‘Mercy,’ he choked, eyes round and bulging.

‘Snivelling weakling,’ Galiex sneered, tightening his grip, savouring the male’s strained wheezes, ‘you disgust me. I am struggling to find a single reason not to snap your neck.’ He could feel his windpipe convulsing beneath his palm, the bob of his throat as he swallowed. Galiex fixed his gaze on the male’s terrified face and felt nothing but disgust. 

‘Sir?’ Her feeble murmur was like a nim buzzing at his ear. Just distracting enough for him to wrestle back some semblance of self-control. As much as he might like to, he could not eliminate the male. Not without a significant headache of bureaucratic nonsense. As much as it infuriated him, he would have to make do with a lesser vengeance. 

Galiex punched the male, savouring the crunch of his jaw beneath his knuckles, before opening his fist and letting him crumple to the floor. With a broken whimper, he rolled on to his front to shield his face, and Galiex contented himself with one final kick to his ribs, their audible crack a symphony to his ears. 

‘If I see you again, I will kill you,’ he hissed through gritted teeth, his hunger for retribution finally sated enough to turn his attention to his human. 

For a heartbeat, relief washed over him: she had sat up and was cradling her knees to her chest. But then, he noticed that her arms were wrapped so tightly about her legs he could see the whites of her knuckles, that her face was a frozen mask of horror, that her round eyes were fixed on the writhing form of her attacker. 

‘Are you hurt?’ He knelt before her, narrowing his eyes when she did not answer. ‘Focus, human,’ he captured her jaw, forcing her gaze away from the male. He did not want her to focus on that disgusting excuse for a Nephal for a moment longer, wanted her attention on him and him alone. ‘Answer the question, you speak when spoken to.’

This prompting seemed to send a jolt through her, her vacant expression cracking as tears filled her eyes. 

‘No, I— I do not think so,’ she mumbled, slowly unwinding her arms to run her fingers over her body, as if checking it was all still there. Shock was setting in: she had begun trembling so violently that she could hardly finish her exploration of her legs. Impatient, he captured her hands and drew them above her head, scrutinising her for injury. He frowned, and swallowed drily. She was covered in bruises, scrapes, ranging from faded yellow clouds to violent purple explosions. His finger prints. His bite marks. His blows. Any harm her attacker had added would be indistinguishable against his marks, which coated her like the dappled shadows cast by water upon a lakebed. 

Was it possible to be filled to the brim with hollowness? The emptiness that permeated Galiex to his very core was all at once agonising and numbing, burning hot and frigid cold, crushing and intangible. 

Wordlessly, he picked her up and carried her back to his quarters. 

Chapter Text

The midday sky was fuschia; the small, white sun high enough in the cloudless sky to actually impart some warmth into Moraxys’ cheeks. The rays felt divine, and somehow, even the bland Nu block she nibbled tasted better than usual. An impromptu lunch, taken upon a rock, left her watching with amusement as Azaroth enthusiastically explained how the Nephalem sparred. He was rarely so animated, so carefree, and she found herself grinning as he gesticulated with exaggerated sweeps of his arms, his mirth infectious. 

‘Truly, the idea is simple,’ he touched a hand to his broad chest, ‘each opponent has their own sparring gear — their own armour — the components of which generate a force field across their surface. This field absorbs physical damage to shield the bearer, but also to record the hits. The force field changes colour to indicate the level of damage accumulated. The fight is won when the armour records a killing blow.’ 

She nodded slowly, involuntarily swallowing at the thought of watching him spar — she couldn’t even begin to imagine a creature that could best him. Since he had saved her from the vile, many-legged aksu a few days prior, her view of Azaroth had begun to shift. Once upon a time, in Galietiel and aboard the Kaskal, he had been the Captain: looming, sullen, and above all, terrifying. A Warrior, clad in the black suit of the Nephalem that she and Sacha had lived in the utmost fear of. A symbol of all that had hunted them. As the alien before her smiled down at her, his bright eyes glimmering, full of humour, the memory of that Captain seemed increasingly surreal. And, of late, she was beginning to wonder if that version had ever truly existed at all.

‘So, you just pummel each other with your fists?’ she smirked, ‘seems a little unsophisticated for a race that can tunnel through space and engineer new species.’ 

