Books and stories with Pietas as the protagonist.
With his sister's help, Pietas uses his dragon dagger to perform the Ritual of Strength. The ritual affirms his own prowess, and is far from religious in nature, but he never declares war without undergoing it.
Dessy picked up the dragon dagger and twirled it. "You should let our people know you still do this ceremony. They'd be impressed by your devotion."
"I don't do it to impress anyone. I do it to ready myself for-- Stop!" His sister had been sliding one fingertip along the edge of the blade. He removed the dagger from her grasp, and examined the edge.
"Honestly, Pietas! I was just testing the sharpness."
"I didn't want you to cut yourself."
"I'm as adept with blades as you. More so, if you ask me."
So like Dessy to miss the point. "If you'd cut yourself, I'd have to consecrate it again. It can only have my blood or my enemy's."
"You think I'm witless? As if I haven't performed this ceremony with you a hundred times. And here I thought you were concerned for my well-being."
"Stop playing, Dess. I told you, I'm busy."
She let out a harsh sigh. "Fine. Let's complete the ritual."
Dagger in hand, Pietas unfastened the clip in his hair, and let it fall. The wet tail slapped the middle of his back. He tossed the clip aside, placed the dagger on his palms, and offered it.
She poised her hand above it. "Who offers this weapon?"
"First Conqueror, War Leader of the Ultras."
She took it from him. "For whom are you willing to suffer?"
"I suffer for my people." Pietas turned his cheek.
Dessy slid the dagger tip along his face, from cheekbone to chin, drawing a thin trail of blood. "For whom do you bleed?"
"I bleed for my people." By the time the first drop of blood had risen, the cut had healed, leaving no scar.
To save his people, a genetically enhanced warrior must do the one thing he detests... trust a human.
Origin of Pietas
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An exiled, immortal king and his not-quite human friend join a ginormous panther "kitty" and the most dysfunctional family since forever.
Forged in Fire
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In this scene from Bringer of Chaos: the Origin of Pietas, the hero is trapped in darkness within a lifepod without one spark of light.
Rather than being put into stasis, his captors have left him to rot.
But there's one small problem: Pietas is immortal...
The infernal, cheerful whistling began again. Pietas tried in vain to escape the sound. Shackled at the ankles, hands bound behind him, he remained flat on his back. There were no comfort choices inside his pod.
No. Not his pod. He would never claim such a place.
The prison pod. The nightmare pod. A casket for the living.
Would that whistling never end?
Whoever guarded him whistled, night and day. He must have lips made of steel. How a human kept that up day after day was beyond him. Or perhaps... Did an Ultra guard him? Had one of his people come to free him?
Pietas opened his mouth to call out, and clamped it shut.
If it were one of his people, he needed to wait for them to act. They would do so when the time was right. For now, he suffered bouts of agony as feeling returned to his hands and then left in repeating cycles. His metabolism healed him, but brought pain. He focused on that, accepted the pain, welcomed it, and examined every step of its journey through his body. What one understood, one could bear.
An Ultra does not seek to escape pain. If one inflicts pain, one must bear it. Pain must be borne. Pain is a warrior's ally.
He hovered in a nightmare-filled, windowless, endless monotony of thirst and hunger.
Punctuated with unending lilts of bouncy, alert, happy, chipper whistling.
At first, he'd welcomed the sound. The rising and falling notes broke the tedium of everlasting darkness. It stopped for brief periods, but began again soon after.
He'd considered calling out and asking them to stop. He had gone so far as to open his mouth. But asking implied weakness. He acknowledged no tool of torture.
Beg mercy from humans? Never.
This was not stasis. Stasis meant cessation of thought. Of emotion. A dreamless kind of sleep. The end of awareness. A not-time.
They'd frozen his people in these pods, but they'd imprisoned him.
Or perhaps his blood ran so hot, no human force could freeze him.
The tune changed.
For the love of all that's holy, will you shut up!
Blessed silence fell. But then light blared in his face like a blast of horns.
What fresh perdition was this? They'd tortured him with darkness. Now they'd torture him with light?
Pietas tried to force his eyes open, to face the torture, but after so long in darkness, the light stabbed his eyes. He twisted his head to avoid it.
"You-- you're awake?" The startled voice hovered close, muffled by the pod. "Security! Security! Prisoner Six-Six-Six is out of stasis! I say again, Prisoner Six-Six-Six is out of stasis!"
