Warworld.
Medical center.
Vulkan, freed from his restraints, stood in the middle of the healing chamber. His still-aching body bore the scars of the battle against the Drogorr and the beating inflicted by Mongul. But his red eyes burned with undiminished determination.
He looked around him. The room was filled with alien technology. Unknown diagnostic devices. Monitors displaying foreign symbols. Mysterious machines humming softly in the dim light. The extraterrestrial technology was entirely foreign to him—he could not read the dialogue on the screens, nor understand the symbols blinking on the consoles.
He approached the main console. His fingers brushed the alien keyboard. And suddenly, as if by magic, the symbols rearranged themselves before his eyes. The incomprehensible letters translated into characters he could read. The alien words took on meaning.
Vulkan smiled.
"Thank you, translator chip."
He reached out to touch the keyboard, ready to explore Warworld's computer system.
The door opened.
Vulkan reacted on pure instinct. His Primarch body moved before his mind had even finished analyzing the threat. His great hand shot out and seized the neck of the creature that had just entered, his steel fingers tightening around the fragile throat.
One move. Just one. And the neck would snap.
The winged creature—the same one who had examined him a few hours earlier—dropped its tablet. Its bulbous eyes widened in terror. Its membranous wings beat frantically, but it could not break free of the Primarch's grip.
"Wait! Wait, warrior! Don't kill me! Don't kill me!"
Its voice was shrill, charged with panic. Its clawed fingers scratched at Vulkan's wrist to no effect.
Vulkan tilted his head slightly. His red eyes fixed on the creature with icy intensity.
"And why wouldn't I kill you?"
"I can help you! I can help you get revenge on Mongul!"
The tyrant's name hit Vulkan like a whip crack. His fingers tightened imperceptibly.
"And why would you help me against your own master?"
The creature stopped struggling. Its bulbous eyes locked onto Vulkan's. And in those eyes, the Primarch saw something he recognized immediately. An emotion he knew well.
Hatred.
"Because I hate Mongul. More than anything."
Vulkan remained silent for a long moment. This turnaround was completely unexpected. He had come to Warworld as a prisoner. He had fought as a gladiator. He had survived as a warrior. And now, a servant of the tyrant was offering him help?
He slowly released the creature.
It fell to the floor, landing clumsily on its clawed feet. Its hands immediately flew to its neck, massaging the bruised flesh where Vulkan's fingers had gripped. It was panting, still in shock.
"You were fast. If you had squeezed one second longer..."
It didn't finish the sentence.
Vulkan folded his massive arms across his chest.
"So, what's your plan?"
The small creature composed itself. It stood up, adjusted its membranous wings, and reached into a pouch concealed in its clothing. It pulled out a small metallic disk and tossed it onto the examination table.
The disk activated. A hologram appeared, displaying the perfect image of Vulkan asleep in his capsule. A decoy. A technological illusion.
"Come with me, warrior. We have much to discuss."
---
The small creature and Vulkan moved through the corridors of Warworld. The Primarch, naked except for his torn gladiator loincloth, walked barefoot on the metal floor. The winged creature flew beside him, tablet in hand.
At every junction, it tapped rapidly on the touch screen. Its clawed fingers danced across the luminous surface with astonishing dexterity.
Vulkan watched it out of the corner of his eye.
"What are you doing with your tablet?"
"I'm erasing us from the security cameras. Deleting our traces. Creating time loops in the recordings. To the surveillance systems, these corridors are empty."
Vulkan nodded slowly. This little creature was more clever than it looked.
"Smart."
"Thank you. I'm a technological genius. It's why I'm still alive."
They walked for a few more minutes, delving deeper into sections of Warworld Vulkan had never seen. The corridors grew narrower, less well-maintained. The artificial light flickered intermittently. The walls were covered in conduits and cables.
Finally, they stopped before an apparently ordinary wall. The creature typed a series of commands into its tablet. The wall rose in near-perfect silence, revealing a secret passage.
They slipped through the opening. The wall closed behind them.
After a few meters of dark tunnel, a door appeared. The creature pressed a bracelet on its wrist. A blue scanning beam swept the area, analyzing their silhouettes. The door opened.
They entered.
Vulkan stopped dead on the threshold.
A laboratory stretched out before them. A vast room filled with cutting-edge technological equipment. Holographic screens floated in the air, displaying complex schematics. Machines hummed quietly. Spare parts from robots and ships were scattered across workbenches. At the center of the room, a central computer blinked, surrounded by control consoles.
"Whoa. Solid."
The creature rushed to the central computer and began typing frantically on the keyboard.
"Right. Let's sit down. You want to know why I'm helping you."
Vulkan approached, folding his arms again.
"Go on then. Explain yourself."
The creature turned around. Its bulbous eyes burned with fierce determination.
"My name is Bok. I am of the Bokary race."
It paused, as if speaking the name of its people cost it an effort.
"Our people lived in peace on our home planet. We specialized in technology. Not war technology. Creation technology. We built flying cities, clean energy networks, machines capable of terraforming dead worlds. We were inventors, scientists, dreamers."
Its fingers tightened on the keyboard.
"One day, Mongul discovered our specialty. He landed on our world with his war fleet. He wanted us to modify Warworld for him. Expand the arena. Improve the control systems. Create new traps for the gladiators."
Vulkan listened without moving.
"We had to comply. Out of fear. We weren't warriors. We didn't know how to fight. So we worked for him. For years."
Its voice cracked slightly.
"But once the work was done, Mongul captured all those with superior intellect to keep working for him. The others—those who didn't interest him—remained on our world. As hostages. As a guarantee of our servitude."
Vulkan felt a cold anger rising within him.
"So that's why you still work for him."
Bok shook its head. Its membranous wings quivered.
"That's what we believed. For years, we obeyed, believing we were protecting our families. But through secret channels, through scraps of intercepted information, we learned the truth."
Its eyes locked onto Vulkan's. And the Primarch saw there the same visceral hatred that sometimes drove his own thoughts.
"Mongul sold our planet. And all its inhabitants."
A heavy silence fell over the laboratory.
"Sold?"
"To slavers. To the highest bidders. Our people no longer exist. Our families are scattered across the galaxy, chained on unknown worlds. And we, the Bokary still working on Warworld, are the last to know what happened. The last to mourn our world."
Bok was trembling. With rage. With pain. With despair.
"I want revenge. I want to see him fall. I want him to pay for everything he's done. And to achieve that..."
It lifted its eyes to Vulkan.
"...we need you, warrior."
Vulkan remained silent for a long moment. Then he unfolded his arms and stepped closer to Bok. He laid a massive hand on the creature's small shoulder, a surprisingly gentle gesture for a being of his power.
"Then we'll bring him down together."
Bok's bulbous eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope.
"Truly? You accept?"
Vulkan nodded. A fierce smile stretched his lips.
"I'm going to need you to disable the security systems, find a way to remove this collar, and locate my companions. You are our key to getting out of here."
Bok nodded vigorously, its wings beating with excitement.
"I can do all of that. I know Warworld better than anyone. I helped design it."
"Perfect. Then let's begin."
Vulkan turned toward the holographic screens floating around them.
"Show me everything you know. Every secret passage. Every security flaw. Every weak point on this station."
Bok rushed to its console. Its clawed fingers flew across the keyboard.
"With pleasure, warrior. With pleasure."
In the secret laboratory, at the heart of the most dangerous battle station in the galaxy, an alliance had just been born. A Primarch seeking freedom. A technological genius seeking vengeance.
And Mongul did not yet know what was brewing in the shadows of his own kingdom.