Chapter 8, part 3
What Hero Through Yonder Vision Breaks?

The Trader Emergency Coalition

8 years ago, galactic position 305, 835, planet christened "Liberty"
Inside modified fighter "Light Strike"

    Kol pressed the trigger buttons repeatedly, yet they did not respond. Hurtling towards the enemy's capital ship, he was helpless inside his own space craft. Jets of light issued from the Vasari's ship, whizzing past Kol's. It was only moments before one of them hit.
    Suddenly, a green glowing shield sparked into life around Kol's fighter, absorbing the point defense fire. Kol's mouth dropped. A fighter with a shield? What was going on? The fighter shot nearer to the enemy ship, Kol desperately waiting for whatever super weapon the fighter had prepared to fire. But nothing happened. Going faster and faster towards the capital ship, nothing happened. Then Kol understood. And he screamed again.
    The fighter sliced through the enemy's shield like a razor and embedded itself into the side of the capital ship. Kol was thrown out of his seat, restraining straps and all, and darkness closed in on his vision.
    darkness closing birds are growing, feasting, learning, hides are turning, ears are moaning, hearing, snoring, eyes are bleeding, weeping, sobbing...
    The sounds echoed around Kol's mind. He seemed somewhere between life and death, at least, that was how he perceived it. All around him were softly glowing lights of all colors. To his left lay a field of fire, purple fire, leaping towards the sky and burning merrily. To his right lay a darkness, heavy and oppressive. Kol immediately knew that if he went to the darkness he would die, and if he went to the purple flames he would live. The choice seemed obvious. So why was he inching towards the darkness?
    The sounds drew him onward, the voices. They were saying things, terrible things, nonsense things, but Kol still came forward, straining to hear the voice that lay underneath all the other voices. That was the voice he wanted to hear.
    But soft! What Hero through yonder vision breaks!
    Kol stopped. He had found it. He knew it was talking about him. Talking to him? He had to hear more. He inched closer to the darkness, could feel the dank heat of it wash over him. His face was awash in a cold sweat, but he went nearer, ever nearer. The voice was talking about him. He had to know what it was saying.
    What hero through yonder vision breaks? It is the King! It is the King!
    Closer, always closer. Kol realized he was on his stomach, crawling, groveling towards the voice.
    It is the King, and Alexander is the hero!
    Where had the darkness gone? Then Kol realized he was in the darkness, inside the darkness. He was inside death.
    Arise, lowly hero, and kill the invading scum.
    The voice had moved. Now it was over by the purple fire. Kol stood up and moved towards it, but found that the darkness had trapped him, was holding him like a fly on a spider's web. He could have wept.
    Arise, lowly hero, and kill the invading scum, who will soon be sick and pale with terror over your arrival!
    With an enormous effort, Kol broke through the darkness. A few thin threads tried to hold him back, but he pushed through those and ran towards the voice. It condensed into one yellow glowing ball, and Kol sprang at it joyously.
    Kol's eyes flashed open. The lights of his fighter flickered feebly, creating a sort of gloom about the cockpit. The overhead door was cracked and unsealed, and with little effort Kol broke through it and climbed atop the fighter. What he saw made him gasp. Behind him, a glowing white force field where the fighter had made a hole in the hull, preventing the escape of oxygen from the ship. Apparently these aliens breathed it too. Around the fighter was strewn debris and hazy dust, but nothing else. No aliens, no mechanized creatures. Nobody was there. But Kol was inside the Vasari's capital ship. Crawling over a mound of blackened something, part of the broken hull, Kol thought, he gripped his pistol tightly, although leaving it in its holster by his hip. If he was startled by anything, he didn't want to drop it. Technically, Kol wasn't even supposed to have his weapon with him, but he had forgotten to drop it off in the bin in the hangar. What an idiot he was! But now maybe it would save him.
    Kol dropped to the floor and ran down the hallway.

The Vasari

8 years ago, galactic position 305, 835, planet code named VASAR
aboard the Platinum

    Num'pol jumped as an explosion rocked the ship. Hurriedly he checked the ship's computers. Had that been some new surprising human missile? No, there had been no missile.
    "Status report!" Num'pol barked out. "Tell me what just happened!"
    "A human fighter crashed into our hull, Elite Subjugator!" A Vasari Invasion Specialist shouted out.
    "How did it get past our shield!" Num'pol roared.
    The Invasion Specialist visibly quaked. "I...I am not sure, Elite Subjugator, only that they cut through it as if it were no more than shuffa butter."
    Num'pol clenched his fist. "Destroy the fighter!" Then he had a thought. "But if there are any humans left aboard...bring them to me. I would know more about their race."
    The Invasion Specialist bowed, knuckle to forehead. "It will be done as such, Elite Subjugator."
    The Invasion Specialist fled the room, glad to be away from his master and his dangerous moods.

