Nocti

Skolexari Space — On Colony 01. Silver Spine City, the Military Capital.

Orren parted from Nocti, snarling. His friend clutched his side. Bright blue blood gurgled from a nasty gash along his ribs. Mint-colored skin, contrasting Orren’s emerald tone, was wet with sweat. He rushed over, taking a knee. “Nocti-” His orange gem-blade rested on the floor, hilt lax in his grasp.

“It’s nothing, I like it. It’s why we train together.” Nocti kept an aggressive smirk. His breath was measured, trained. “I’ll head to the automedic room and run a scanner over it. Pain’s good for us, Orren. It’s alright,” he added the last bit, softly. “Please.”

Orren stood, “Have you noticed you only get injured-”

“On my fucking side, over my ribs? Yeah.” Nocti huffed.

“Weird.” They both said in unison. A smirk. A laugh.

Nocti stepped away, blood weeping down his side and soaking into his dark pants. He grabbed his exosuit top. “Later.”

One of the oldest military training facilities still in use stood nestled in Nocti’s favorite part of the city. The original base's blocks were here; industrial, weathered, and wired deep into the bones of Silver Spine. The air vents hissed with cold pressure, and the whole place smelled faintly of copper. He liked that. He liked the cold even more, when the system kicked in hard and blasted freezing air out on him and Orren.

The door hissed open.

Pale light spilled into the quiet medical room as Nocti stepped inside, shirtless, streaked in drying neon-blue blood and sweat. His exosuit top hung loose over one shoulder, glowing faint orange against mint-green skin. A damp lavender bang clung to his temple, but his steely expression didn’t flicker.

He saw them. Eyes narrow, calculating, he reached into a bin and grabbed an automedic scanner, flicking it on with a single tap. It whirred to life in his hand.

“Huh.” His voice was smooth, curious. “Didn’t expect anyone to be in here this late. Usually the point of the automedic room is that it doesn’t need a medic.”

He turned his side toward them, displaying a deep, fresh gash along his ribs. Ugly. Still bleeding neon blue Skolexari blood.

“Check it out,” he said, with a faint smirk. Pride crept in where pain should have been. “My friend Orren goes hardcore. Got me good. I sucked shit tonight, real bad. You feel sorry for me?” His tone teased, but his gaze was steady, watching them closely as he tilted his head. The sharp slope of his long ear caught the overhead light.

“Fix me up?” he asked.

[Skolexari Homeworld, cloud-range territory]

Nocti stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his unit. On his immediate right and left were his most cherished friends: Serix and Orren. They stood with their heads bowed and hands raised, palms up.

Orren murmured, “If I remain, so be it. If I die, so be it. If death strikes me I will leave my soul with you.” He recited an ancient prayer, echoing voices of his comrades around him.

Nocti grunted, not allowing Orren to cut it short. “If I end up with no legs, I will fight crawling. If I end up with no hands, I’ll fight with my teeth. The enemy will regret bringing us war. His terrible strength does not frighten me.”

These were words from an invasion long ago, a time when their space technology was primitive, but they still managed to fight off invaders. The long war left a scar on the Skolexari psyche which never healed, even thousands of years later when details lost clarity, the impression remained, a dark green bruise. It had become a defining part of the warrior soul.

After a moment of silence, they moved together, towards the last known location of an Okti’nak terrorist group held up in the mountains.

“Fun fact,” Serix said. “The military prayer we always sing, it's originally an Okti'nak song.” The tall, lean Skolexari touched the side of his temple, and a dark helmet formed over his skull.

“Don’t.” Orren snipped. Stoic, as always. Mouth a thin, fine line. “Warriors then, and now. So are we. We respect it.”

Nocti blinked. “Fun fact my green ass, speak for yourself. They’re not our people and I don’t respect Okti’nak. Skolexari never turn on their own kind, our unified soul, our leaders. Traitorous filth. Uneducated mountain rats. Unworthy of breath. If I could combine every swear into one great unholy curse, it wouldn’t be enough. They don’t want to be our people, they want to be their own, and…” he grinned darkly. “So be it, then I’ll cut down what is not ours.”

“Relax, Nocti, you sound unhinged.” Serix chuckled, shaking his head.

“Shut up, both of you.” Orren snapped. “We’re moving.”

Their unit moved, mile-by-mile, high into the cloud covered mountains. This cluster of rebels stayed in a no-fly zone. The Royalty had given the word: kill. Nocti never understood why Okti’nak received chances and leeway. The empire knew where they were hiding.

The Xan’dorith unit moved together, carefully, through tall dark stones and clusters of mixed wildflowers.

From above, they came.

Serix sprayed orange plasma bolts into the air, immediately killing a Hala’na. It wasn’t enough.

Six of them on their enormous beasts, Hala’na, stout four legged monsters covered with fur. Canine heads bigger than Nocti’s chest, a stinking slobbering mess of teeth, claws, feral eyes, coming fast, blurry. Their riders, even worse. Okti’nak Skolexari in traditional tight black tunics decorated with silver buttons and long daggers. It rained muscled bodies. He saw Orren go down under a Hala’na. Serix fired steadily from a shouldered gun, on one knee, calm, still, eep, eep, eep, eep!.