The alarm in the male voice gave Pietas a measure of pride. Even imprisoned, he engendered fear. They had taken away his name, and given him a number that among humans meant a demonic beast.
Let the legend of Pietas--by name or by number--bring fear straight into the heart of man. No... let it bring terror.
The alarmed voice led him to another thought. Had they not known he was awake? No. These vile creatures had readouts of every type. How could one mistake his beating heart and steady breath for anything other than wakefulness and life? They meant to keep him aware and suffering. They knew.
But whoever was guarding him hadn't. Pietas might hate humans, but he knew the difference between genuine alarm and fake fear. He'd been instigating the real thing for centuries.
Interesting. He could use that.
His eyes adjusted to the light, and he focused on the face hovering over the small window above him.
Was that...Ghost Six?
The light cut off, taking with it the familiar comfort of sight. Pietas bit the inside of his cheek to keep silent.
First Conqueror, War Leader of the Ultras, did not beg.
He did not. He did not.
---
A captive of the people he loathes, the immortal Pietas is left for dead on the planet Sempervia. Six, a human soldier who is abandoned with him, offers food and water. A human, offering friendship? This must be another trap,
Pietas must do the one thing he detests. Trust a human...
Bringer of Chaos series
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WordWeb says you can define stress as difficulty that causes worry or emotional tension. Such as having a boss who's a jerk, or a coworker who's lazy or... well, you get the idea.
In today's post, a snippet from Lights Out, the hero is having a bit of stress...
In this scene, Tornahdo has been chewed out for something that in the regular army would have gotten him a commendation. Even a medal. But Ghost Corps is not regular. Not one bit. He sits down to have a drink and calm himself down, but one thought leads to another.
Tornahdo's family believed him missing in action. He couldn't go out in public. Ghosts got call signs, not new identities. He'd earned his by the way he fought, which, according to those who'd been resurrected with him, was a tornado.
"No, he's Hispanic-Terran," one had said. "He'd pronounce it different. We'll call him Tornahdo."
To which he'd offered a sweeping bow. "Sí. Gracias."
If taken prisoner, the enemy wouldn't find out who his family was, or who other ghosts were. Like any cover story, the more you lived it, accepted and believed it, the more solid it became. He was Tornahdo. Every minute. Every day. Right now, he fought the urge to kick into full tornahdo rage and slam through a certain officer's quarters. On his desk, his former commander had a framed quote, hand-stitched by his wife.
"Stress: the body's reaction to not being allowed to throttle an idiot."
How many times had the man shouted that Tornahdo was stressing him out? More than he cared to admit.
But today, he knew exactly what that quote meant.
He can save mankind. After he does one important thing. Die.
Join the Ghost Corps, they said. You'll live forever, they said. You'll save mankind, they said. They didn't say that to do it, first he had to die.
When Tornahdo signs on the dotted line, he puts his life into the steady hands of the mighty Ghost Corps. Three grisly deaths and three agonizing resurrections later, he's assigned duty on the space station Enderium Six.
He's facing his most dangerous mission yet, the very reason the corps exists.
Do they expect him to win? Fat chance. Tornahdo and his team are already dead and this mission is codenamed "Lights Out." No, there's more to this than he can see.
To discover the truth, he must face an unbeatable, unkillable enemy, and this time--somehow--find a way to keep himself alive...
Lights Out is in the Science Fiction/Space Opera anthology The Expanding Universe Vol 4, edited by Craig Martelle out Sept 17, 2018
https://kayelleallen.com/lights-out-save-mankind/
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Senth arrives home after a call from his adoptive father, Luc Saint-Cyr.
---
The three-story house resembled others in the neighborhood.
Constructed with brown stone and trimmed with beige marble, nothing about it stood out. Curtains fluttered in an open window on the bottom floor. A white picket fence led to a path lined with pink flowers. A pink wreath made the place look homey and sweet.
The façade fooled anyone who lacked entry codes.
Senth pressed his palm against the lock plate and the idBot security system scanned him. Locks clicked open.
Not a sound in the house, and when Senth checked the security panel, it showed the staff had gone for the day. No one home.
"Riiight." That reading meant the Man was here, because idBot never saw him no matter where he went. How he managed that was beyond Senth, but hey--the guy owned the company, right? Must be nice. Whatever this was about, Saint-Cyr wanted privacy for it, which couldn't be good for Senth.
He swept off his cloak and hung it on a peg. "Hi, Daddy, I'm home!"
Luc Saint-Cyr rounded the corner. Built like a towering god of war, his father filled the small entry.