The Trader Emergency Coalition

8 years ago, galactic position 305, 835, planet christened "Liberty"
aboard Vasari capital ship

    "Oh, that looks important."
    Kol fired a couple of shots into what looked like a control bank on one of the walls, and it exploded in a shower of sparks.
    "Ok...wasn't expecting that large of a fireworks display."
    Kol spoke aloud to himself, the sound of his own voice calming him. The stars alone knew how much he needed to be soothed.
    "Oh moon nuggets, I hear footsteps..."
    Kol peered around the corner and fired a shot. The Vasari figure approaching dropped to the floor, his strange alien gun falling with a clatter to the ground. Kol immediately dived around the corner and took shelter behind the same mini-wall that the Vasari had previously occupied. Peering over that, he fired off another few shots. There hadn't been any Vasari when he crashed, but there sure as hell had come running. And they had big guns. Surprisingly, however, they had refrained from blasting off Kol's head, even when they had perfectly good chances at it. He supposed it was because they wanted him alive to question, which was fine by him. As long as they didn't kill him, everything was fine. But they did keep up a heavy suppressing fire. Glancing down at his gun, Kol sighed. He didn't have many choices. He could keep taking wild shots, hoping to shoot one of them until he ran out of bullets, or he could stand and surrender himself to them. The last was not an option, but the first was hardly one as well. But it didn't really matter. Kol knew he was only trying to stall. He had been having amazing luck with his gun today. Uncanny luck. Kol knew that he would hit the Vasari gunners.
    Diving around the mini-wall, Kol let loose a barrage of bullets. The three Vasari fell, their entrenched guns winding to a halt. Panting, Kol picked himself up and grimaced. His shoulder was a bloody mess. Kol slid a new cartridge into his gun with a snap as he proceeded down the hallway. Pain was meaningless. Living was meaningless. Kol had heard the voice again. And it was calling him forward.
    He reached the end of the hallway. A heavy double-door barred his way, looking like it was made up of steel 8 inches deep. Which it probably was. Alien steel. Who knew how strong that was? Kol threw himself at them anyway, and cried out in surprise when they opened. Kol picked himself up and looked into the eyes of a Vasari that stood over him, one hand on the door controls, and the other pointing what was obviously a gun at Kol's head.
    Kol dropped his gun and slowly raised his hands above his head. This was it. He would die soon. He didn't really care. The voice had disappeared again. Maybe he would find it in death. The Vasari still didn't move. Kol used this time to look around the command bridge, as the place obviously was. It was empty save for Kol and the Vasari. He met the alien stare for stare. If he was going to die, so be it. If he was going to live and become this creature's tortured victim, so be that as well.
    The Vasari dropped his gun.
    "An even chance, human," it growled, before launching itself at Kol.
    He didn't even have time be surprised at the TEC standard English coming out of the alien's mouth. Kol ducked underneath the alien's outstretched arms and kicked at its feet. It hissed angrily as it toppled. With a start Kol realized its knees were on the wrong side of its body. Then he remembered. Alien. Of course. He backhanded the Vasari's face, making it stumble back, giving him some breathing room. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his gun. He dived towards it, and the Vasari hissed again. "No honor!" it seemed to have said, but Kol wasn't listening. He picked up the gun, cocked it, and fired at the alien's face. Bright green blood splattered across Kol, but he hardly noticed. He stared down at the alien, silently. He didn't remember dropping his gun. Silently he rose, and immediately toppled into one of the chairs lining the edges of the room. Weeping silently, Kol clutched himself hard, rocking back and forth. These last few events had just fully caught up with him. He stared at his blood-stained shirt, and tore it apart in sudden fury. He twisted and turned, ripping the shirt to shreds, as if trying to rid himself of the fact. He was a killer. A born killer. A natural. The thought made him want to sick up. But then the voice spoke.
    Arise, lowly hero, and assume your place as king!
    And then it was gone, and he was running up to the bank of computers, pressing buttons and flipping switches. Something had to work. Hopefully something not as crazy as the dissembling auto-ray. How they had come up with that name.....a transmission icon appeared on the screen, and Kol jumped. He hadn't realized what he was doing had worked.
    He leaned forward hurriedly. "Come in Provians, come in Provians!"
    His earlier fit had seemingly disappeared completely. Now Kol was focused on something else, something other than feeling disgusted at himself. He had to find a way off this ship.
    There was a hiss of static, during which Kol prayed fitfully that he was on an open channel, then a voice that Kol recognized as Major Judman spoke.
    "By all the stars in heaven, who is this?"
    "This is Alexander J. Kol, sir, speaking from the deck of the enemy capital ship."
    There was a long pause. "Kol?!? Is that you? Are you all right? Did they capture you? We saw the explosion your fighter caused."
    So they already knew. Kol had hoped he'd be able to fudge that part of his report.
    "No, sir, I haven't been made a hostage. I've taken control of the bridge. I've taken control of the ship."
    Another long pause. "Kol, are you sure? You killed all of the Vasari?"
    "No, sir, not all of them. Only twenty or so on my way to the command bridge. But I got their commander, I know that. He was on the bridge. And I'm about to seal the bridge doors and release all the oxygen from the rest of the ship."
    "Twenty...you know how to do that?"
    "I've figured it out, sir. There are a few helpful diagrams..."
    One was a picture that showed air rushing out of a window around the middle of a ship, with the front windows securely fastened. He hoped he had interpreted it right.
    "From heaven to earth, son, do it now! The rest of the enemy craft are almost destroyed, we will pick you up as soon as possible. Sit tight, I'm going to have Petty Officer Francis on constant radio communication with you, remember him?"
    Kol said that he did, and Judman continued. "Do not walk away from this radio without telling him! If the Vasari manage to capture you, or you just fall asleep and don't answer, we are not going to board the ship and retrieve you! We lost too many good men and ships today to risk it. Is that also clear?"
    "As crystal, sir."
    "Then get to it, Kol, and let me be the first to congratulate you. There will surely be a promotion at hand."
    Kol signed off and hit the button the Vasari had used to open the bridge doors. They snapped shut with a clang, and a light above the doors switched from green to red. Apparently locked, then. Kol next hit the air symbol and a dim rushing sound began, as if there was a high wind far away. Kol took a tenuous breath to make sure his air hadn't left him, and then grinned. He had done it. He had survived the Vasari and single-handedly captured their capital ship. Hopefully that neutralized his disaster with his fighter. Almost certainly a promotion, if headquarters agreed with Judman. Almost certainly. Kol caught a faint whisper as he sat down in one of the many chairs.
    And they shall be sick and pale at your arrival, for you shall be king!

