Death Drop Read Online Free PDF

his own eyes and confirmed his worst fears. Slaag was at the mercy of the Mewlatai he was certain he had left to die.
    Blangaris continued his death growl as he surveyed his prey. Of course, he could see flawlessly in the murk, but no matter how many times he beheld the gruesome form of the Durax, he always wished he had kept his eyes shut. They repulsed him.
    Slaag was a Soldier in the Durax Order. His skin was sallow white and stretched so tightly across his bones that purplish veins branched across every exposed inch of his flesh like the pulsating tentacles of a vile thing living just below the surface. He had no hair or fur on his head and, in fact, was completely void of either on his entire body. His eyes were black and set in deep sockets above sharp cheekbones. His ears looked as if they had been gnawed off by some creature and were now mangled and wrinkled lumps on the sides of his head. He did not have a nose or a snout. The expanse of skin between his eyes and above his mouth was featureless except for two vertical slits that opened and closed as he struggled for air. Slaag’s mouth was entirely too small for his evil face, which made him look all the more menacing. His purple lips were cracked and bloody and stretched impossibly tight across his jagged teeth.
    The Durax were a race that had evolved extreme abilities of the mind, and the more powerful they became, the less they relied on any physical attributes they had once possessed. Slaag had a long, thin neck that sloped into angled, narrow shoulders with hardly any musculature whatsoever. His arms were likewise without any significant substance and hung gangling from his torso. The long, bony fingers on Slaag’s right hand clawed at the air as he tried to sink the points of his filth-covered nails into Blangaris’ left eye.
    “If you want to move your hands, let us try moving this one, shall we?” Blangaris said as he wrenched his tail tighter around Slaag’s left forearm and hand. The Mewlatai had managed to snake his tail around Slaag’s trigger finger, and Slaag could feel the gun’s firing mechanism slowly inching its way back under the building pressure. He had pinned Slaag’s left arm across his chest so the barrel of the pistol was aimed at the left side of the Durax’s face.
    Slaag let out a wheezing squeal as the bones in his left forearm snapped like dry twigs and his spindly legs, suspended above the deck, kicked wildly at Blangaris’ midsection with no affect.
    “Your right arm will be next, followed by your legs. Or you could choose to go quickly and pull the trigger yourself. The choice is yours, but I’ll warn you now, choose quickly before I decide to do something much more exciting for me and—ooh— so much more painful for you!”
    Slaag’s eyes darted from the gun to Blangaris as he gathered all his breath to speak.
    “We thought…you…were…dead,” Slaag choked. “We…had no…choice but to…save the…mission.”
    “You were told not to leave the cargo hold,” Blangaris taunted in a tone of mock sympathy. “You were told that the Moxen have a keen sense of smell, and he would be able to detect your rotten filth even in the storm. It’s why I had you stay in the hold the entire journey. But you couldn’t stand taking orders from a Mewlatai, could you, and you were determined to have your revenge!”
    “Nooooo!” Slaag rasped. “We…were…afraid…we would be…overrun with Dissension…reinforcements and…the weapon…would…be…discovered!” The Durax was wheezing even more than usual under Blangaris’ death hold around his throat. “We…had…no…choice!”
    “I admire your cold-hearted ambition, Slaag, but your planning was poor. Even if you had no other choice but to take the cockpit to escape, you had no reason to flee unless I was attacked.”
    “You… were … attacked,” Slaag whimpered. “We saw…on…the display…then we opened…the door. That’s…why we…ran!”
    “You might