The Martians

ELYSIA MANGAL-GRAH

As they move quickly and silently through the landscape, Elysia's gaze falls upon the corpses of the beasts, scattered like fallen leaves after a storm. Something, or someone, had decimated them. She shivers, the thought crossing her mind - could it have been her son? She doubts it; Ares is strong, but not to this extent, not enough to leave such a trail of destruction.

 A streak of light flashes across the horizon, followed by a distant crackle of energy. Whatever is out there tears through the sea of K'tharr with terrifying ease, a display that freezes her blood.

She studies the distant lights, a knot of suspicion tightening in her chest. Who were they? It was too soon, surely. They had sent out the beacon, yes, but the vastness of space was not easily traversed. Could help truly have arrived so quickly? Or was this something else entirely?

Shaking off her speculation, she focuses on the spaceport, a distant beacon in the ravaged landscape. She clung to the image of him waiting there, safe within, untouched by whatever had wrought this destruction.

A premonition chills her—she senses the attack before it comes. A K'tharr erupts from the shadows, a blur of chitin and claws.

Elysia fires, but the creature is gone before the bullet can even reach its mark, vanishing into the shadows with impossible speed. A click of frustration escapes her lips.

The twins gasp, their eyes fixed on the empty space where the beast had been, a mixture of terror and wonder in their gazes.

Quickly, she tells the twins, "Get behind me!" her voice firm and protective.

Every fiber of her being focuses on the surrounding landscape. She waits, motionless, her gaze sweeping across the desolate terrain, her ears attuned to the faintest whisper of sound, her body a taut spring ready to unleash.

The stillness shatters—teeth and claws. The K'tharr is upon her, limbs stretching impossibly far, teeth like scythes. A rapid burst of energy fire erupts from Elysia's pistol, but the creature flows like liquid shadow, the bolts streaking past. Head. Shoulder. Claw. Then, one blast grazes its side, a trail of black ichor marking its descent. It lands with a thud, claws scraping against the Martian rock, sending sparks flying.

The K'tharr, enraged, barrels toward her. Damn it. Elysia's pistol sputters, useless. She dumps it.

Instinct takes over. A cold certainty settles in her gut: this would be brutal—hands in the dirt, blood in her eyes, tooth and nail, claw and fist.

The K'tharr charges, its body a twisted amalgamation of sinew and malice, claws like butcher's knives, teeth like jagged shards of obsidian.

Elysia, driven by desperation, sidesteps at the last possible instant, her palm catching on the coarse hide of the K'tharr's arm. She wrenches its momentum against it, slamming it into the Martian dust. The impact shudders through her, a sickening crunch that makes her teeth ache.

 But the K'tharr is not so easily felled; it rises with a ground-shaking roar, dust and ichor spraying from its wounds.

The twins, hands clenched tight, watch in horror as their mother becomes a whirlwind of violence. Elysia ducks under a swipe that whistles past her ear, rolls away from jaws that snap shut with a sickening click. A primal need to protect her children surging through every desperate move.

The creature leaps again, aiming for her throat with a predatory eagerness. Elysia catches its wrist, the bones beneath her grip grinding, snapping with a sound that echoes in her ears. The K'tharr shrieks in pain, its body convulsing as its free claw slices across her cheek, leaving a trail of hot, stinging blood.

Pain lances through her cheek, fear for her children a white-hot spike in her chest. Elysia bites down, the metallic tang of blood filling her mouth. The K'tharr staggers, slow to react. Opportunity. With a scream ripped from the depths of her soul—a primal roar of defiance and protection—she seizes its skull with both hands. Her fingers sink into the yielding, decaying flesh, the sensation utterly revolting, but necessary.

The K'tharr convulses, a storm of flailing limbs and raw power. Muscles bulge beneath its grotesque, pale skin, desperate to escape Elysia's iron grip. But her hold tightens, maternal instinct transformed into raw, protective force. Her muscles burn, fibers tearing, veins corded across her arms. Her heart pounds like a war drum, each beat echoing the primal urge to defend, to survive. Jove, who had miraculously slept through the fight, awakens with a piercing cry that cuts through the chaos, a stark reminder of what she fights for, sending a surge of Martian strength through her.

With every ounce of her being, she tightens her grip, her fingers boring deeper into the skull, feeling the bone begin to buckle, to crumble under her might. The pressure builds, the skull creaking, then shattering with a sound that tears through the silence. It's like hearing the universe itself fracture, a vibration that resonates through her bones. Blood doesn't just gush; it explosions from the creature's ears, a dark, viscous torrent that stains the ground in a macabre tableau. The K'tharr's eyes protrude from their sockets, the whites crimsoning with burst vessels, reflecting its final, excruciating moments. The skull implodes, collapsing under the relentless pressure of Elysia's assault, fragments of bone mixing with blood and brain matter in a gruesome symphony of gore, the stench of death heavy in the air.

The creature's body twitches in its death throes, a grotesque puppet collapsing in on itself, limbs jerking with the last vestiges of life before going utterly still. Life snuffed out by the brutal necessity of a mother's love turned weapon.

Elysia stands, her hands coated in the creature's warm, sticky blood, the sensation both revolting and a mark of her victory. Her breath rasps in her throat, her body trembling from the exertion, her heart pounding a heavy rhythm against her ribs, the adrenaline coursing through her like a wild, untamed river.

She turns to her children, her face a mask of blood, sweat, and unwavering determination, her eyes fixed on them, burning with a fierce, protective light.

Elysia's heart sank. She saw the fear etched on her children's faces, a raw terror she'd never witnessed before. They'd never seen her like this—covered in blood, consumed by violence. Even Jove, who had been crying throughout the fight, had fallen silent, his wide eyes fixed on her with the unwavering gaze of a baby captivated by something utterly fascinating.

Then, the fear began to recede, replaced by something else entirely. Their eyes widened, not with terror, but with awe. Almost reverence.

"Did you…did you know Mom was so…badass?" Romulus whispered, his voice hushed.

Juno shook her head, her eyes still fixed on Elysia. "No."

A slow smile spread across Elysia's blood-streaked face. Truly, she thought, the blood of warriors runs through their veins. She scanned the desolate landscape, the remnants of the battle scattered around them. "Let's go," she said, her voice gentle, the smile still lingering on her bloodied face.