Amazing. Simply Amazing

im going to go into detail about how kol "took over" the ship in the next chapter, when he gets debriefed, but remember, the command bridge was empty save for Num'pol. and Num'pol had some foolish sense of honor and Kol shot him. but yeah, going into how he fought his way to the bridge next part. but ill giv a little taste right now to soothe everyones troubled minds. he killed twenty on his way to the bridge, and he did so because simply, the Vasari had never ever before had to fight person-to-person. they always did it from their ships, all the way back through the Flight to even the Empire, the Vasari had always fought on their ships. They had more personal weapons, in case a rebellion sprouted up, but even then they had the higher numbers, so combat training (different from starship training) never really took off with the Vasari. the result: they suck at hand-to-hand combat (lack of a better word, gun-to-gun combat? how would you say that)

EDIT: it also helps that kol is one of the deadliest sharpshooters in the TEC.

EDIT EDIT: i thought about it some more, and in the debriefing (next chapter) kol will explain how he activated shield walls (similar to blast walls) that blocked off the rest of the ship from converging on kol. i greatly appreciate the feedback. lets make this the best sins story of them all!

I have to admit I don't really like the idea of the vasari being push overs in man-to-man or in a fire fight.  what i would like better is that the jackal was just that much of a bad ass, and that kol's muscle memory remembers being the jackal (in kind of a bourne identity way), and he takes out 20 vasari and makes it to the bridge.  

you never really explained why the jackal was special, just that the tec feared and respected him.  i just interpreted that he was some elite warrior.

