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.

Go to » Part I «

My heart and trembling hands are about to give up. I have to reload, but a shell falls from my fingers onto the bloodied and shattered mirror floor.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The shots and the blood-chilling screeches of pain are ringing in my ears. The monsters explode into individual insectoids and scatter, only to assemble once again into horrific, person-sized living shapes and attack anew with their long and sharp fangs and claws.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Aisha’s shotgun scatters the monsters again, showering the place with brown guts and bile, and this time they retreat under the overturned tables.

“Run!”

I pick up the shell from the floor, trying to ignore the blood and horror on my face, and follow her. We rush into the dressing room and rummage through the dressers, trying not to slip on the pools of blood and not to trip over the corpses.

Empty!

Trying not to puke, trying to ignore the stench and sight of death, I continue ramming.

Empty!

The shells hooked to the side of my shotgun are all the reserve I have.

“Found some!”

Aisha dives out of the big chest with clothes and toys and shoves the shotgun shells into whatever makeshift pockets she has. I’m not as lucky as she is with my garment.

You won’t hide from us!

The blood-chilling echo of low moans coming from the club sends us rushing towards the back door, tripping over the bodies. I crash into the door and grab the handle.

“Locked! Where’s the key?”

Her green, horrified eyes enlarge. “The Pimp had it.”

“Shit!” My fist crashes into the metal door while my brain races. “Hold on. Maybe I can blast off the lock?”

“You’re not in a movie, Andrew! Come here!” Aisha dives under the closest makeup table and throws away the lid of the ventilation shaft.

“Are you crazy?” I yell into her back, for she’s already crawling into the shaft. “Those fuckers are tiny when they need to be! It’s a deathtrap!”

She says nothing and continues working with her arms and legs. I jerk the doorknob again, look over the entire bloody room, and realize that there’s no other way.

The claustrophobic shaft is narrow. My exposed skin chafes immediately, and since almost all of my body is exposed, every move becomes pain. Yet, somehow, I catch up to Aisha, following a few thin trails of blood she left behind, and undoubtedly leaving similar ones myself.

Where are you? There’s nowhere to run!

A distorted, outworldly voice reaches our ears, instantly giving us strength.

Aisha pushes the lid open and climbs into a dark room. A scent of chemicals reaches my nostrils. A clear improvement after so much blood and alien entrails. I follow suit, close the lid, and look around. The laundry room!

We barricade the ventilation opening with the closest washing machine and creep towards the exit. Hundreds of distant screams of pain and desperation fill the air as she opens the door. It leads outside, and the view of the dark streets of Darcula is not reassuring, but being outside the Red Sheets club is already a huge improvement.

“There’s a shooting range nearby!” She points to the right.

I point to the left. “But the barracks are closer!”

“Yeah, but they’re empty!” Her blonde hair, heavy from blood, hardly moves as she shakes her head. “Freddie’s goons were all over the station as always. There’s no way they decided to regroup there.”

“You can’t know that!” I exclaim. “The place is defensible.”

“So go there, then! I’m not listening to a useless coward!” Aisha cries and runs in the direction of the shooting range.

Useless? I’m useless? Dumbfounded, I stare at her back. Sure, I’m almost out of ammo, but useless? I’ll show her!

I open the lid of the closest dumpster, and after a quick rummage, find a bit bent and chipped, but perfectly serviceable sword. Carmen and Conan’s show yesterday was pure ecstasy, but the poor blade received a beating and was thrown away due to cosmetic reasons, not due to a lack of sharpness.

“Aaaaaaaa!” Aisha’s high-pitched, blood-chilling scream propels me forward.

Standing under a dim lamppost, she spews lead pellets left and right. Dark, glistening, sharp-teethed monsters with amorphous bodies jump at her from every direction relentlessly. Each time the shot hits the mark, the monsters explode into an orb of insectoids. A sea of these little creatures is already under her feet, slowly making their way up her stockings.

“Die!” I yell, pulling the trigger again and again, giving her time to reload.

The tiny bodies crumble under my feet, making disgusting noises, and their sharp, hard shells dig into the soles of my bloodied feet.

“Run!” Aisha yells, running down the dark street.

I follow her lead. My lungs, my bloodied feet, and my whole body and mind scream in protest. My ears ring from the constant shooting. The monsters jump at us from left and right, but we manage to shoot our way through. The last shell makes its way into the barrel. The last load of lead leaves the muzzle. I throw the useless shotgun at the closest monster and start hacking away with my sword as I run.

The concrete box of the shooting range is right in sight. The bright sign above the door reads, “Lead Country.”

The door opens, and a tall, green alien pops out, holding an assault rifle in her two lower arms, and two pistols in her two upper arms. Behind her back stand a few more people, all armed to the teeth.

“Get inside!” she shouts while blasting the monsters behind us.

She steps to the side, allowing us to rush in. A barrage of gunshots holds off the monsters long enough for her to get back in and lock the steel door. The muffled rumble of the bodies crashing into the door is both the scariest and most encouraging thing I’ve ever heard.

Someone gives me a hand, for I slid down the wall, exhausted. I take it, get to my feet, and look around. The familiar place is well lit. The metal shelves are all open, but a lot of them still hold guns of all sizes and calibers. And huge boxes of ammo are a sight to behold.

“Thank you!” I exale, looking at our green-skinned, four-armed savior. “I thought we were done for.”

Unlike the rest of the mismatched people here, she looks like a merc, so sticking with her should give us the best chance. Maybe they have some clothes here? Something with pockets? And some boots?