Azaroth scoffed and rolled his eyes, crossing his great arms, though she could spot the smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

‘Perhaps so, however, it is thought to please Kur, and besides,’ he shrugged, ‘it is indeed quite diverting.’ 

Moraxys blinked, repeating the strange Nephal name back to him uncertainly. 

‘Oh, Kur is one of the faces of the Maker,’ Azaroth replied casually — as if that explained it all. When she continued to look unsure, he added, more hesitantly this time, ‘the face of death, that is.’

‘Kur,’ she tested out the name, tipping her head as she mulled his answer, her curiosity piqued. ‘How many faces does the Maker have?’ 

‘Seven. Seven realms, seven faces, one Maker. As without, so within,’ he recited smoothly, words he had clearly spoken many times. 

Humming, she appraised him, wondering how to phrase her next question, the words emerging haltingly.

‘Do you… you really believe in gods then?’

The Christian god Bea’s parents had worshipped devoutly had left her wary of religion. The idea that she would wind up in Hell had plagued her as a child, and the moment she had left for university, she had stopped attending church. A choice her parents had never really forgiven her for — and that was even without them knowing that she had dated women. However, like many of the problems she had carried before the Fall, this angst and guilt had been buried, replaced by more pressing concerns — such as not dying. The collapse of her triangle of needs had left her only able to focus on the ground level necessities: the physiological ones. With a start, she realised if she was worrying about God again, her pyramid had gained at least three floors. A strange and uncomfortable victory, considering the circumstances in which it had been achieved: on an unfamiliar planet, filled with awful skeletal centipedes and a Nephal Warrior to boot. 

Her internal conflict must have place out across her face, because now it was Azaroth’s turn to eye her speculatively.

‘I do not believe in gods. But I do believe in the Maker. They are not a being, they are the universe itself. The sum of all its components,’ he ran a hand over his hair, and for a ridiculous moment, she longed to do the same — to feel the velvet of his buzzcut beneath her fingertips. To discover if it was really as soft as it looked. Suddenly, he was speaking again, pulling her from her quiet fantasies.

‘Pardon?’ she muttered, wincing as she felt her cheeks flush pink, and Azaroth grinned apologetically.

‘It is perhaps a difficult concept to explain. Quite philosophical,’ he admitted, clearly mistaking her request for a repetition of his words as a failure on his part to adequately explain his pantheon. 

‘The concept of the universe does tend to be that way.’ Bea pushed herself to her feet and meandered over to him, keen to chase away the memories of her parents and their god. ‘Come on then, teach me how to spar.’ 

He snorted, and abruptly, she realised the ridiculousness of her request, her blush conquering the borders of her cheeks to reach her neck as she began to stutter a retraction.

‘Sorry, you’re right, it’s stupid—’

‘No, no,’ Azaroth cut her off, closing the distance between them, and all of a sudden, he was within arm’s reach. The warmth that bloomed in her chest whenever he came within a few feet of her burst into full technicolour; a stomach flipping nervousness that also looked suspiciously like excitement, or even arousal, depending on the angle from which it was viewed. ‘It is not stupid at all, forgive my reaction, it is only that I am routinely impressed by your courage, human. You have all the fierceness of a Warrior, and yet the talent of a Mechanic,’ he shook his head softly as he smiled.

Moraxys did not think her blush could have extended any further — surely it had reached her toes. Words abandoning her, she smiled up at him bashfully, hopeful he could read the gratitude in her eyes. Since their crash landing, Azaroth had conjured up emotions in her she had long since abandoned chasing: he made her feel smart. Brave. Worthy. Like a beachcomber on a seashore, she carefully collected his praise and squirrelled them away in her head to be admired later, recollected during the cold nights as he held her. 

‘Now come, little Warrior, position your feet like so,’ he demonstrated, the foot of the leading leg facing forward, the rear at a slight angle, his knees bent and loose. Grinning, she attempted to copy, studying her feet attentively as she arranged them. 

‘Almost,’ Azaroth murmured encouragingly, stepping around her body to correct her. Her stomach flipped at the unexpected contact, heat pooling in her stomach as his abdomen pressed into her back and his hands found her thighs. ‘Just shift a little more of your weight on to your back foot—‘ his fingertips ran across her hips and she only barely resisted shuddering. ‘Just so, much improved.’