FIRE FIGHT! that was the phrase i was looking for. and yeah, ur not supposed to no the background of the jackal, just that he was feared and respected. perfect interpretation

exactly. if only there were survivors to let the rest of them know how they had lost......o well. sucks to be them.

yes, they would toughen up, but they wouldnt start right after this battle, thats wat i meant to say. Vasari Command knew a battle was being fought around that planet, they wouldnt call them up and say, "hey, we have one tec guy walking around our ship, just thought you should know." thats not something to notify them about, theyd just deal with it themselves and include it in their report. but since they all died, the vasari conclude they blew the ship up. which sucks for both cause now theyr gonna be pissed at the tec, and also scared as #&*$ cause this is the first time theyv lost anything since the Darkness destroyed their empire.

?

wat was rude? that last thing u said? no, its good to argue the finer points of my story with me, it helps me refine the story and work it into you guys's interests. i mean if u just go on saying how my story sucks and how i should delete it all or something im not gonna listen to that......but i like ur comments cause uv helped me work out what i want to do with the story by pointing out little faults and stuff that iv missed.

theres gonna be an explanation. remember, im doing this book-style, so this explanation would come on the next page right after Kol's adventure. but anyway, its going to be from the Vasari's point of view. maybe a little bit of Kol's too.

It seems a bit too god-like for one man, armed with a pistol to take out twenty armed and armored, highly trained, ready for combat Vasari.  and the lowest crew complement of any Vasari capitol ship is 4000, the Antorak Marauder.  the Devastator has a complement of 9,000, and is the likely choice for a flagship (and a flagship would have a much higher crew complement than a standard ship).  it doesn't seem realistic that he would only meet twenty Vasari in between his fighter and the bridge, unless he landed right outside the bridge.  it also isn't very realistic that

in other words, you can't really aim when diving, and you definitely wouldn't have time to fire off three rounds(assuming 100% accuracy) until you came to a stop on the ground and became an easy target.  plus the vasari would take cover as soon as one of their members goes down, not wanting to die themselves.  and a shot to the leg will not kill, so IMO, that's what they'd go for.  blow out the kneecaps.  or maybe use nonlethal ammunition.

forgive my little rant there, I'm a bit of a stickler for realism, and hate invincible/all powerful/superman(or superwoman) characters.  (i.e. Pacific Vortex by Clive Cussler has a terrible case of this)

Futuristic guns? Maybe different ammo enables an automatic fire mode for pistols, or the rounds were fragmentation ordnance.

I kind of bristled at the part where it had a specific button for releasing all of the air except for in the bridge. It's as if they designed it to be taken over by one person. maybe he could find a button to lock the bridge doors, and then some kind of emergency open button for all un-locked doors. It seems a little dumb that the button shows it was intentionally designed for exposing everything to space.

I'm not trying to control the story for him. He's repeatedly asked for feedback, and in my opinion that's really good.

Chapter 9, part 1
The Vasari Shall...Fall?