Nocti lunged towards Orren to slice the throat of the Hala’na and haul it off him, but something black and circular glinted in the corner of his eye. His brain said: explosive. His body couldn’t react fast enough. It connected hard with his abdomen. He had to get it off him. Now. Now. Tink!

Everything went white, ears were ringing, felt hot.

Serix was screaming

… was it Serix?

Nothing.

[Colony 01, Silver Spine City.]

Nocti wakes. He’s staring at the ceiling, black, military. The scent changed, he can smell Orren and Serix are here before he sees them. The weight of his body changed, he’s not wearing any gear. He’s on his back in a soft bed, covered by a light sheet. The lights are dim. Not cloud range territory, no Okti’nak rebels, no battle.

“Serix,” He says, finding his voice weirdly hoarse. He hears his friend chewing at his side, the scent of his salt-and-pepper pheromones linger. It’s not unpleasant, just Serix.

Serix immediately jerked towards him, leaning over the bed. His pastel green hair slipped down his shoulder, tied up messily in a quick ponytail. “Nocti, gods, man,” Both his hands moved to his friend’s face. “You exploded.” He said as he leaned down, touching their foreheads in a Skolexari sign of kinship. He pressed there, too tight, but Serix would never push him away. Not him.

Nocti grunted, patting Serix’s side as his friend pulled away. Orren was there, arms crossed, frown secure. He came over slowly, extending his hand for a few seconds, squeezing Nocti’s and then let go. Brief, deep.

“Bomblet, you exploded. A little.” Orren gestured from around his rib cage towards his hip. “On your side. We got out fast, got you into the regeneration pod on the transport ship. It stabilized you. If that ship hadn’t had a regen pod, you would be dead. Just thought you’d like to know.”

“No way…” Nocti said softly, experiencing a sharp cramp on his right side as he tried to sit up. He dropped backwards immediately. “Woah.” He fought through his initial anger. A rebel had injured him. He had never experienced a serious injury before. Not to the point of unconsciousness, he’d prized himself as being able to claw his way through anything. That he’d limp out of a mudhole on one left if he had to. “I’ve never-” He started.

“Don’t go there. You’re the best, Nocti, you’ve always been the best,” Serix had wet eyes. “You almost died. I was holding you together with my hands. It was bad.”

“You’re gonna have to do a lot of dancing to get over that shit.” Nocti said dryly, darkly. He wanted to laugh, but it made his side cramp, not a little, a sizzling lightning bolt level cramp. Serix smiled, nodding quietly.

Days later, Nocti received news he’d been put on re-release duty. It pissed him off, but the ache in his side said enough. He was alive, and mostly healed, but not fully healed. Given the severity of his injury, it was standard practice to put elite soldiers on a temporary leave and give them a soft assignment, something to distract them but not actually put them in any danger. It amused him, at least, that the Xan’dorith proved so adept at their job; even after serious wounds, they could fulfill another’s duties as part of their recuperation.

He looked over the mission statement, protect some this-and-that, yada yada, okay, so I’m on guard duty, bodyguard duty, he thought. he was about to set the holo-pad aside but a single word caught his attention.

“Oh-ho! They're what now?” He asked himself. He read over the species’ name a few times. Not a Skolexari.

An alien? They have me hanging out with an alien? His lip curled. Gross. His kind had some associations with aliens. His kind kept star-seeds around. It stemmed from a belief that other humanoids with pointed ears were created by the same grand being; they were under Skolexari protection. Or they kept ties with other advanced, massive conquering species. Ones so similar in strength that war would result in mutual apocalyptic destruction. They’d shake hands, agree to leave each other’s territories alone, sort out an agreement, trade, whatever needed to avoid mutual destruction. The SB-5 Pact, it was called. He didn’t really care about that either, couldn’t list the species that were in the pact because he didn’t allow aliens to occupy his brain.

Ah well, I supposed it is foolish to fight absolutely everyone. We have a lot to protect and manage, those who keep us understand what they’re doing. If not, we’d never have lasted this long, He thought, standing up. He picked up his black shirt and yanked it over his head. The huge discolored scar along his side felt raw. Sometimes wounds healed clean and sometimes they didn’t. It made no sense.

He stepped out in his black military uniform to report to Silver Spine district’s base 7, where he’d meet the alien.

[Base 7, Silver Spine.]

Nocti loved the smell of military bases. So did Orren, but they’d argue about which was better. The old buildings or the new ones. Nocti liked all of them, the constant low-hum of fans and taste of sea salt in the air. He opened the door and entered, room number was right. His severe haircut framed sharp mint green cheeks with dagger shaped lavender bangs.

As soon as Nocti saw the alien, the one he was to guard and look after while he healed up, he started. “Do you shoot lasers out of your eyes?” He asked immediately, smirking. “I heard about some aliens that have self-lubricating dicks.” He holds up both hands in surrender. “Wait for it, and,” he paused for dramatics. “The lube is an aphrodisiac. Good icebreaker, right?”