Moraxys lifted her chin to make eye contact, his head and shoulders so far above hers that she could simply grin upwards at him from this angle, close to her as he was. When he smiled fondly down at her in return, butterflies erupted into flight in her stomach. 

‘And now, how do I do the pummelling?’ she quipped with a nervous chuckle: a lame attempt at distracting herself from the heat radiating from his body — at resisting the urge to lean back into him fully. His laugh was warm and rumbling, the sound reverberating through her and making her stomach clench in a way that was oh so delicious. 

‘Raise your hands — a little higher, you cannot leave an opening for an attacker to strike your head,’ he clicked his tongue and reached over her, he placed his hands ever so lightly beneath her elbows, adjusting her until her hands were in front of her face. To do it, he had to lean right into her, and though she could not turn to see his face, she could sense him hovering. 

When he was satisfied, he hummed.

‘There, just so — a perfect Warrior,’ his voice was warm, low, and she fought the urge to wriggle as his hot breath ghosted over her neck. ‘And now, if you want to pummel, as you call it,’ he murmured into the shell of her ear as he guided her right arm. Moraxys could hardly think, hardly breathe, the skimming touch of his fingertips as he moved her into place commanding every last iota of her focus. 

‘Do not draw back, do not grant them the mercy of a warning. You must simply strike.’ 

Bea flinched as Azaroth’s fist connected with the temple of his opponent, an audible crack resounding about the auditorium. The chamber was expansive, the heptagonal sparring ground in the middle mirroring the domed ceiling, with its seven, elaborately carved faces. Assumedly, one was for the Maker, another for Kur, the other five a mystery that she would perhaps ask Morax about later, if she needed to distract him with conversation. 

She had not known what to expect when Morax had announced his intention to attend the fight — something more akin to boxing, perhaps, with rounds and jabs. But Azaroth and his foe had simply circled each other — a slow, nail-bitingly tense dance — until the other Nephal had attempted to rush them; their blow had met empty space, and Azaroth’s had met their skull with a punch so powerful his opponent’s helmet had immediately turned a vivid, neon blue. 

‘Over already,’ Zethra released an exasperated sigh.

Alviehna, sat beside them on the sweeping benches arranged at one corner of the sparring ground, fixed her with a disapproving stare. 

’A Warrior favours efficiency above all,’ the Commander informed her cooly. 

So, Azaroth had delivered a killing blow in one strike. 

Bea could not quite tell if she should feel proud or unnerved by this revelation. 

As she tried to decide, Azaroth pulled off his helmet and turned to the small crowd that had gathered to watch them. His sparring gear was black and presumably standard issue, because his opponent’s was identical. Azaroth had described sparring gear to her as armour, but at first, apart from the panelling over his torso and the helmet, to Bea it had looked much like a bulkier Env suit. However, just before the spar had begun, both opponents had touched a hand to their chest, and the glimmering sheen of a force field had emerged from the suit’s seams, leaving them looking as though they had been dipped in translucent gold light. 

The sight of Azaroth this second time was only slightly less unsettling than the first. His face was grim and drawn as he tucked his helmet beneath his arm to greet his supporters. As he neared, she felt Morax’s hands find her shoulders and draw her towards him. She chanced a glance up at him, relieved to find him in conversation with Zethra, as opposed to watching her like a hawk. It seemed he had been convinced by Azaroth’s apparent apathy and, keen to regain her trust in the manner he had before, he had been both allowing her to sleep in the human dormitories and refraining from assaulting her. It was positively romantic.

Gathering her wits, Bea allowed herself a peek at Azaroth as he spoke to Alviehna — who was, she noted with alarm, even taller than Azaroth. Where previously Bea had used compliance exercises to sooth herself, she had been practising a new kind of grounding mantra. She drew in a slow breath and replayed in her mind the question that Azaroth had once asked her.

What do you want?

She let the words hang for a moment, picturing them trickling through her synapses till they permeated every corner of her brain, and let the answers come shimmering to the surface like bubbles freed from long trapped pockets of air. 

I want to save my friends. I want to find Sacha. I want Azaroth.