The Vasari

8 years ago, galactic position 305, 835, planet code named VASAR

    "Enemy strike crafty approaching on vector 84, Elite Subjugator!"
    Num'pol looked up from his holo-screen. "Launch the viskyeeri!"
    "As you command, Elite Subjugator."
    Streams of small strike craft soared from under the ship and the other three capital ships, zooming towards the small blue streaks coming towards them. Lights began flashing, and the red streaks and blue streaks began to intertwine. Even from this distance, excitement began to bubble up inside Num'pol. This was battle. This was life.
    "Enemy craft approaching from the northern sector!"
    Num'pol looked down at his screen again. Blue shapes, indicating the enemy, were massing together and moving as one large block towards his own formation of ships. They were symbolized in red.
    "Create a vorashknir between them and the Platinum, don't let them near this ship!"
    "Acknowledged, Elite Subjugator, sending fleet directives to the other captains now..."
    Num'pol nodded at the Vasari. Turning back to his screen, he began directing the downfall of this fleet of humans. The weak shall fall, and the strong shall fall, and the Vasari shall remain triumphant.
    Num'pol jumped as an explosion rocked the ship. Hurriedly he checked the ship's computers. Had that been some new surprising human missile? No, there had been no missile.
    "Status report!" Num'pol barked out. "Tell me what just happened!"
    "A human fighter crashed into our hull, Elite Subjugator!" A Vasari Invasion Specialist shouted out.
    "How did it get past our shield!" Num'pol roared.
    The Invasion Specialist visibly quaked. "I...I am not sure, Elite Subjugator, only that they cut through it as if it were no more than shuffa butter."
    Num'pol clenched his fist. "Destroy the fighter!" Then he had a thought. "But if there are any humans left aboard...bring them to me. I would know more about their race."
    The Invasion Specialist bowed, knuckle to forehead. "It will be done as such, Elite Subjugator."
    Num'pol watched the Vasari shuffle out. Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He whirled around the confront Aeb'nir.
    "What!" He managed to spat out. Darkness be damned, he was getting as jumpy as a knishma.
    Aeb'nir pointed calmly over to the large green button that shut off the oxygen flow through the ship, with the exception of the command center. If an invading army managed to board their ship, the command center could easily dispatch them. With the loss of thousands of their own. But some things were worth the cost. And the Vasari's unvanquished history was one of them. They would never lose. Not to anyone. The weak shall fall, and the strong shall fall, and the Vasari shall remain triumphant.
    But Num'pol shook his head. An insurgent fighter could not carry more than one human. That was not worth losing the majority of his ship's personnel for. Aeb'nir pursed his lips and bowed. He did not care much for the lives of ordinary Vasari.
    "Make repairs on the hull breach!" Num'pol rasped out. "And bring up the hallway's video feed on the left screen!"
    Three enormous screens dominated one side of the command center. On the right ran countless lines of seemingly random letters and numbers. That was what kept the ship running. The center screen and left screen, however, could be displayed with whatever Num'pol fancied. Or other ship captain. On their own ships. The Vasari were fiercely aggressive creatures, Num'pol would not tolerate others using his personal screens.
    The screen lit up to static.
    "What is going on!" Num'pol roared.
    "Elite Subjugator..." The Vasari nearly quaked in his boots. "Elite Subjugator, the camera is down! I do not know why!"
    "Well find another!" Num'pol would brook no foolishness today. Turning back to the rest of the room, he addressed all the occupants. "Take us away from the battle! To the edge of the gravity well until we sort this out!"
    There was a slight sensation in his stomach, as if it were moving right as the ship turned left, but it quickly passed and Num'pol was so used to it now he payed it no mind. More important matters to think about. Much more important.
    "Elite Subjugator..." The junior officer was really quaking now. "T-the c-cameras...he m-must be s-shooting them, Elite Subjugator, t-they are all d-down..."
    "ALL OF THEM?!?" Num'pol shook the ceiling with his roar.
    "N-n-no, Elite Subjugator, n-not all, b-but all n-near the crash s-scene..."
    "The Darkness take you!" Num'pol cried, and the junior officer jumped backwards in fright. He had cause this time. That was a heavy curse. Suddenly the lights flickered and the computers died. They started up again, only a second later, but that might have been an eternity for a starship of the Platinum's size.
    "All power to engines!" Num'pol cried as the ship tilted dangerously, succumbing to the pull of the planet's gravitational pull. "Activate emergency thrusters! Regain control of our trajectory! I want a full explanation of what just happened eight shvakas ago! Move!"
    Num'pol took manual control over the ship, struggling to regain his course. There was a long delay of a few minutes while Num'pol and the planet's gravitational pull wrestled for dominance over control of the Platinum's course, but Num'pol eventually righted the ship and resumed its course towards the edge of the gravity well. After that had been settled and the sweat wiped off his brow, Num'pol turned to Aeb'nir, the damage consultant.
    "Now," Num'pol hissed, "what in all the Darkness is going on!"
    "Elite Subjugator," Aeb'nir hissed coolly. It was always coolly with Aeb'nir. "The computers have lost contact with ship grid number 39. It has gone offline."
    "What does that mean, Aeb'nir?" If Aeb'nir noticed the rising danger in Num'pol's tone, he gave no sign of it.
    "We have lost control of all door mechanics with the sole exception of the command center doors, which we can manually override. The others stay as they are until we can get the mechanics to the grid box. Which is not possible with the human running around."
