Chapter 32: The Truth Emerges

Shaken by what she’d glimpsed in the file before the explosion, Evelyn clenched her fists, her rapid breathing betraying her turmoil. Her thoughts raced in circles around the fragments she had read. Project Ashcroft. Key. Monitored at all costs. She couldn’t ignore it. Not now. Turning to Skye, she spoke with barely-contained urgency: "Skye, we need to get to the others. Now."

The sniper, ever pragmatic, gave her an incredulous look. Crossing her arms, she shook her head, her tone a mix of frustration and concern. "In your condition? Seriously? There’s a limit to recklessness, Evelyn. If you want to survive in this world of mercenaries, you’ve got to learn to pick your battles."

Anger and desperation bubbled up inside Evelyn. She understood Skye’s hesitation, but retreat wasn’t an option—not this time. She locked eyes with the mercenary, her gaze burning with emotion. "I have to know, Skye. I found a file with my name on it. My name. Kryon’s technology—I recognize it. It’s connected to what they did to me. He must know why I was used as a test subject. Why all those experiments. If I don’t find those answers now, I might never get the chance."

Skye hesitated, clearly torn between her unflinching logic and the raw pain in Evelyn’s voice. She studied her for a moment, and what she saw—a mixture of determination, anguish, and hope—finally made her relent.

"Alright, alright," Skye grumbled, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. "But let me be clear: you’re explaining this to Vykhor. I’m not dealing with that pissed-off Kael’tarien because of you."

Relief washed over Evelyn, her face lighting up slightly despite the weight of the situation. "I promise. I’ll handle Vykhor. Thank you, Skye."

The sniper let out a deep sigh, adjusted her weapon on her shoulder, and extended a hand to help Evelyn up. "Let’s move before I change my mind. But if we run into trouble, you’d better stay behind cover. Got it?"

Evelyn nodded, her focus already on what lay ahead. For the first time in years, she felt close—so close—to unraveling the mystery of her existence. She wouldn’t let anyone, not even Vykhor, stand in her way.

The two women moved faster than expected, almost too easily for comfort. Vykhor’s team had clearly done a thorough job clearing the palace corridors. Skye, though accustomed to missions like this, couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding.

Oh, it wasn’t the guards she feared—those poorly trained, underpaid idiots posed no real threat to someone like her. No, what weighed on her mind was Vykhor. She dreaded the Kael’tarien’s reaction when he saw Evelyn here: injured, exhausted, and stubbornly throwing herself into danger.

When they finally caught up with the group, they found them locked in an intense firefight against a well-armed squad. Laser fire crisscrossed the room, and the mercenaries moved with brutal efficiency under Vykhor’s command. It was Rax who noticed them first. He froze mid-action, his face contorting in disbelief.
"What the hell are you two doing here?!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.

His cry alerted the rest of the team. Vykhor spun around sharply, and the look that crossed his face when he saw Evelyn was ice cold. His golden eyes darkened immediately, and a palpable tension filled the air, even amid the battle.

Evelyn took a deep breath and stepped forward, steeling herself for the storm. "Vykhor, I need to—"

"What are you doing here, Evelyn?" he growled, his voice low and menacing, but loud enough to silence everything else. Though his words were calm, they dripped with reproach.

Skye muttered under her breath as she edged away from the impending explosion: "Called it."

Evelyn stood her ground, even as Vykhor approached her with deliberate, measured steps, his heavy boots echoing like the tread of a predator closing in on its prey. The chaos around them seemed to fade as he stopped in front of her, forcing her to look up to meet his gaze.

"Why do you want to confront Kryon?" he asked, his deep voice resonating like a barely veiled threat.

Evelyn felt a chill run down her spine at the intensity in his eyes—a volatile mix of anger, frustration, and, perhaps, worry. But she didn’t back down. She couldn’t.

"I recognize his technology, Vykhor," she said, her voice trembling slightly with emotion but unwavering. "And I found a file with my name in his database. Vykhor, he knows something about my past. I need to know—no, I have to know!"

Vykhor stayed silent for a long moment, his piercing gaze seeming to strip away all her defenses. The battle around them dimmed, their confrontation taking center stage. Evelyn clenched her fists, refusing to look away.

"And if it’s a trap?" he asked finally, his tone softer but still laced with doubt. "What if what you find hurts you more than anything you’ve been through?"
Her response was a mixture of determination and desperation. "Then at least I’ll know. I can’t keep living in the dark, Vykhor. Not after everything I’ve uncovered so far. I need to see this through."

The Kael’tarien studied her a moment longer before letting out a long sigh. "Fine, Evelyn. But you stay close to me. I won’t let you face this alone."
"Vykhor!" Rax’s urgent voice broke through the tension, snapping everyone back to reality.

Vykhor glanced at Skye, his jaw tightening. He didn’t need words to convey what he expected from her.