She released her breath. Her desires had not changed. 

It could not be denied, she had not the physical strength of the Nephal. She was small and soft and weak, as Morax enjoyed reminding her. But she was cunning. She knew how to spot details others missed. And above all, she knew when to be patient, and when to act. Presently, her priorities had to be winning back Morax’s trust and finding a way to work around the constant monitoring of their Coms. The latter required more thought, but the former had to be nurtured, bit by bit. This, she felt confident she could achieve: she had been explicitly trained in how to be pliant, obedient, and doting. If she could win over Morax, she might be able to win herself enough freedom to make an escape.

And pray Morax doesn’t find Sacha before you can, the corner of her psyche still ruled by Moraxys whispered primly.

Stubbornly ignoring the thought, she focused instead on Azaroth’s opponent, steadily making their way to the loose throng of beings loitering in the corner of the arena. They reached the edge of the group and removed their helmet and shook free their short, midnight blue hair, revealing a female Nephal. The Warrior had delicate features, thin arched brows and an upturned nose, her rich, dark skin the colour of the deepest oceans. When she reached Azaroth, she clapped him jovially on the shoulder, and Bea swallowed a choked giggle at Alviehna’s irate expression.

Presently, she became aware of Aphrodite on the other side of Zethra, the Supplicant’s large black eyes finding hers with enough intention to make Bea tune into Morax’s and Zethra’s conversation. The pair had floated away from the larger crowd, their voices low enough to be lost in the babble for anyone not adjacent to them.

‘Ensi expects results, Morax. Her patience is not limitless.’ 

‘This is not a process that can be rushed. Not unless she desires a less than satisfactory solution.’ 

Both Nephalem sounded terse. Bea held very still in Morax’s grasp, scarcely daring to breathe. 

‘Order has not been challenged in this way in generations, you must—’

‘Zethra,’ Morax silenced her with a hiss.

‘Fine, then we will discuss it elsewhere,’ Zethra hissed right back, pivoting to address her Supplicant.

‘Aphrodite, you and Moraxys will wait here.’ 

Bea allowed her gaze to drift towards Morax, who stared back at her impassively. She gathered herself: it was time to play the role of doting Supplicant. Carefully, she wove her fingers between his, and rested her cheek against his hand. The humiliating duplicity of the act caused her cheeks to heat, painting a convincing picture of the self-conscious affection she had previously felt for him. With a gentle smile, he traced his thumb across her collarbone — a touch Moraxys would have preened at receiving.

‘Do as Delegate Zethra commands, pet,’ he murmured, running a finger affectionately across her cheek. 

She nodded once and whispered a demure “yes, Master”. 

‘Good girl,’ he pressed his mouth to the top of her head, and released her, striding across the arena. 

Headed to the doors that led to his lab, she noted.

Left to their own devices, both she and Aphrodite exchanged a solitary glance, before assuming the neutral Supplicant pose: head bowed, hands clasped, eyes on the floor. 

Until a loud voice made them both flinch. 

‘Never spoken to a human before, Captain Vim? I cannot say it is a particularly insightful experience, though I dare say you might decide for yourself.’ 

The look Aphrodite shot her — one of pure, unmoderated loathing — before her face smoothed back to a practised blankness almost made Bea chuckle again. She did not need to look up to know Alviehna was leading Azaroth and his opponent, the nymph-like female Nephal over to them. 

‘Supplicants,’ Alviehna clapped her hands and — to her shame — Bea jumped at the noise, her cheeks flushing with anger as Alviehna giggled at her reaction. 

‘Introduce yourselves then,’ Alviehna ordered, rolling her eyes and adding to the two Warriors, ‘you see, they need much prompting,’ as if the humans before her could not comprehend her words. 

Bea clenched her jaw, grateful when Aphrodite answered first, firmly planting her eyes on Alviehna’s black and bronze-detailed boots. 

I want to save my friends. I want to find Sacha. I want Azaroth.

Do not look at him. Do not draw attention to yourself. 

‘My name is Moraxys,’ she practically sang when her turn came, high and flute-like and pleasant as she could muster. 

‘Well met, Aphrodite and Moraxys, I am Captain Vim. Though, in truth, I wish this introduction had not come directly after quite so humiliating a defeat.’ 

