Isaac stood at the top of the cliff, staring out over the jungle. Down amongst the trees, the air had been still and cloying but at least the thick canopy had provided some cover from the swirling ash. Up here on this narrow, stone shelf wind was howling, but it still didn't clear away the showers of grey ash, seeming instead to just agitate them. Particles swarmed around him like angry bees.

He thought he saw now why the ash was thicker here. A few clicks to the south east, away from the direction they had come, the jungle thinned and then gave way to a rocky plain. Every so often, red tongues of flame flickering up from the stones, 'It's surely not a volcano,' He thought, 'But maybe there are cracks where the heat under the surface gets vented?'

Isaac waited at the top of the petrified, lava flow. Though the climb had been difficult, he was relieved to be here. He didn't feel safe exactly, but at least he could see what was going on and there was no way for anyone to sneak up undetected. He got busy priming the bombs, setting them ready for the next stage of their plan. Isaac stood, eyes trained on the trees underneath him, stomach clenching into a knot of acid. Every moment Selim didn't emerge was agony. He began to get restless, pacing up and down in the small space, talons twitching. Then he realised that he was too visible and forced himself to lay down at the edge of the precipice, 'I wish my mask's vision settings could pierce the tree cover, I wish comms were working – more than anything, I wish Selim would just get here. Where the fuck is he?'

As he lay there, glaring out at the jungle, there was a flash in the sky. Isaac's sharp yautja eyes picked out a glint of fire streaking towards the ground like a comet, as if in answer the flames licking up from the plain below. Isaac squinted, cursing the ash again for disabling his mask's vision sensor, but he understood what he was seeing, 'That's the glow of a ship's exhaust – another ship making planetfall! Either they decloaked or the ash is messing up their stealth generator…"

He stared, 'What if it's Mom and S'Kia onboard that ship and they're about to crash? Whoever it is, they're coming in hot – just like we did!'

Powerless, Isaac watched as the glowing shape streaked down, then disappeared into the darkness of jungle. He strained his ears but no sound of an impact reached him, 'Maybe they managed to land – or what if they did crash and I'm too far away to hear it?'

His eyes screwed shut involuntarily, trying to blot out the image of their ship smashing into the ground. Then, another thought struck him, 'What if they did land safely but it's not Mom and S'Kia…?'

A thrill of dread ran down his spine as another descending spark snagged his attention, 'A second ship? But that means…' He shook his head, 'Either Mom and S'Kia have got company or those ships are D'AKv'Var reinforcements showing up.'

'Oh no.' Isaac swallowed hard, his throat suddenly arid, 'What the fuck are we gonna do?'

Halkrath halted. He and Sek'Met were on the edge of a swamp, where the ground fell away into black water. He turned as the Abomination and the ooman Sain'Ja materialised out of the murk. They were unnervingly quiet and they rarely seemed to be more than a few feet apart, each watching the other's back.

Halkrath refused to think of her as 'the ooman witch', no matter what he had heard, no matter what she or even S'Kia had said, 'Witchcraft and magic is for the foolish and the credulous' He told himself, 'I am a follower of science. I believe in logic and evidence – not infantile folklore.'

Nevertheless, he had not been able to repress a shudder when she had pronounced her curse on the D'AKv'var. Now, he watched her warily where she crouched on one the low, twisting branches of the enormous tree. Her mask was facing away from him, tilted upwards to the fluttering flakes of ash. For some reason, it was a relief not to be the subject of her calm scrutiny. She looked strange: the gently falling ash had coated her body as it had for all of them. Her skin was mottled white and grey, her mask scored with wide, black streaks, as if scorched by fire.

Halkrath could move quietly – he was a Rough Skull, after all. Sek'Met slunk through the soot-stained night like the kainde amedhe, but S'Kia and the ooman Sain'Ja both moved with a stealth that he knew must come from years of living outside the lore. They must have had to fight and hunt and steal everything they needed, every day of their lives. Living on board a well-guarded ship amongst many allies and spending his time on his research, Halkrath knew his own senses must be dull, his reflexes slow by comparison. He flipped open the wristcom and clicked at the sight of the glitching screen.

'Coms still useless.'

Halkrath shut it again and looked up. Where the ooman Sain'Ja had been, only flakes of ash floated down, hardly stirred by the hot, sluggish breeze.

