Krullins’s Crusaders: A Spy on Venomshroud Part 1

The Holy Crusaders of the Krullins hunt down a spy of the false Empire.

The City Station Venomshroud

The Great Empire of Estella

StarDate: 345 W.S.

 

Only filth and sins lived on this massive city space station. The city was far older than most of the cities polluting the many worlds of the false Empire of Estella. John Warwick did admire the craftsmanship and the artistry of the station he was walking through to find his prey. He didn’t quite understand how the station had trees or rain on it, but he had seen far stranger things over the years severing his master’s the Krullins, the rightful rulers of the stars.

                John and his team, Death’s Whispers, were the holy Crusaders of the true gods of the authority over the stars, and they were now hunting a spy from the false ones trying to stop the building of Krullins’s armies. He couldn’t allow the spy named Claudia to get back to her handlers to give over the genetic plan of the Krullins clone armies.

                If those plans reached the enemy, then all hope was lost.

They would never reach them.

John would destroy this whole station if it came down to it, with him on it along with all of his team. He wanted even now to blow it out of the stars, but it wasn’t the time. When the holy war came, then he would get the chance to cleanse the city of all its sin.

                He pushed his way between the mob of people all shoved into the limited space on this station. He stood tall, significant among these false people. His pale skin made him bend in with most of the Kmoik, his dirty blonde hair spiked up, and his brown eyes, all these features didn’t say human, but he was at his core. His ashy black hands' skin deep made him stand out among the lower race. No one asked about those hands, because no one wanted to deal with the hard-looking man answer.

                His black and red leather coat didn’t hide the plasma pistol on his hip, and while most of the time, the station garrison wouldn’t have allowed him aboard with weapons. The fake data about him being an Enforce of the Empire allowed him to bring any weapons onto any ship or station freely.

                The fools believe I am one of them.

                “Warwick,” a sweet voice spoke into the communications chip in his ear, “I am three yards behind you.”

                “Roger,” John said back to Nora Merrill, knowing his most trusted friend and comrade had his back. No matter what happened in the next few moments, John knew Nora would die for him. It had been their training from as far back as John could recall in his life. He grown up with Nova, made love to her a few times and had been there when they lost people.

                He pushed his way through the people heading for a building near the end of the block, where they had been told Claudia was waiting for new orders. More than likely waiting for an extraction team to get her off the station, but she wouldn’t make it to them.

                John eyed a few people coming out of the building, making sure they weren’t guards of any kind, but they seem like normal rubes going about their wretched lives. He stopped for a second looking both ways before crossing the street, seeing Nora doing the same thing.

                “Heading in,” he said, “lock the building down.”

                “Yes, sir,” Nora said, moving faster on his heels.

                John went to the building, making a hard v-line for the clerk on the other side of the counter. He glanced around to make sure no one else was in the lobby, not a soul, thank the gods.

                “How can I help you, sir?” The middle-aged clerk asked, looking up from the vid-screen. He smiled weakly at John, being paid to wear the happy mask.

                John leaned close to the man and said softly, “Sorry about this.”

                “Sir?” But the man had no idea about the spike hidden in John’s coat shelve. The blade shot out, nailing the man under his chin, breaking up into his skull. He gasps for only a second before a bolt of electricity fried the man’s brain. His eyes boiled in his head and John let him go pushing him backward. He fell to the floor, hidden out of sight for the most part.

                John pulled free his plasma pistol turning for the stairs leading up into the building. “Lowe, you ready?” John asked over the com-link.

                “Aye, aye, sir,” Vincent Lowe low voice spoke back to him.

                “I’m moving to the target,” John said. He made his way quickly up to the tenth floor of the building, down the hall of the run-down place, and to the door at the far end. He past needles from the drug pushers lying against the wall and heard the many sounds of the lowest forms of life in all the stars. He hated it all with every burning thought in his soul, the sin of this building. When the Krullins rule over everything, they will set places like these to blaze in holy justice.

                He got to the door of the apartment, glanced over his shoulder, checking his weapon to make sure the thermal battery was full and warmed up. The gun was ready, and he kicked in the door with all the might hide in his powerful body. The door crumbles to the ground letting John come rushing into the room his gun at the ready. The apartment had been a small one-bedroom dwelling, but there had been a door between the bedroom and the living area.

                He saw no one in the living area and dashed the open door of the bedroom. Seconds before he saw the spikes come flying out of the darkness, he heard the hiss of the weapon. He jumped back, rolling from his place and against the wall as the spike nailed there.

                “So, your masters send their best hounds after me,” Claudia shouted from the other room.

Author's Note

If you had made it this far, then I appreciate it, and before you start to tear my work apart (which doesn’t bother me too much), let me explain something. The most common critique I see is about my spelling and grammar. It is an understandable critique, and I do not blame you for pointing it out. After all, spelling and grammar are the tools in which we use to craft our work, like a paintbrush or a chisel. The artist must know how to use these tools well, but like an artist who has a tremble in their hand's somethings will never be perfect.
My tremble in my hand is caused by my dyslexia. It is something, no matter how much I learn, study, or works on, it will never go away. It is the reason you will find a good bit of spelling and grammar mistakes in my work. I ask you to keep this fact when you are about to write your critique.
Also, I feel the need to point this out, this website is like a journal for me. A messy journal I used to work out problems in my stories or to simply warm up before digging into my novels. I do not hire an editor for the work here. I do not spend hours and days pouring over these stories to make them perfect, that energy is saved for the project I plan on taking to market. Everything on this website is my world-building exercise or sketches for other projects.
I do hope you enjoy my work, but this website is not a publishing house for me, and it shouldn’t be for you either. Something to keep in mind as you write your critique.