Senth took a step back.
Saint-Cyr's impressive height forced Senth to look up in order to meet his gaze. Solid-black eyes made the black-skinned man resemble a giant bird of prey, and he had all the warmth of one.
"I am not Daddy, Senthys. We've discussed this." Saint-Cyr adjusted a white cuff on his dark business suit. "If you must use a familial term, use Father."
"Been thinking about changing it to Pops." Senth rocked on the balls of his feet.
His father about choked. Those black eyes narrowed. "You most certainly will not. I have asked you to--"
"Yeah," Senth interrupted. "And I've asked you to call me Senth. Not Senthys."
"Nicknames lack dignity."
"Father sounds like a priest. Which you aren't."
Saint-Cyr took one step closer.
It took all Senth's considerable will not to back up, look away or otherwise submit. How many people wilted before that black-eyed gaze? He swallowed, focusing on the reflections of light in the man's glassy stare.
If he held on for a few more seconds...
The Antonello Brothers Series
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It's Pi Day.
A day to eat pie and celebrate the irrational number that has delighted mathletes forever.
Here's a quick peek at how Pietas
got the nickname "Pi."
Days passed into weeks.
While Pietas healed, Six spent time hunting, fishing, gathering wood for the fire, hauling water. The man gave no indication of impatience, ever. Six was at his side, offering, assisting, without Pietas having to ask.
One evening after dinner, they stretched out side by side near the fire, staring up at the stars.
"Thank you, Six."
"For what?"
"You've been good to me. I appreciate it. I don't say that enough."
He folded his hands over his waist. "No problem. Glad to do it, Three Point One Four."
"Three point..." Pietas grappled with what the number might indicate. "Pardon?"
"I've decided that's your name. Now that we're friends."
"What are you talking about?"
"Your name." Six sat up. "Since you call me Six, I'm going to call you Three Point One Four."
"I fail to see the significance of the number."
"Really?" A big grin crossed Six's face. "And here I thought you were good at math. It's pi."
"No!" Pietas sat bolt upright. "I forbid you to call me that. I am Pietas. Pee-ah-toss."
"I dunno. I'm partial to Pi. I think I'll keep it."
"No. You may not call me Pi. My name is Pietas."
"Why not?"
"It is not my name!"
"Oh, you mean like Six isn't my name. It's a number."
"Simple remedy. Tell me your name."
The quiet lengthened, but then Six stretched both arms over his head, and gave a wide yawn. "Nah. I don't think so."
"Fine, then." Pietas settled himself on the ground once more. "Six it is."
"Guess I'm stuck with it." He grinned at Pietas as he stood. "Pi."
Pietas sent an empathic icicle Six's way. Infuriating person!
"Back at you, Ultra." He wandered off to prepare for sleep.
A captive of the people he loathes, the immortal Pietas is left for dead on the planet Sempervia. Six, a human soldier who is abandoned with him, offers food and water. A human, offering friendship? Surely, this is another trap, but to survive, Pietas must do that which he most detests. Trust a human...
Bringer of Chaos series Book 1
Amazon and Kindle Unlimited https://books2read.com/u/4DovO7
In this scene from Bringer of Chaos: the Origin of Pietas, the immortal Pietas argues with his father, who contends the war has cost billions of human lives, while as immortals, none of the Ultras has suffered a perma-death.
"As usual, you discount my deaths."
"Yours don't count. You come back."
"I see." Had anything Pietas had ever done counted? Not to the man before him. "Tell me, Father." He picked up a silver circlet and toyed with it. "Would it be better if some of us had been terminated by fire, or one of the other ways to end us permanently? How many perma-deaths would suffice? Are two sufficient? A hundred? Or would mine be enough?"
"Why must you twist my words? Of course Ultras have died, but we revive in peak condition. Humans stay dead. All I'm saying is the loss is heavy on one side."
"Every war has losses. Yet you don't celebrate the victory. You count the enemy's defeat as your own."
"This is why you are unfit to lead the council. You--"
"Ah, there it is." Pietas twirled the diadem around one finger. "The real reason you're here. To whine about losing your place of power."
"That's petty and you know it. Too many mortals have died!"
"Mortals! How I tire of that word. I believe I'll start calling them Mundanes."
"Why not? It smacks of your usual disrespect and bigotry."