"I know, I’ll keep an eye on her," Skye replied, anticipating his demand. She placed a firm hand on Evelyn’s shoulder, her sharp eyes delivering a silent warning.

Vykhor turned back to Evelyn, leaning down slightly to ensure she understood the weight of his words. "And you stay in the back. Do you hear me, Evelyn?"
She nodded, her voice steady despite her fatigue. "I promise, Vykhor. I’ll stay back."

He studied her for another moment, searching for any crack in her resolve. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he straightened. He wasn’t entirely convinced, but they no longer had the luxury of time to argue. They had to move.

The mercenaries regrouped with military precision, their movements fluid and coordinated. The final hallways leading to Kryon’s throne room were heavily guarded. These weren’t the amateurs they had faced before; these were Kryon’s elite, trained to protect him at all costs. A brutal confrontation was inevitable.

"Rax, left side!" Skye called, her precise shots taking out two enemies attempting to flank the hacker.

"I saw them!" Rax grunted, diving for cover while firing a laser burst at the advancing guards.

At the center of the formation, Vykhor led the charge with ruthless efficiency. Each swing of his cybernetic arm crushed enemies with inhuman force, while his blaster decimated those who dared attack from a distance. His sheer presence disoriented the enemy, breaking their formation.

Skye, holding the rear, provided flawless cover. Her sniper rifle sang intermittently, each shot finding its mark. Beside her, Evelyn stayed back as promised, but her hypermnesic mind raced at full speed.

"Vykhor! The throne room doors are magnetically sealed. If you want through, I’ll need to disable the locks," Evelyn announced, her fingers flying across a portable terminal she had salvaged earlier.

"How long?" Vykhor demanded, urgency threading his voice.

"Two minutes—maybe three," she replied, her voice taut with stress.

"Make it quick, Evelyn. They’re sending reinforcements," Skye warned, picking off another approaching guard.

The seconds stretched into what felt like hours. Evelyn continued working, her fingers moving with relentless precision despite the sharp pain in her wounded arm. Finally, a satisfying click sounded in her headset. "Done! The locks are offline!"

"Positions!" Vykhor barked. The team rallied around the massive doors.

With a powerful motion, Vykhor activated the mechanism, and the doors groaned open. A barrage of enemy fire greeted them immediately, forcing the team to scatter for cover.

When the gunfire ceased, the mercenaries stormed into Kryon’s throne room. They braced for an epic confrontation but were instead met with a shocking sight.

Lord Kryon—once the imposing dictator of Drakar IV—was reduced to a pathetic figure. Cornered in the back of the room, his opulent robes hung in tatters. He was drenched in sweat, his wild eyes darting around in desperation.

"No! You can’t do this to me! You don’t understand!" he cried, his voice cracking with fear.

Vykhor advanced slowly, his glowing yellow eyes fixed on Kryon. Each step echoed ominously in the chamber, and Kryon seemed to shrink under the Kael’tarien’s overwhelming presence.

"I’ve been expecting you!" Kryon shouted, raising his trembling hands. "You don’t understand—I’m just a pawn in a game far greater than you can imagine!"

Vykhor stopped, lowering his weapon but keeping it ready to fire. His voice was cold, measured. "Talk, Kryon. Choose your words carefully—this is your last chance."

Behind him, Evelyn stood, supported by Skye. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat reverberating in her ears like a war drum. She knew she was on the verge of discovering the answers she’d sought for so long—answers she both feared and needed. Swallowing her fear, she gently pulled away from Skye and stepped toward Vykhor.

Sensing her, Vykhor turned slightly, his arm instinctively wrapping around her waist to stop her from moving further. The gesture wasn’t rough, but it was firm, protective. A silent reminder that she wasn’t facing this alone.

Evelyn lifted her eyes to meet Kryon’s, her gaze burning with a mixture of anger and determination. "Why do I recognize your technology? Why do you have a file with my name on it?" she demanded, her voice trembling but resolute. The emotion she tried to suppress bled into her words. She wanted to be strong, but her hypermnesic mind bombarded her with fragmented, painful memories: stark white laboratories, harsh lights, and cold faces of scientists who saw her as nothing more than an experiment.

Kryon’s lips curled into a slow, sinister smile. "Why, Evelyn Ashcroft?" he repeated, savoring her name like venom. "It’s so simple. Haven’t you figured it out yet? How disappointing." His tone was a venomous blend of mockery and loathing.

Evelyn took an involuntary step back, her breath hitching. But it wasn’t fear that made her falter—it was the look in Kryon’s eyes. The satisfaction of a man who reveled in breaking others.

"Watch your words, Kryon," Vykhor growled, his voice a dangerous rumble, his grip on Evelyn tightening slightly as if anchoring her. His tone alone could cow seasoned warriors, but Kryon, cornered and desperate, seemed emboldened by the chaos he was sowing.