Three
Catarine
Oh no.
I’ve gone too far this time.
Way, way too far.
The man stands and twitches his gray suit, resettling it over his broad, all-too-human back, tapered waist, muscular quads and calves. The cowl has fallen back, revealing black hair and pallid skin, and he pads silently across the blood-soaked carpet on gray boots. The black lining his fingernails could just be polish, the spikes on the backs of his ears a quirk of biology.
But the molecule-thin blades nested like a chevron tattoo at his wrists prove he is the deadliest member of the conquering race. A foot soldier, known as a blade, from the conquerors of Arris.
Why, if the Arrisans had superior ranged lasers that devastated hundreds of planets like they’d devastated Humana, were their foot soldiers trained and ar