Pietas sputtered a laugh. "I find it incredulous that the indignant and righteous Mahikos who led our people in rebellion against humanity has fallen so far from his ideals. What happened to the motto 'Freedom, Fairness, Fortune' that rallied our people? I was four years old. We were still hidden then. No one knew Dessy and I existed except you and Mother. But you hoisted us both onto your shoulders and we stayed behind darkened glass and watched as thousands of our people cheered in the streets. You'd won them freedom, and they shouted your name. Oh, in that moment, Father, I wanted to be just like you. No, I wanted to be you. Now?" He ignored the angry twitch tugging at one eyelid. "You want us to treat humans as equals. They never treated us as such. Even now, we're hated and reviled. Putting them on the council will make them haughtier. I want nothing to do with humans."
"Then you want nothing to do with me, Son. Humans are all I care about."
And wasn't that the naked truth of his father's betrayal? He had turned his back on their people. He had turned his back on his son.
A captive of the people he loathes, the immortal Pietas is left for dead on the planet Sempervia. Six, a human soldier who is abandoned with him, offers food and water. A human, offering friendship? Surely, this is another trap, but to survive, Pietas must do that which he most detests.
Trust a human...
Bringer of Chaos series by Kayelle Allen
Amazon and Kindle Unlimited https://books2read.com/u/4DovO7
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In this scene from Bringer of Chaos: the Origin of Pietas, the immortal Pietas, grievously ill and unable to fend for himself, has asked the human, Six, to go find the other immortals. How dare this lowly human refuse him? Pietas is about to get a lesson in humility...
"How can you not do this, Six? What if my family and the council members are in the same shape I was in? Trapped, helpless, and injured?"
"No, no, and no." Six sat cross-legged by the fire, filet knife in hand, scraping scales off a fish. The fire sparked as the scales hit. "I'm not looking for your people. Look," he gestured at him with the knife, "you promised not to kill me. Not them. And to clarify, when it comes down to who ain't killing who, I promised not to kill you. Them? They're another story."
A hint of heat tingled against Pietas's face, and then a deeper warmth. Were his empathic senses returning, or was that the fire? "You are afraid." It sounded more accusatory than he'd intended.
Six glared at him. "Of course I am! You think I'm an idiot? I'm the only human on Sempervia. You know what a bunch of Ultras are gonna do if a human walks into camp? Nope." He spread his hands, the dead fish flopping as he did. "Not going. You get better, and I'll go with you, but I ain't going alone."
"I can't believe you."
"Sorry to disappoint." In one slice, he split the fish and then gutted it. He tossed the guts into the flames.
"You evince no sorrow whatsoever."
Six speared him with a dark look. "Evince? That some Naro swear word?"
"It's standard Etymis everyone speaks, ghost. It means to express. Empaths read the emotions that others evince."
"Fine. I don't evince any sorrow. Not one bit sorry about not taking on such a harebrained mission. Look what happened to the last one I accepted." He threaded the fish onto a long stick and set it over the coals' heat. "I might be dead, but I'm an animated dead, thank you. I intend to stay that way."
Pietas shut his eyes, jaws clenched. If he could heal faster by focusing anger, he'd have shot straight to good-as-new.
While Six worked on a second fish, Pietas considered what other tacks to try. The ghost was all about duty. "I'm accustomed to obedience from my men."
Six's mouth twisted into a wry grin. "Two things I'm starting to regret right now." He did not continue.
Pietas prompted him. "Such as?"
"One, that I didn't go AWOL when I heard about the mission to capture you."
Curiosity won over, and he broke the silence. "And the second?"
"That you got your voice back."
A captive of the people he loathes, the immortal Pietas is left for dead on the planet Sempervia. Six, a human soldier who is abandoned with him, offers food and water. A human, offering friendship? This must be another trap,
Pietas must do the one thing he detests. Trust a human...
Bringer of Chaos series by Kayelle Allen
Amazon and Kindle Unlimited https://books2read.com/u/4DovO7
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Book Hooks is a weekly meme hosted by Marketing for Romance Writers as part of the MFRW Authors Blog. It's a chance each week for you the reader to discover current works in progress or previously published books by possibly new-to-you authors. Thank you for stopping by. Please say hello or leave a note in the comments.
On the planet Kaffir, they had a name for loyal warrior: Tiklaus.
In this scene we see the first time the immortal panther, Tiklaus, saves the life of Pietas and the panther tribe welcomes him.
Pietas had taken two steps when multiple voices cried out a warning: "Behind you!"
His father came at him with another knife. Pietas threw up an arm to defend himself.
A black tornado swept between them.