"I see fire."

All three yautja looked up. Lex was perched in the upper branches. As they watched, she lowered herself, landing lightly on the spongey ground.

"There is a large fire burning, away to the north east." She lifted a grey and white arm, "It must be the D'AKv'var – I cannot imagine the boys, Rika or Varrik drawing attention to themselves in such a way. We should check it out."

By unspoken agreement, Halkrath and the yautja female turned towards S'Kia, awaiting his decision. The gods knew, Halkrath would not risk challenging the dominance of his former squad-mate. S'Kia might be his junior in years, but seeing him kill the D'AKv'var had left Halkrath in no doubt that he would not last five minutes against the renegade in single combat. Perhaps Sek'Met had reached the same conclusion, or perhaps she followed him for reasons of her own. Halkrath noted that she called him 'Abomination' to his face, something he himself would not dare do.

S'Kia was not looking at them. His head was turned towards the ooman female; just as it had been when he had the knife to Halkrath's throat. Now, as then, Halkrath had the absurd notion that silent words were passing between them. After a moment, S'Kia turned back, as if surprised to see them still standing there.

"You heard her." He rumbled, "The north-east: move."

Xal'Uate frowned at the blue-swirled globe that swelled larger and larger on the viewscreen, her brows crinkling. This whole situation troubled her. She and the GhaRan-S'i-Ka had known each other for many years. In fact, Xala was one of the few who had been with her since before her rise to power, who remembered when she had been known simply as Spyrro. Even back then, she had always been a force to be reckoned with – a personality that drew all others around her into her own orbit; fierce, determined and utterly uncompromising.

At least, until she had met the Abomination's father – the one who fathered all three of her sons. He had come into her life with all the destructive power of a typhoon; just as big and fierce as she was, just as determined. He drew the attention of many females but it was Spyrro he targeted, intent on fathering offspring on the biggest and best fighter of all the female side of the clan.

Xala sighed. It was strange to think of it now, but the GhaRan-S'i-Ka had been besotted with him, her intensity in combat now translating into an equal intensity of attraction. Over many cycles he had come back and back to her, often enough to father their three sons. He came back often enough for it to be thought strange in a culture where monogamy was not the norm.

'He made her believe that he always would return and she allowed herself to become… attached.' Xala's brows drew down as another, traitorous thought struck her, 'Unrestrained emotion, intensity of attachment, just as she says of the Abomination. Perhaps there are some similarities between them.'

Spyrro the elder had been mad about him. She had almost been literally driven mad by him when it turned out that he was as uncompromising in retreat from her as he had been in attack. Two years after she birthed S'Kia, their youngest of her three sons, their father simply stopped coming back to her. The GhaRan-S'i-Ka had grieved his loss like a death. Even now, she could not even bear to hear his name spoken out loud. She had hidden it behind a wall of icy determination, butXala was one of the few who knew her well enough to notice that she had taken a hard blow, 'From such an excessive, disproportionate attachment as that which she had for him, what other outcome could there be but suffering?'

And the GhaRan-S'i-Ka's suffering had come out as anger. She had sought out single combat with any who challenged her dominance, quickly climbing the echelons of the clan command. Meanwhile her sons – who had been so precious to her – were sent away. She could no longer bear to be near them, especially not S'Kia who bore the closest resemblance to the father who had abandoned her. Xala had seen the signs of mania in Spyrro the Elder's behaviour then. She was disconcerted to see that mania resurface, like wreckage dislodged from the seabed by a storm.

Of course, Spyrro the Elder was the GhaRan-S'i-Ka now. She expected obedience and loyalty from her clan sisters and she was unmerciful in punishing those who did not give it. Yautja only followed strength. That was the necessary nature of leadership and Xal'Uate would never, never question it. She respected her clan leader – in many ways she felt more attachment to her than she had for any other – but she found herself concerned about bringing juveniles to a battlefield unnecessarily.

Xala prided herself on sizing up a juvenile and Ito was going to be a cunning fighter, and a courageous adult. Ito was a promising pupil and as for the scion – Spyrro the younger – Xala had a fondness for the child. She was stubborn and insolent, but she was also fearless, skilled with weapons and filled with fire – that rare commodity that made a great warrior, maybe even a leader. Xala did not think it worth chasing S'Kia and his ooman concubine, certainly not if it meant risking the juveniles' deaths for the sake of some ancient grievance.