    That reminded Num'pol, he had completely forgotten about the human. He turned to his left wall-screen, and sure enough, this camera was still broadcasting. Three Vasari were firing from entrenched nikrbrashkas, large fully automatic machine guns, at a low mini-wall jutting out across the hallway. Someone had placed it there, and Num'pol would give them hell once he found out who. But now was not the time. As he watched, the human dove from his cover, fired what seemed to be an automatic pistol, and the three Vasari dropped to the ground. Num'pol's jaw dropped as well. He quickly counted the shells that had dropped from the human's gun. Five. Five shots, and three had instantly killed his Vasari armed with nikrbrashkas! A cold, chilled feeling swept up what Vasari considered spinal cords. How could they have guessed humans would be trained in close combat as well as space and long-range combat? The Vasari certainly did not. What would have been the point? It had been over 10,000 years, during the great Vasari Empire, that the last time the Vasari had needed to defend a ship from boarding had arisen. They had done everything from inside their ships from that point onward. There was the elite Mani'k corp, true, but they were usually only for planetary rebellions, and they had never met much resistance. Besides, he had no Mani'k on his ship at the time. What he would have given for just one, though. Num'pol watched in disbelief as the human skirted around the dead Vasari and crept off screen.
    "Move it!" Num'pol ordered, but the camera was already at the farthest angle it could turn. The cold feeling returned to his spine, and Num'pol realized it was fear. These humans were demons.
    "Out! Everybody out!" Num'pol ordered, dragging Vasari from their consoles. They looked about in confusion as Num'pol set the ship in an autopilot-controlled geosynchronous orbit, and then turned to his staff.
    "Vasari," he hissed, looking them all in the eye, "Vasari, we have not much time, so I will be brief. We are facing an enemy we are not prepared for, one we have no suitable defenses against. So this is what I propose. All of you, every single one, exit the rear doors and make your way through the ship as best you can. Find as many Vasari as possible, and try to eject yourselves in the safety pods. If the doors are unlocked. As for me, I will stay here and engage the human. If I am victorious, I will come contact you. If I am not and you cannot escape, prepare a final stand. I know this is only one human, one against all us here, but you saw as well as I the camera's video feed. You saw how he moved. Not tell me, how many of you would die before we could take him down? If we took him down? Would it be worth it, just to kill one human? I am not discussing this. Leave now, and try to escape. Try to escape."
    Num'pol's speech was met with silence, with many eyes shifting about, wondering whether this was some sort of trick or trap.
    "Move!" Num'pol roared. "Out! Now!" They went.
    Alone in the command center, Num'pol exhaled heavily. He pulled his gun from its holster and examined it. Would he be fast enough? Would he kill the human? No, that was not the question. That was not why he had forced the others to leave. A strange sense of calmness had replaced the fear that had so recently enveloped Num'pol. He had made the others leave so they might have a chance to live. If that made him a bad Vasari, then to law be damned. He would have to drag out the battle as long as possible as to give his Vasari time to escape. It was all he could do for them. So he would not use his gun. If the human had any honor at all, he would not as well, seeing Num'pol without a weapon. They would be forced to wrestle, or whatever the humans called it. He might even have a chance at beating him then.
    It never occurred to Num'pol's mind that the human might not abide by the same code of honor that had been impressed upon Num'pol at birth. It did not occur to him that the human would strive to win, at all costs, with whatever means he had available to him.
    Num'pol did not realize the humans had no honor.
    There was a faint noise outside the main entrance to the command center, opposite the door from which the other Vasari had exited. So. This was it. A battle, of sorts. Num'pol did not consider any fight not involving starships as a real battle. But this one was nearly as important as the one he hoped was still raging around his ship, at least. He hoped there was still a space battle being waged. If his shields were gone he had not felt the tremors yet, but the rest of his fleet might very well be destroyed and he would have no way of knowing. No time now, anyway.
    Num'pol crossed the floor to the doors and pressed the button releasing the metallic bond that held them so tightly together. The human sprawled forward, and Num'pol pointed his gun at its head. The gesture was automatic despite his promises of dragging the fight out. This was his chance. The human slowly rose and kicked his gun away from him, raising his hands above his head. What was he doing? Preparing to attack? Offering to fight him hand-to-hand, as Num'pol had previously decided on? He studied the human thoughtfully, then tossed his gun away.
    "An even chance, human," he growled, the voice synthesizer implanted in his throat at birth---implanted because the Vasari of old had conquered so many races they needed a way to communicate with them all, hence the development of a small device implanted in ones speaking cords that broadcasted your voice in the languages of those nearby---the voice synthesizer voicing his words into English, before launching himself at the human.
    The human was incredibly fast. He ducked underneath Num'pol's arms and kicked outward, striking Num'pol's knees. Num'pol let out a hiss of escaping air as the pain lanced up his body, and he toppled to the ground. No! He had to make this last as long as possible. Raising his head, Num'pol saw the human glance towards the human gun that lay only a few feet away from him.
    Num'pol hissed in anger. "You would have no honor?"
    Then his eyes widened in shock as the human dove for the gun. It had done it. It actually had no honor. Num'pol had only enough time for one thought before bullets tore his brain to shreds. The weak shall fall, and the strong shall fall, and the Vasari shall...fall?