Bea’s gaze flickered to the female Nephal, blinking in surprise as she met a pair of startlingly pink eyes and a wide, sharp-toothed grin. Her long, pointed ears were prominent, adding to her irreverent air. 

There was silence for a beat as Bea waited for Aphrodite to reply — out the corner of her eye, she noted with surprise the woman’s gaze was fixed on Vim, her mouth slightly ajar. 

‘It is our honour, Captain Vim,’ Bea stepped in, bowing her head politely, Aphrodite following in kind a second later. 

‘And how do you find Harsağ? I have never been to your home world, though I must imagine it is quite different,’ Vim continued, as if chatting with two human Supplicants was the most normal thing in the world. Taking a chance, Bea glanced at Azaroth, swallowing as she found his piercing gaze boring into her own. 

‘Yes, quite different,’ she agreed weakly, uncertain if Vim was trying to trip her up.

‘Earth is beautiful, Vim,’ Azaroth added levelly, giving Bea an excuse to continue to stare at him, to run her eyes over his familiar features: his smattering of freckles, the silver-white of his long eye lashes, his square jaw. His tone was off-hand, uninterested, but his eyes burned as he held her gaze.

Her thrumming heart stuttered. 

Alviehna huffed, and Azaroth’s eyes shifted quickly to the Commander to meet her teasing smile. 

‘The parts of it not spoiled by the humans, that is,’ she jested, her hand finding his shoulder and squeezing appreciatively. 

Perhaps with some guidance, we could have done better, Bea imagined herself saying, gleefully picturing the way the Commander’s smug smile would curl and die on her lips. She fantasised about being as strong and fast as Alviehna, as strong and fast as Azaroth. The Nephalem weren’t smarter than humans, not really. Wiser by virtue of their long lifespans perhaps, more educated certainly, but not brighter. Not better.  

A simultaneous alert on both her and Aphrodite’s Com interrupted Bea’s seething. 

‘My Mistress requires that I return to the human dormitory,’ Aphrodite announced, her voice oddly high, eyes still fixed on Vim. 

‘My Master also,’ Bea added, his title bitter in her mouth. 

‘Surely we should escort them, would you not say so Azaroth?’ Vim said immediately, smiling winningly at Aphrodite. ‘You heard what happened to Galiex’s human, Commander?’

Alviehna glared at Vim, but before she could protest, Vim had begun striding across the arena to the doors in the direction of the human quarters, merrily herding Aphrodite along. 

‘At your leave, Commander,’ Azaroth said in a low voice, placing his hand atop Alviehna’s, which was still locked in place on his shoulder. 

‘You had better follow her, Captain.’ Alviehna’s reply was markedly unimpressed, her vivid, cyan eyes burning holes into Vim’s back. 

‘Yes, Commander,’ Azaroth dipped his head.

‘You really do fight magnificently, Captain Azaroth.’ Alviehna shot him a small smile, full of enough shyness and longing to humanise her — much to Bea’s chagrin. Then, she made it worse by turning to Bea and continuing, ‘all deserve to feel safe as they traverse Harsaĝ. Even the smallest. As without, so within.’ Bea’s insides twisted and roiled with uncomfortable ambivalence as Azaroth set off after Vim and Aphrodite. 

Harsaĝ, while small compared to Galietiel, was disorganised and sprawling enough that Bea was frequently discombobulated by its layout. Squinting at the map on her Com, she estimated the walk from the sparring arena to the human dormitories would take them around ten minutes. 

Ten glorious minutes to bask in Azaroth's presence.

He was careful not to touch her as they wandered side by side down the corridors in absolute silence. Bea was dragging her feet just a touch, and Azaroth made no attempt to hurry her along, so after a minute, they fell away from Aphrodite and Captain Vim. Far enough away to lose the sound of Vim's enthusiastic questions and Aphrodite's uncharacteristically stuttering replies.

Furtive glances let Bea know there was about a foot of space between them, perhaps less — and for the first time since arriving, she was thankful for the Enclave's narrow corridors. He was close enough that Bea imagined she could feel the heat coming off him, setting her entire body tingling, the space between them so charged it was almost tangible. She was hyperaware of his body: the smooth, loping stride of his powerful legs; the breadth of his shoulders, spanning so much of the constricted walkways; the slant of his jaw from below. How she wished to see him at eye level, for him to pick her up and hold her close enough for her to run her fingertips over the planes of his face. 