'U'amea is on the very fringes of our territory, a haunt of pirates, vagabonds and worse… and we have not the numbers nor the weapons for a full-scale assault. Maybe the Abomination has come here to join with his criminal brethren,'

She thought, watching her clan leader's eyes burning, fixed on the goal ahead, 'Perhaps he has brought her shame, but he also sired the daughter that she has long wished for; the only thing that has given her any joy since his faithless father all but destroyed her. As long as she has Spyrro, who cares if he stays in thrall to the soft meat forever? If Sek'Met truly has run off to join him, then she has sealed her own misery. Why can the GhaRan-S'i-Ka not leave them to their sinful behaviour, and concentrate on the girl? Her mission to find him is an obsession – a form of insanity! Pursuing a vendetta against the son for the crimes of the father, when his father is long gone.'

Xal'Uate's fists tightened, 'I must speak to her. I am her second in command, so it is my duty – both as her lieutenant and her oldest ally. I have to make her sane again!'

Rika turned his head, though the movement caused pain to ripple through the skin of his neck and chest. Varrik had been still and quiet for a few units now. Rika hoped he was unconscious; that it was not the stillness of death.

He lifted his gaze to the top of the tangled barrier of roots and branches that surrounded them like a wall. In the thick darkness, his night vision could just discern two figures standing atop it, 'Sentries. So even here, in the depths of their own hole, they fear they will be attacked. Interesting…'

The thought gave him a treacherous little glimmer of hope, but it was quickly doused as his eyes returned to Varrik again. Even if the D'AKv'Var were all struck dead this moment, it might still be too late for Varrik. He thought there was a flicker at the hollow of the younger male's throat and willed it to be the flicker of breath and not his streaming, ash-rimmed eyes deceiving him. His gaze darted upwards again, not wanting to dwell on what they had done to Varrik's face, but his jaws moved silently, not even knowing which deity he was addressing, 'Let him live. He is too young to die.'

One of the D'AKv'Var turned and drew closer, holding up a burning torch, scrutinising Rika's features.

"Praying?"

When Rika did not respond, the D'AKv'Var held his hand in front of Rika's face, the long, thin talons hovering just above the skin, but not quite touching. He looked different to the others; his long plaits were hung with strange amulets and twisted with pieces of bone. His mask was daubed with great slashes of black across his eyes and the space where his jaws should be. Rika had heard the others call him Shihir. From what he could understand of their dialect, he thought this male was regarded as one who can summon bhuja {trans: spirits}. Someone who deals in so-called magic. He had heard the same dark rumours as Varrik, that the D'AKv'Var indulged in cannibalism as part of a ritual, intended to steal the strength of their victims. Rika was not sure he believed this, but his scepticism was little comfort when there were the mutilated bodies hanging all round him. He watched as the D'AKv'Var unstrung the half-dismembered male they had spoken to earlier, manhandling his ruined torso onto a stone slab like a beast on the block, 'I hope he is already dead,' Rika thought, "Or at the very least unconscious.'

He was not aware of having spoken anything but his jaws must have moved unconsciously in his half delirium.

"Do the gods not answer you?" Shihir asked with mock sympathy, "Perhaps, they do not speak to clan-slaves."

Still, Rika said nothing and Shihir laughed, "It makes no difference. The fire will tear all secrets from you. Some I know already."

Rika's jaws curled up, though the movement of his raw skin caused a wrench of pain so strong he thought he might vomit.

"You know U'darahje." Continued the D'AKv'Var, "You are from his clan; you came on his ship. You had his… spawn with you and soon, we will take them as we have taken you."

One of the long, thin talons scraped down the side of his face, across the burned, raw flesh. Still, Rika said nothing. He would not lower himself to beg for mercy. It would do him no good, anyway. He knew that.

"We are hungry, as gods always are." The spirit summoner purred, "And you may not deny us."