Pietas stood stock still, unable to process what he was seeing.
The panther had leaped into the fray, fangs bared. Mahikos fell beneath the bloodthirsty onslaught of snarling animal fury.
Six pulled Pietas away. "He was going to stab you in the back! That cat came out of nowhere!"
Hardly nowhere. The cat had tracked him since day one.
Watch. Scout. Guard. Keep. Care. Safe. Duty.
Pietas understood now.
Growling, the panther gripped his father's throat in its powerful jaws, but didn't complete the bite. Waiting. Listening.
Through their connection, Pietas understood. It awaited the kill command.
Pietas opened his mouth to give the order.
"No!" Helia screamed. "Stop!"
He hesitated.
The Council had gathered. No one moved. No one interfered.
The panther yelped, twitched, and then went limp.
His father pushed the animal off him, revealing a knife protruding from the cat's chest. He stood, staggering. The cat's dark blood drenched the front of his once-white uniform. Mahikos covered the puncture wounds on his neck.
Armand and Philippe closed in on him and gripped his arms.
The panther's green eyes closed as Pietas knelt beside the animal. He stroked the sleek black fur of its chest, its jaw, traced one finger around the rounded ears. The cat's lifeblood oozed from its wound. Forgive me! I should have let you eat him.
Battle wounds in Ultras, Pietas understood. He'd never treated an animal. If he removed the knife, the bleeding might worsen. Hasten death. One did not mercy kill a fellow Ultra. They healed.
Ultras took no prisoners. He'd dispatched suffering humans. Why torture an enemy close to death? After what traitors done to him, however, he'd rethink that in the future.
Pietas could not bring himself to kill someone so loyal. He rested his hand on its chest, felt breath leave the body. This beautiful animal had died for no reason other than to save him.
A rumbling growl surrounded him. From the dark, eyes flashed green and gold.
"Pi!" Six called to him. "Leave the cat. I think they want you to back away."
Unmoving, he opened himself the way he had earlier. He'd felt the presence of the other panthers but had not recognized then who and what they were. An impression thrummed between him and the cats, teasing his senses. Unspoken, as present as the background hum of a powerful ship. A shared energy.
Pietas gave himself over to them and they drew him in, welcoming his presence, accepting his nature, claiming his ferocity.
More than brotherhood. More than soldiers. More than family.
Tribe.
When Pietas is marooned on a barren world with no food and few survival tools, he knows it could be worse. He could be alone. But that's the problem. He's not.
Half a million of his people sleep in cryostasis, trapped inside their pods and it's up to Pietas to free them. He can't release one at a time. It's all or nothing. Over five hundred thousand hungry, thirsty, homeless immortals will call on him for rescue and he has no way to answer.
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In Lights Out, a story in the Expanding Universe (Vol 4), you're asked to believe in ghosts of a different kind. These ghosts are special ops soldiers resurrected to fight an enemy that is immortal.
Twenty-four hours later, healed and at attention, Tornahdo endured a tongue-lashing by no less than the Ghost Corps Colonial Armada Commandant General. What a mouthful for such a tiny person. He wouldn't have thought he'd rated an officer of her rank.
If a general had thousands to command, why was she slapping around a master sergeant? In the regular army, they'd berated him at the lowest level of incompetence. And what was his sin? Getting killed in battle. If you came back to life, why was that wrong?
Plus, if a soldier sacrificed himself saving a platoon, you didn't write him up. You bestowed a medal.
Treat the regular army like this and that whole death-and-rebirth thing was never going to catch on.
While the general droned on about the expense of rebirths and the protocol for ghosts, he counted bullet holes in the fence outside the window. Sixty plus on one panel. Over forty on another. Wasted firepower. Probably a human.
Ultras tended not to miss.
"Are you listening to me, Master Sergeant?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Repeat what I said."
Tornahdo spat it back.
Clasping hands behind her, the general paced. "You were inducted into the corps and promoted because you had the highest rating from a commanding officer I'd ever seen in the regular army. Now that I've reviewed your record, I'm wondering if he inflated your value to get you out of his unit."
He'd wondered the same thing.
"You've been written up for insubordination three times. What is your problem with authority?"
"Ma'am, I have no problem with authority." Imbeciles, yes, but that was another story.
"The death and rebirth of a ghost means the salvation of mankind. Isn't that why you enlisted?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"The purloined blood of an Ultra runs in your veins. Do not take it for granted. It costs the corps a fortune. Do not forget."