With every step closer to the human dormitories, every moment of strained quiet, she felt her resolve weakening and her common sense evaporating. The lump in her throat would not be swallowed away, the rush of adrenaline coursing through her body enough to make her fingers jitter. A torturous spiral of thoughts gained momentum in her head until it was all she could concentrate on.

What if his affection for her had been some temporary madness brought on by the stress of their crash? What if, now he had returned to civilised society and been offered a promotion of rank no less, he had changed his mind?

Ridiculous tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, throat bobbing uncomfortably as she tried once again to ease the tension in her throat. Drawing a quiet breath, she tilted her face to stare at the ceiling, praying that gravity might do the job of suppressing her tears where she could not. 

What if he had changed his mind?

The question bounced and echoed about her skull until it was all-consuming.

Without warning, the door to the human dormitory came into view, Vim slouched against the wall beside it — the journey had passed in a blur. Bea could kick herself for allowing her stupid insecurities to overrun her thoughts, to ruin the time she could have spent simply appreciating being close to him. 

‘There you both are,’ Vim greeted them cheerfully, ‘has he been talking your ear off then, Moraxys?’ 

‘Something like that.’ Bea eyed Vim warily. By all accounts, she seemed to be a close friend of Azaroth’s, but Bea knew better than to slip up and act in a manner that was anything other than compliant. 

Vim chuckled and pushed herself off the wall, extending a hand to Bea, who blinked up at her in surprise. It was common for a Nephal to touch of a the hand from a Supplicant on greeting or parting, but Bea had not encountered a Warrior who had initiated such a gesture. Politely, she pressed her fingertips to Vim’s palm, tensing as the female Nephal captured her hand in both of her own, enveloping it in a warm shake.

It was only her confusion that saved Bea from reacting as she felt Vim slot a small, thin rectangle under the wrist of her Env suit. 

‘It was a pleasure meeting you,’ Vim told her, releasing her hand, pink eyes sparkling. 

Bea bowed her head, her face fixed in the blank mask she had learnt from Morax, and turned to Azaroth to do the same, mind reeling as she wondered what on Earth Vim could have snuck her.

Captain Azaroth loomed over her, somehow even larger and more intimidating than usual under the plating of his sparring gear. His expression was steely, and for a moment, Bea was certain he would simply turn and walk away once she had dipped her head to him. Instead, he thrust out a hand, palm up, offering her the same gesture that Vim had. 

Her stomach somersaulted as she pressed her fingertips against the hot, rough plane of his palm, igniting sinfully pleasurable memories of those huge hands against the delicate skin of her waist, her thighs. For a heartbeat, their eyes locked, and she couldn’t breathe. 

Then, before her resolve could shatter, she bowed her head and fled into the human dormitory, the doors sliding shut behind her.

With a shudder, she stumbled to their shared eating area, throwing herself on to the bench and resting her forehead on the metal table top with a loud sigh. There was no way she could investigate the rectangle now; with so many people about, she would have to wait and find somewhere—

‘Ah, there you are, Moraxys,’ Aphrodite’s voice was tense enough that Bea glanced up, her mouth falling open as she took in the room. 

There, sat in their bunks, were many of the other humans she had grown used to: Aphrodite, Ilatys, Tsalys, their faces blank with terror. And in the centre of their small living space, completely out of place, stood Galiex and his small, wide-eyed human. 

Bea scrambled to her feet in shock and bowed jerkily, her words abandoning her. Galiex seemed all the more massive in comparison to his settings, and he shuffled uncomfortably as she stared at him, her mouth opening and shutting as she scrambled for something to say.

‘Moraxys,’ he murmured, his voice a fraction of its usual loudness, and took half a step towards her, hesitating as his target flinched. He huffed unhappily and glanced back at his human, who stared up at him with worried eyes. Bea noticed that, where previous the woman had been wearing an ill-fitting grey Env suit, she was now in a suit of soft gold, the colour of Galiex’s eyes. To Bea’s amazement, his human gave him a tiny nod, and he sighed, running a hand through his hair before turning back to her. ‘May I speak with you. Alone?’ 

