Page 25 of Fated to the Alien Chieftain

My eyes burn with furious rage, the purple mist so thick it obscures my vision. In my dying agony, I do not think, only act. With a tug on my mind like I’m projecting some wispy part of me into the structure itself, pulling and yanking it, I force the door to bend to my will, forcing it open. At the back of my physical consciousness, I can hear the gasps of the other warriors.

I raise a shaking, dying hand, a purple glow surrounding it. I project my hatred and will onto the swarming machines, wanting nothing more than to crush them. Suddenly, an invisible force pulls them all together, yanking them from thewalkway and walls, suspended in a ball of skittering metal as thousands upon thousands of them are pressed together.Tighter, tighter!I command. The mass begins to screech and pop as the pressure builds higher and higher.

The others gasp, as I watch in wonder myself, unsure what and how I’m doing this. I can still see the machines twitching. They’re still functional, so they must be further crushed. The ball of compressed machines increasingly implodes with each passing second, the force overwhelming until there’s nothing but a single dense ball of matter that could fit in the palm of my hand.

I laugh weakly as I feel my life fading away. “Hurry, bring him inside.” I hear a voice say, as I’m half lifted, half dragged across the walkway through the iris-like doorway.Why can’t they just let me die in peace?My body is awash with scorching burns and open wounds, showing exposed bone and organs.

My vision is blurry as I struggle to remain conscious. “Don’t worry Patriarch, I’ll take care of you,” a soft voice says. A blue fuzzy glow swims at the edge of my vision, filling me with a warm sensation.

A pleasant sensation.

Chapter 9

Roxanne

Guidance

Idouble over, retchingas I struggle to breathe. The platform feels like an elevator in free fall, and the surreal pull through the vast void of nothingness is too much, forcing me to close my eyes.

Finally, the sensation stops and I’m still somewhere pitch black and quiet. I can feel I’m wearing some kind of mask.A warvisor?The taste of bile at the back of my throat threatens to escape. Ican’t breathe, need to remove this thing!As I attempt to pull the mask off, a firm hand grasps my wrist.

“No, Matriarch! You will die without your veil,” the posh voice of an unknown male exclaims.

Matriarch?My body convulses with coughs as I wrestle with the burning bile in my throat. He’s right, whoever he is; thewarvisor informs me that the atmosphere is extremely toxic.Where the hell am I?It’s only because of the warvisor I’m able to see anything as the room is shrouded in complete darkness. A dozen or so stooped, frail, and hideously garbed Klendathians glance around nervously.

The room is cramped, with a low ceiling and walls intricately woven with metals, pipes, and tubes running seemingly haphazardly. Some of them pulsate, almost alive, sending a shiver down my spine. Recalling Krogoth’s last words about staying brave for the vision, I take a deep breath to steady my nerves. It’s just a vision. It’s just a vision.

Wonder if the big guy is here?Although I’m sure he would’ve made himself known by now. “Krogoth?” I shout, drawing the attention of the Klendathians.

A Klendathian, a female, stands before me, her identity revealed by the same golden warvisor adorning her face. Her stunning long, glossy hair, resembling the hue of gold, cascades down. “Krogoth? Such a primitive name. Who do you speak of Machsin?” She inquires, her accent also strangely posh, unlike the gruff and direct tones of Krogoth and the others.

A sigh escapes me, disappointed Krogoth isn’t here.Hope he’s alright.

Another Klendathian—a male with brown hair and adorned in an awful, brightly colored plastic jumpsuit shaped like pointy triangles—chimes in, “Matriarch, perhaps you refer to the Patriarch Dagdorix and the others?” He gestures toward the group. “They are not among us.” His words prompt the others to look around, muttering nervously.

Machsin and Dagdorix? Are we playing the roles of their Gods? Inspecting myself, a gasp escapes me in sheer shock. I’m adorned in the same hideous clothes, which could easily grace the runways of a trendy New York fashion show, with an unfamiliar gun strapped over my shoulder, similar to the others.Taking a step backwards, the shock intensifies as I grapple with the awkwardness of newfound height. It feels as if I’m on stilts. I’m in the body of a Klendathian. Not just any Klendathian but their goddess, Machsin!

“Are you well, Matriarch?” the brown-haired male inquires, his voice laced with concern. “Shame Exarcha Dranuxia isn’t here to examine you,” he laments.

The golden-haired female sighs. “Shame indeed. This desperate venture has failed before it has even begun,” she says, while folding her arms.

I glare at the golden-haired Klendathian, annoyed at her defeatism, but she’s oblivious because of my mask. “What are your names?” I ask, looking at the pair.

Golden-hair scoffs “Splendid! And now the Matriarch has lost her senses. Capital!” Her voice is laced with sarcasm.

My eyes narrow with annoyance, and for a moment I consider slapping her. “Shut up and answer my question, you silly ass!” I shout, drawing loud gasps from the others.

“I say Matriarch, most unbecoming!” brown-hair says, shock in his voice.

Who the hell are these people?These scrawny Klendathians are the complete opposite of the rough and burly warriors I’ve come to know and respect.

A black-haired Klendathian steps forward, his clothes not as garish as mine or the other two. “With all due respect, Matriarch.” He bows deeply towards me. “He is Exarch Ecneius” he points at mister brown-hair. “And she is Exarcha Aenarael,” he points at Little Miss Cry-Baby. “And if we don’t hurry, the Corrupters will exterminate all life.”

Aenarael gasps, “Careful, who you refer to as ‘she’ soldier.” Wisps of silver mist escape from her warvisor. “You’d do well to remember your place.”

My eyes widen as the black-haired soldier is enveloped in a silver aura that locks him in place, squeezing the wind from him. Aenarael directs her hands as if conducting an orchestra.She’s doing this somehow!

Ecneius sighs. “How disappointing that the plebeians seek to undermine our ancient traditions in the hour of our greatest need.” He shakes his head, like he’s just witnessed the greatest offence.

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