The claw-like things on her face twitch. “No time for this. We have to run! What do you know about the backdoors from this rock?”

“Back doors?” Aisha’s eyebrows jump up.

The green woman shrugs. “Well, you know, for contraband or something. It can’t be that the docs are actually the only place with space vessels. Someone must’ve had a way to get in and out of Darcula without Freddie’s blessing.”

I shake my head, trying to suppress the memories.

“There used to be some hidden space ports, but it was ages ago.” My voice breaks a bit. “When Freddie learned about them, he made such an example of everyone involved. And their families. And friends. And their pets. They agonized for a week, and then he fed their corpses to his ‘zoo.’ I thought I would never eat again after that shitshow.”

“So,” the green woman approaches me, “there have been no new attempts ever since?”

I nodded. “Pillow talk is a sure way to know all the secrets. I’ve heard nothing of the sort, and the gossip has been quiet about it too.”

Her dark-green lips curve. “Thanks.”

Her long leg smashes through my loincloth, and the excruciating pain drops me to the floor. Before I reach it, her arms yank the sword out of my hand.

“Hey, what are you—” A thud interrupts Aisha’s eardrum-crushing plea.

I painfully hit the concrete floor, watching a big dude step onto her chest and disarm her. I watch how the green woman strolls to the door, grabs the handle, then turns her head to me, grinning the most sinister smile. The handle turns, and a stream of dark, glistening insectoids rushes in, enveloping me, rushing into my mouth…

~*~

I stand in the control center of Darluca’s space port. Countless of screens are in front of me, showing the space traffic, galactic news, projections of the asteroid paths, and all sorts of information. One of the screens shows the frigate Benevolent — my next target. Its position in the Galactic Federation will be a ticket to countless new worlds. And the rare worlds like Darluca that would not let it dock simply out of fear and respect — those worlds would have to be conquered via firepower.

It has to be perfect! No one should know that the frigate has been captured; otherwise, the fight will drag on a lot longer than it should. We have to get to Captain Steeljaw and populate his body without anyone noticing.

“Almost the entire station is in our hands.” A voice comes from behind me. The pheromones in the air tell me it’s one of my new daughters.

I turn around and smile, remembering the body she’s wearing from the shooting range: a male elrisian with pale-red body, black eyes, and sharp lower fangs popping out from the lower lip, making the face look cute. The meat-suit is wearing only a dark-red loincloth, and a few thin strips of leather crisscross the chest. Some of the bandages on the wounds from before are red from blood, but it looks like the meat-suit will hold.

“There are most likely some stragglers in hard-to-reach areas, so all of the vital points are locked up and guarded.” My daughter finishes her report.

I nod with a smile. “Good. Now prepare yourselves to end the Gray Death outbreak and board the Benevolent.”

My daughter gives me a deep bow and turns to go away.

“Wait!” I say, waiting for her to look at me. “Let me guess: you were going to board the shuttle while wearing this.”

She looks down at her meat-suit, then gives me a quizzical look.

“Ha-ha! You’re young, so of course you don’t know. If the brain in this body hasn’t yet inspired, search it for a ‘proper’ way to dress. And if the brain is dead, just ask Klorglakthoroskylor to dress you up.”

My daughter bows again and leaves.

Oh, the youth! The naming ceremony for thousands of new children will be a sight to behold.

I stretch my spine and shoulders, still uncomfortable in this body. Even though it has four arms, it’s still two short of my usual six. Soon, I’ll be able to shed this prison, feed it to my young, and finally be free. I just need not to fuck this up.

~*~

Captain Derek Steeljaw receives a call from Darluka and hurries up to the bridge of his majestic frigate, Benevolent, so that everybody can witness his victory. There’s no doubt that the syndicate lord himself is calling him to plead for help. The admiralty will not overlook this development, oh no. Soon, he’ll become the first of his line to receive the admiral epaulets.

Unable to hide his smile, he walks into the ever-busy bridge. Upon seeing him, a technician pushes the right buttons, and the giant holographic projection of docking specialist Jenkins comes to life in front of the Captain.

“Oh, Captain Steeljaw!” The man’s eyes shine with delight. “I’ve got some good and bad news for you. Which one do you want to hear first?”

It wasn’t supposed to go like this…

“Don’t play games with me, boy!” Steeljaw roars with all his might, making his technicians and the guards jump. “Start talking!”

“Okie-dokie!” The docking specialist looks away to read something from a different screen. “Our medics managed to isolate the Gray Death, so the port will open again shortly.”

A pause ensues.

“What, do you expect me to pat you on the head?” As he yells, Captain Steeljaw projectiles droplets of spit several meters in front of him. “What’s the bad news?”

Jenkins gives him a wide smile. “We failed miserably at healing some of our top people, so a shuttle carrying our best medics will be docking with you shortly. We hope your amazing doctors with big diplomas can teach our medics who never had any fancy pieces of paper.”

“You bet your ass they can!” Captain Steeljar points his finger at the image of Jenkins as if he wanted to skewer him. “I hope Freddie won’t mind paying for their services.”

Docking specialist Jenkins nods politely. “Some of the sick were tasked with cleaning Mr. Montauk’s fembots, so they have to be cured ASAP. He won’t spare any expense.”

Captain Steeljaw resists the temptation to rub his hands like a cartoon villain in front of everybody.

“Okay,” he says. “I will allow them to dock. After all, I’m the captain of the Benevolent.”

End of Part II

Anton Anderson, 2025

Go back to » Part I «

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.