This story is a continuation of Bradley Ramsey‘s The Unfathomable Beast of Xanadu IV.

If you’ve already read this story, you can keep reading my version of the events that followed his story. But if you’re unfamiliar with the original tale, you should read it first. After all, his story is good.

Freddie’s “zoo” looks pretty well maintained, for the beasts all over the galaxy look healthy and energetic in their cages. The predators here come in every variety, size, shape, and color, equipped with any number of limbs and appendages, each deadly in its own way. A squadron of chewing and acid-resistant robots caters to beasts’ every need, distributing fresh (or, in certain cases, a bit rotten) meat, and also bones for dental health. In front of each cage, sometimes made of glass, sometimes steel, and sometimes plastic, stands a comfy chair, undoubtedly so Freddie could relax while watching his favorite predator of the week and think of new ways to squeeze the galaxy dry of resources and decency. Yet, only a handful of local predators are sentient, and I came here to rescue them.

“Mother, you finally came!” exclaims Vrakthoroskylor as I shatter the glass wall into huge, sharp chunks. The swarm that is him resembles a glistening, pulsating, swiftly moving, three-meter-tall pile of dark slime. Each movement produces a distinctive sound of a million hard-shelled bodies rubbing against each other.

He reaches me, and we both converge into a singular ball of life made of tiny living pieces, feeling and knowing every bit of each other in an embrace deeper than any alien could ever imagine. I’ve never been happier in my entire life!

As the embrace ends, we reassemble our vessels and shatter the rest of the cages, each time making sure to greet my dear children Sphorblattora, Gnarkleptophoboskra, Thlorglathorblatt, Sphorblattorax, and Zorblathoriumphobos properly.

“Oh, Mistress…” A tall form of Klorglakthoroskylor bends before me. “I was beginning to feel I’d have to spend eternity in this place.”

“Rise, my servant. We have work to do.”

“I live to serve.” He quickly bends again.

The empty shells of my children’s eyes watch me with anticipation.

“Be quiet now,” I say. “Time to catch us some guards.”

~*~

“Hey, boss!” Noxar’s finger presses the intercom button once again. “Mr. Montauk! We’re here as ordered.”

Standing in front of the familiar metal door, the quintet of motley cutthroats is ready to get to work. The skulls of idiots need bashing. Plus, the protection money won’t collect itself.

The door opens, but there are no guards inside. No sounds of the usual boxing broadcasts or porn movies reach his ears.

Noxar looks at Elyria, asking a silent question. The thin and long mobile spikes on her sharp face jerk impatiently, and she shoves him out of the way, coming through.

The four of them follow her through a dark corridor. The guards’ metal chairs are empty. The cards are abandoned on the table. A small sound comes from somewhere nearby, almost drowned by the footsteps. Cockroaches maybe? Freddie’s quarters are nicely shielded from the bastards, unlike the rest of Darluca.

Where is everybody?

The second door leading to Freddie’s fabulous quarters is almost within reach. Suddenly, it opens. Everyone freezes; their hearts, singular and plural, racing. A pair of sinister, red eyes pierce the darkness, then another pair, and yet another… Fuck, those are Freddie’s fembots! The quiet sounds of their motors and footsteps fill the air, as they pour out of the door without making a word.

Despite being curvy and tall, there was always something creepy about them.

“Hey, hey you!” Noxar says, pointing his flashlight at them. “What’s going—”

An immense force pushes Elyria into the wall. The muffled screams reach her ears, then all sounds get drowned out by the horde of small, disgusting creatures running up her body, then into her nostrils and between her lips. The enormous pressure forces her jaws to open while cracking a few teeth, and the creatures pour into her throat.

The pain and the sounds are gone, yet the dread is only rising, for Elyria’s four arms move on their own, pushing her away from the wall. Her long legs follow suit in obeying the silent puppeteer. Four of her buddies, all drastically different species, all study their own bodies, trying to get used to the new feeling.

Her mouth opens, and her lips move, saying blood-chilling words instead of yelling the song of her horror. “It’s time to conquer this ‘Darluca’.”