Not likely. The corps reminded him daily.
The word purloined hadn't been used in his hearing before. Now that he thought about it, how did they get the Ultra blood infusing his body? Were captives volunteering?
Surely not. Their hatred of mankind was legendary.
What did it matter? Ultras were the enemy. They deserved no mercy.
Part of the anthology The Expanding Universe 4: Space Adventure, Alien Contact and Military Science Fiction, edited by Craig Martelle
He can save mankind. After he does one important thing. Die.
Join the Ghost Corps, they said. You'll live forever, they said. You'll save mankind, they said. They didn't say that to do it, first he had to die.
When Tornahdo signs on the dotted line, he puts his life into the steady hands of the mighty Ghost Corps. Three grisly deaths and three agonizing resurrections later, he's assigned duty on the space station Enderium Six.
He's facing his most dangerous mission yet, the very reason the corps exists.
Do they expect him to win? Fat chance. Tornahdo and his team are already dead and this mission is codenamed "Lights Out." No, there's more to this than he can see.
To discover the truth, he must face an unbeatable, unkillable enemy, and this time--somehow--find a way to keep himself alive...
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In this scene from Bringer of Chaos: the Origin of Pietas, the hero is trapped in darkness within a lifepod without one spark of light. Rather than being put into stasis, his captors have left him to rot. But there's one small problem: Pietas is immortal.
Facing Blinding Flash of Light
The infernal, cheerful whistling began again. Pietas tried in vain to escape the sound. Shackled at the ankles, hands bound behind him, he remained flat on his back. There were no comfort choices inside his pod.
No. Not his pod. He would never claim such a place.
The prison pod. The nightmare pod. A casket for the living.
Would that whistling never end?
Whoever guarded him whistled, night and day. He must have lips made of steel. How a human kept that up day after day was beyond him. Or perhaps... Did an Ultra guard him? Had one of his people come to free him?
Pietas opened his mouth to call out, and clamped it shut.
If it were one of his people, he needed to wait for them to act. They would do so when the time was right. For now, he suffered bouts of agony as feeling returned to his hands and then left in repeating cycles. His metabolism healed him, but brought pain. He focused on that, accepted the pain, welcomed it, and examined every step of its journey through his body. What one understood, one could bear.
An Ultra does not seek to escape pain. If one inflicts pain, one must bear it. Pain must be borne. Pain is a warrior's ally.
He hovered in a nightmare-filled, windowless, endless monotony of thirst and hunger.
Punctuated with unending lilts of bouncy, alert, happy, chipper whistling.
At first, he'd welcomed the sound. The rising and falling notes broke the tedium of everlasting darkness. It stopped for brief periods, but began again soon after.
He'd considered calling out and asking them to stop. He had gone so far as to open his mouth. But asking implied weakness. He acknowledged no tool of torture.
Beg mercy from humans? Never.
This was not stasis. Stasis meant cessation of thought. Of emotion. A dreamless kind of sleep. The end of awareness. A not-time.
They'd frozen his people in these pods, but they'd imprisoned him.
Or perhaps his blood ran so hot, no human force could freeze him.
The tune changed.
For the love of all that's holy, will you shut up!
Blessed silence fell. But then a blinding flash of light blared in his face like a blast of horns.
What fresh perdition was this? They'd tortured him with darkness. Now they'd torture him with light?
Pietas tried to force his eyes open, to face the torture, but after so long in darkness, the light stabbed his eyes. He twisted his head to avoid it.
"You-- you're awake?" The startled voice hovered close, muffled by the pod. "Security! Security! Prisoner Six-Six-Six is out of stasis! I say again, Prisoner Six-Six-Six is out of stasis!"
The alarm in the male voice gave Pietas a measure of pride. Even imprisoned, he engendered fear. They had taken away his name, and given him a number that among humans meant a demonic beast.
Let the legend of Pietas--by name or by number--bring fear straight into the heart of man. No... let it bring terror.
His eyes adjusted to the light, and he focused on the face hovering over the small window above him.
Was that...Ghost Six?
When the immortal Pietas is marooned on a barren world with no food and few survival tools, he knows it could be worse. He could be alone. But that's the problem. He's not.
Half a million of his people sleep in cryostasis, trapped inside their pods and it's up to Pietas to free them. He can't release one at a time. It's all or nothing. Over five hundred thousand hungry, thirsty, homeless immortals will call on him for rescue and he has no way to answer.
Universal book link http://books2read.com/u/3R1kev