Selim scrambled along the branches of the huge tree, talons slithering on slimy bark, bursting through clumps of ashen leaves and thickets of twigs. Below him the crashing of the pursuit and he knew the pounding blood of the hunted, the thunder of his own heart in his ears. The miasma of ash got thicker as he neared the ridge, flurries of ash flakes eddying around him like a snowstorm. Selim plunged through them, flying from branch to branch. He never paused or hesitated, but it made no difference: they were gaining on him. Every second their yells grew louder, their crashing pursuit nearer, fanning out around him to railroad his course 'They will hit me with a throwing blade and knock me down and then …'

Ahead the black edifice loomed up out of the gnarled vegetation and Selim redoubled his pace, every muscle in his arms and back straining as he leapt across a huge gap between two trees, expecting any moment to feel the bite of a kv'Va-kte in the belly. He hit a branch, dug his claws in, and launched himself forward again, not daring to rest. D'Kv'Var flanked him on both sides, railroading his course, drawing level with him: he was losing ground every instant.

The rock face loomed up ahead filling his vision, but there was no time for him to hide and soon the trees would run out and there would only be the cliff. Now his brain raced too, thoughts swirling around in a snowstorm of possibilities that he rejected as fast as they flashed into his mind. Then the branches ran out and Selim's leg muscles bunched of their own accord, throwing him forward in a desperate cat jump, his arms stretching out, talons extended. Time slowed and stretched out like hot tar, then he hit the black rockface with an impact that drove the breath out of him. Selim wasn't even thinking anymore, his claws scrabbling and screeching on the unforgiving surface. Only his low body weight and the supernatural yautja climbing ability kept him from falling and smashing into the ground. Adrenalin coursed through his body as he thrust his talons into unlikely holds and hauled himself upwards, cords standing out on his arms and neck, "Isaac – where are you?!"

A roar echoed up from beneath him. Selim knew he should not look but his head swivelled round of its own accord. Three huge figures were emerging from the trees on the ground below.

"One of them managed to escape Un'Var, the clumsy fool." Snarled the tallest.

Selim recognised the voice of the sceptic. He caught his breath, hoping fervently the blackout bomb had disabled their guns. He was too far up for them to be sure of hitting him with a blade, but that wouldn't matter if one of the made a lucky shot.

"Come down little one," The D'AKv'var called up to him in its droning accent, "Or we will come up and get you."

Selim was already hauling himself upwards, "Come up here, filth eaters!"

"He wants us to help him down." Crooned the magic believer.

A throwing blade hit the cliff face, burying itself in the rock right beside Selim's hand. He swallowed hard and began to climb again, scrambling upwards, feet slipping on the smooth rockface.

"Isaac!" He screamed.

Raucous laughter echoed in his ears and another throwing blade bounced off the cliff beside him with a metal sound, rebounding into the jungle. He looked up. He was a long way away from the place he and Isaac had agreed. Somehow, they had driven him off course – his plan had failed!

'If Isaac does not know where I am, how can he help me?'

Through the sped-up blur of adrenalin, the top of the ridge was just visible, the floating ash in the air almost too thick to see through now, 'Let me get to the top – please, goddess!'

He flung a hand upwards, but something hissed past his ear and a shard of terrible pain shot through his shoulder. Selim bit down on a yelp but his body jerked, talons scrabbling against smooth stone…

Happy Easter everyone, sorry it's been such a long hiatus again. I've been on holiday and running round trying to sightsee and make the most of being in another country. It was glorious, but it's nice to be back to writing every day. if you're enjoying the story please follow, favourite and review!

LovyDovy7 - Yeah Ito's having a rough time. I haven't gone into who her mother is but yautja take quite a communal approach to child rearing - with all members of the clan taking a part. It has some benefits but perhaps some of the closeness between parents and children doesn't translate. They certainly don't do the whole family thing in the way humans do. Glad you're enjoying the tension!

Tenjp - yeah it's a mess. Not sure they're exactly a happy family - that wouldn't be as interesting to write about!

Miko Uchi Queen - Yes Lex really misses Spyrro and vice versa. I wanted to make the story about their relationship as well, as there's a lot of father/ son stuff in Replication. Would be cool to see some of your art if you ever decide to post it up somewhere.

Lilspooky221 - Thanks - reunion with the kids is drawing nearer but Scar's definitely starting to feel rough. That might get worse, parenting is stressful!

Drakena - Thanks for the follow/ favourite. No, they haven't amassed a big collection of trophies, partly because Lex feels it's a short step from putting a hard meat skull on the wall to putting a soft meat one next to it. Also, when the GhaRan-S'i-Ka hears about Spyrro there will be drama. And probably blood.