~*~

“Conquer it?” Sphorblattora asks, clad in a form of some almost-amorphous-looking, light-“skinned” alien. “Why? Can’t we just return home?”

The Mistress nods. “We could, but eventually, some of us will get captured again. And even if it won’t happen, I fear that eventually, Xanadu IV will get nuked from orbit. So, my children, and you, Klorglakthoroskylor, it is time to ensure our prosperity.”

Gnarkleptophoboskra, wearing the yellow scales of a pointy-limbed, fanged alien with the third, short arm growing out of her chest, rubs her two “normal” hands in anticipation. “The bastards had their fun for long enough. Now it’s our turn to torment them!”

“No, it’s not about torment.” The Mistress gestures to him to stop. “It’s about securing our future. Don’t poison it with hatred, dear. Instead, make sure it will be pleasant to live in.”

Ashamed, Gnarkleptophoboskra nods a few times and backs up.

“But there are only eight of us.” Klorglakthoroskylor raises his concern. “How can we capture the whole space station?”

The Mistress smiles with her new lips. “First, we procreate, my dear servant. There’s enough good food here to feed an army. Then, we capture the communication hub and the docs. The mind I occupy knows that Freddie had many enemies and didn’t trust anyone except for his fembots, so those two key points are the only connections between the station and the galaxy. Sever them, and no one will hear the screams of the population. But…”

She pauses, looking at her children and the servant.

“Don’t kill unless you have to. Procreate enough to capture everyone. The galaxy is a big place, so we’ll need many children to conquer it.”

~*~

Captain Derek Steeljaw stands on the well-lit bridge of his grand space frigate, looking at the virtual window. The frigate has been patrolling the void near Darcula for a month already. The syndicate deals almost exclusively with criminals, so every vessel coming and going could be his valid target. Sadly, the laws forbid him from stopping random vessels, hoping to find evidence of wrongdoing. Yet, occasionally, he managed to catch a proverbial fish stupid enough to show up here while there was a bounty on them. So, luck may strike today as well.

Something is up. The new space vessels keep coming, orbiting around Freddie’s station, yet no one is docking or leaving Darcula.

“Call ‘em!” he barks.

The technician on his right hurries to push the right buttons, and a huge holographic projection comes to life behind him.

“Oh, Captain Steeljaw!” says an enormous form of the docking specialist Jenkins. “Are you finally ready to dock? The Red Sheets has pretty cool new toys. You should definitely check them out.”

“I will not partake in such indecencies!” The Captain slowly turns around, facing the projection of Jenkins, storing the good news in his memory. “What’s happening down there? I haven’t seen such a queue to dock since the last Galaxy Cup.”

“Oh, that!” Jenkin’s eyebrows jump up. “Ha-ha-ha!” His palm waves away the seriousness of the question. “Nothing super unusual, Captain. Just a giant outbreak of Gray Death. No one is to live until the quarantine is up. And definitely no one is to dock.”

“Gray Death?” The Captain yells as his blood pressure blows up. “Sweet gunpowder, we’re docking immediately! My medics will sort out your mess.”

Jenkins just shrugs. “Mr. Montauk’s orders. If you reckon you can beat our orbital defences, sure, please try docking. Me? I’ll just enjoy the fireworks from here.”

“That’s preposterous!” Captain Steeljaw’s fist strikes the air. “Connect me with Freddie, and I’ll beat some sense into him!”

Jenkins’s mouth curves into the widest grin the Captain ever saw. “Oh, you can be sure I’ll tell him all about your plan. I hope your lawyer already has your will in their vault. If not, start writing one while you still can, Cap!”

The connection dies, and the holoprojection is no more. The engineers and soldiers stare at their Captain in silence.

Gray Death? Here? Now? Can it possibly be true? Or does Freddie need an excuse to seal the station? Huh… Since when does he need excuses to do anything?

End of Part I

Anton Anderson, 2025

If you want to read more of my writings, please read my published books: The Seekers: Soul-Ties, Kirin, and Perrin Peters. And if you don’t want to buy my books but still want to support me, I’m on Patreon. And if you prefer one-time payments, you can Buy Me A Pizza or a Coffee.