Ain was surrounded—two Soulless Ones and an Ironman closing in. His body trembled, face pale as death. Yaun doubted this psionicist could maintain his composure much longer and prepared to seize him as a specimen for research once he weakened.
But Beronte shattered this naive notion. "This little bastard's resilience is terrifying. Didn't you see him releasing psionics just steps from me?"
In truth, Yaun hadn't; it was Hot Jì who had witnessed Ain's powers.
"I suggest we eliminate him," Hot Jì proposed coldly.
"No!" Beronte paused, his hand toying with a coin. "He's merely a poor pawn, enslaved by Bellona's psychological tricks. He doesn't deserve to die."
Yaun narrowed his gaze, scrutinizing Beronte. This Soulless One—a rogue who had just murdered his Judicator—now argued for Ain's survival?
Beronte's unexpected kindness was odd, though he harbored a Soulless One's intrinsic caution. Each Soulless One lived a tormented life, often despised or violently cast out even among Imperial ranks. Society ostracized them as abominations, creating a hardened guard in each of them, always wary.
"Listen, Ain," Beronte began, his voice a low and dark reassurance. "Bellona manipulated you with empty promises and false bonds. Don't throw your life away for her."
He spoke gently, yet his hand remained firmly on his gun, ready to fire should Ain spiral into madness. Ain hung his head, silent, his expression hidden from view.
"I'm not one to plead, but don't make me beg." Beronte's voice softened further.
Ain finally reacted, swallowing something he'd stashed in his mouth. Slowly, he turned toward Beronte, his head rising—then his eyes and mouth flared with purple psionic light.
"Sanctified Praise! That witch fed him psionic extract!" Beronte shouted, alerting Yaun and Hot Jì. Though they didn't know the exact substance, they recognized the danger.
Yaun entered bullet-time, moving with lightning speed to strike Ain, while Hot Jì's metal form split, skeletal and armored halves lunging from both sides.
Crunch. As Yaun closed in, he shattered a patch of ice. The sound diverted Ain's attention, who reached out, binding Yaun's limbs with invisible psionic chains.
Yaun's metal bones groaned under the pressure; his reactors surged, burning through synthetic flesh to push against the psionic grip, yet escape remained elusive.
Beronte fired his gun, but the bullet froze midair.
Hot Jì, now upon Ain, severed his arms with a single stroke, freeing Yaun from the lethal grip. Enraged, Ain refocused on Hot Jì, only to have Yaun's blade pierce his spine.
The psionic field vanished, and as life faded, Ain's innate survival instincts triggered a final, desperate psionic pulse that flung him into space beyond the trade station.
"He's dead," Hot Jì confirmed, projecting an image of Ain's frozen body drifting through the void.
"If we weren't Soulless, his psionic scream would've ripped out our souls." Yaun slumped, inspecting his own damaged skin before glancing at Beronte. "Well done, Soulless One."
Beronte's face betrayed nothing but bitter silence.
In his mind, Ain's death felt like a hollow victory. "He was just another poor soul, manipulated by Bellona's schemes," he muttered. "He didn't belong in this nightmare."
Yaun started to speak, but Beronte interrupted. "This universe is cruelly indifferent. If we outsiders don't stand together, we'll die alone in the gutters."
"Agreed." Yaun nodded, then asked the question pressing at his mind. "But why did you turn on her?"
"Turn on her? No," Beronte replied, extracting an insignia from a rival Judicator faction. "I'm an undercover agent, embedded to eliminate her."
"So yet another Imperial power struggle," Yaun sighed wearily.
The Judicators were a divided order, split between the Pure Sect and the Radicals. The Pure Sect, while not necessarily more moral, favored conservative methods, shunning undue risks. In contrast, the Radicals would go to any lengths to achieve their aims—even if it meant consorting with the alien.
To Yaun, Bellona's death seemed unsurprising.
"Why did you kill her?" Beronte asked.
"Let's just say… we had our conflicts," Yaun evaded.
Beronte, however, saw through the facade, chuckling as he fingered his coin, piecing the truth together. "Her ambitions threatened Talon's empire, didn't they? And you crafted this elaborate trap to lure her in."
"Exactly." Yaun admitted openly now. "Originally, we planned to eliminate her aboard her own ship, but Crain offered his assistance. He's not one of us, so how did he get involved with her?"
Beronte laughed. "Guess who brokered that connection, drawing her in? I did. And who provided the intel report that allayed her suspicions? Also me."
The layers of betrayal and manipulation now became clear.
The Pure Sect had learned of Bellona's intended incursion into Talon's domain, positioning Beronte to introduce Crain into her plans. As a native of Talon, Crain's involvement ensured Talon's government would swiftly learn of Bellona's movements.
The web was inextricably spun. Bellona's fate was sealed, each decision guided by invisible hands until death found her.