Did he mean outside, in the corridor?

‘Captain Azaroth was outside,’ was all she managed to say, interlocking her fingers to keep her hands from shaking. As she stared at him awful flashes of memories raced across her mind’s eye. Galiex’s hands on her. His mouth on her. His erection grinding into her as he crushed her against the wall of the Kaskal. 

Galiex frowned, and Bea realised her heart was hammering in her chest.

‘I can no longer hear him. If I may?’ He gestured to the door, ‘I will not hurt you.’

The words, surely intended to reassure her, only confused and distressed her more. Regardless, she had no choice but to obey, and compelled her feet to move, passing back through the sliding doors to find the corridor was indeed empty. Cursing internally, she pressed herself against the wall opposite the door, spine going rigid as Galiex emerged.

For a moment, they regarded each other. He was as magnificent and terrifying as ever, though his demeanour contained none of its usual carelessness. Instead, he seemed almost awkward, his gaze flickering about the corridor as he checked they were truly alone. 

‘Thank you for agreeing to speak to me,’ he muttered finally, breaking the silence. 

Bea stared back at him, utterly perplexed. Surely, she was hallucinating, or someone had hit her over the head.

‘I wanted to ask two things of you,’ he continued when she did not reply, crossing and uncrossing his arms across his chest, as if he could not quite decide what to do with them. 

She wavered for a breath before nodding, torn between her curiosity and fear. 

Galiex cleared his throat and launched into his first request.

‘I want to leave Anya here in the human dormitories to sleep. I think spending some time with other humans will be good for her.’ 

Anya. Bea’s eyes widened. 

‘That will probably be good for her,’ she managed to echo slowly, unable to locate the trip wire for the trap Galiex had to be setting up for her to walk into. He was silent for a moment, as if waiting to see whether she would say more. When she did not, he continued.

‘I know I am not in a position to ask you for favours, Moraxys.’ His voice was soft and low and utterly unlike Galiex. ‘But ask I must. Would look after Anya for me, while she is here with you all?’ 

Bea’s breath left her lungs in a rush. She was not sure what she had been expecting him to say, but it certainly was not that.

‘Why me?’ She found herself asking. 

Galiex eyed her cautiously, as if he was not quite certain himself.

‘Morax said you had courage. I have looked a little into his study on feral humans. I believe he is correct.’ 

Bea tilted her head at him, narrowing her eyes. While he appeared entirely genuine, she could not bring herself to believe him so. 

‘Fine. I will keep an eye out for Anya.’ It felt good to speak and hear another human’s name spoken aloud, even if it could not be her own. 

‘Thank you,’ he breathed, his shoulders dropping, as if the tension in his body had suddenly been released.

She nodded stiffly in response. 

‘And the second request?’ 

Galiex’s gaze found hers, his mouth twisting into a grimace. 

‘I suppose it is not so much a request,’ he sighed and dropped to one knee, slowly enough to give her ample time to edge away and stare at him from beyond the reach of his arms. Knelt like this, his face was close to level with her own, granting her a proper view of his face. He looked weary and uncertain, but he held her eye contact. 

‘I would like to apologise to you, Moraxys. For my treatment of you, and for assaulting you aboard the Kaskal.’ He spoke the words carefully, neither rushing nor dragging the sentences. ‘It was wrong.’ 

For a moment, Bea waited, expecting him to trot out a neat line of excuses, but none came. She studied him, from the taut tendons in his large hands as he gripped his knee, to the storm of emotions behind his warm, golden eyes. Without the sneer of conceit that usually marred his face, he looked almost lost. 

Bea drew in a breath. 

‘I do not forgive you. But I will look after Anya,’ she told him truthfully, waiting for the flare of anger or indignation that would surely follow. Neither came. 

‘I understand,’ he stood and dipped his head to her. Bea tried to remember a time she had seen him dip his head to anyone, even another Nephal, and came up blank. 

Unsure how much longer she would be able to control herself, Bea strode past Galiex and back into the dormitory, all too aware of the outline of the small rectangle indenting the soft skin of her wrist.