Krullins’s Crusaders: A Spy on Venomshroud Part 4

She touched the flames of the holy masters.

The plasma bolt singes the spy’s hair making her roll behind some cover behind a box. She wanted to help her friend, but she couldn’t save him, and the mission came first. John didn’t aim for the box; he kept his eyes on the door. She would try to getaway. Like him, her mission came before anything else, even her own life.

                She made a mad dash for the door, but the bolt catches her in the arm. She stumbles forward, hitting the wall face first, breaking her nose, but the burning pain was far more overwhelming then the blood rushing down her face. She hit the ground on her knees, trying to crawl away.

                “I didn’t come with friends,” John said, stepping into the hallway keeping his gun trained on her. He slowly walked behind her watching her flee from him. She had killed thirty of his clones to get the data, but clones weren’t much to him. They took time to grow, and it didn’t change the principle of the matter. She attacked them. She killed his clones. She almost killed one of his friends.

                There would be no quick death for her.

                “I want you to see what happens when you cross paths with a Crusader,” John said. He stepped hard on the back of her leg. She shouted from the bone-shattering pain.

                She spun around, trying to shoot him, but John batted away the gun. He grabbed her by the back of the neck like a mother cat would do to a kitten and tossed her back into the port. He strolled over to her as she looked back at him, putting his gun away.

                The blood was starting to mix with the tears.

                “Watch,” John said, forcing her to see the Metalvivent be ripped in half by Beiler. The metal monster cried out before Beiler tossed the top half of the beast out into space. It would be only a matter of second before the darkness of space killed him. If the Metalvivent could stay whole, then space wouldn’t affect him. If he could be with yards of his other half, then he could repair himself, but the team had faced their kind before. They knew how to kill the living metal monster.

                “By the stars,” Claudia weep.

                John kneels beside, “Know this waits for all of you who will not bend the knee. When the holy flames of the master’s washes over these stars, all will bow or die.”

                “You are insane,” Claudia said. “You don’t even know how much they have brainwashed you.”

                “Your sin only knows lies,” John whispered.

                “I will not give you the data,” she said.

                “But we both know it is your chip,” he said, tapping the back of her head.

                “If you remove it,” Claudia smirked,” it will destroy itself. You will know none of our secrets.”

                John smiled, “I do not need to remove it.” He put his ashy hand on the back of her head, summoning the fire the masters had blessed him with. The blue flames swallow all of the spy’s head in second, eating her down to the bone, and when he let go of her, the skull was char black.

                He took a deep breath letting the smell of the smoke fill his nose. He smiled at it and turned to his friend.

                “What if she uploaded it to the net?” Beiler said, walking over to him.

                “She didn’t,” John said. “We had the net being watched.”

                “And the ship?” Beiler asked.

                “Blow it,” John ordered,” and let’s go home.”     

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.