Page 50 of Fated to the Alien Chieftain

The giant Gorexius carries a faint amused smile as he lazily paces about, inspecting the room, his incredibly long red hair also shaved at the sides hangs nearly at his feet, adorned with small braids and bands. The hair of a veteran warrior who has never tasted defeat. “Where is Zyraxis?” He asks, looking distracted. His deep voice cuts through the tense silence as his heavy steps echo through the chamber.

Strange that Gorexius continues to ignore me. Is it a deliberate attempt to intimidate me?

Many have made the fatal mistake of assuming the War Chieftain, because of his massive size, is nothing more than adumb brute, but there’s a cold, calculating mind lurking deep within his imposing frame, rendering him even more dangerous.

“Well?” he stops, his gaze sweeping over the Elders who shrink back. “You,” he demands, his crimson eyes fixed on Phaedroth, the Elder from Clan Aquaxus. “Answer me.”

“Me? Ah... Zyraxis is well... gone,” Phaedroth stammers out, trembling so much his top knot wobbles.

Drexios’s laughter echoes through the chamber, dripping with malice. “We can see he’s gone,” He sneers, before leaping up onto the Elders’ benches, to tower over the quivering Phaedroth. “That is why the War Chief is asking, you voiding imbecile!” He screams directly into his ear.

Phaedroth recoils, his hands instinctively shielding his head as he cowers beneath Drexios’ wrath. Drexios’s lips twist into a sneer of disdain. “Absolutely pathetic.” He delivers a sharp slap to Phaedroth’s head, eliciting a terrified yelp from the trembling Elder, as he turns his attention towards Gorexius. “We are supposed to grovel before these spineless cowards?”

My pulse races watching the shameful scene. If this tense situation grows more chaotic, there will be no hope Gorexius will honor our traditions, and if I intervene, it gives Drexios and the others the excuse to attack. By isolating the Elders, Gorexius isolates me, but not to kill me. He could have done that already. What does he seek?

“Weaklings shouldn’t display hair,” Drexios taunts sadistically, his grip on Phaedroth’s top knot cruel as he severs it with his claws, leaving the Elder to whimper in his shame.

The ancient Elder Nyxius rises on unsteady legs. His bushy white eyebrows furrowed in anger, directed at Drexios, “Stop this blasphemy! Have you no respect, no reverence for anything?” He demands, his voice heated.

Before Drexios can respond, Nyxius turns to Gorexius, his face stern. “Young Gorexius, you set loose a crazed hydralith in oursacred hall,” he says, shaking his head. “Why do this? What has become of the dutiful, promising Chieftain?” He asks, his voice sad and eyes pleading.

“War doesn’t tolerate respect and reverence,” Gorexius replies, his deep voice hard as stone. “Only the strong,” he finishes, before pacing around the room, almost disinterested, despite the incredibly tense atmosphere.

Drexios moves to loom menacingly over Nyxius. “And we are the strongest,” he sneers, inches from Nyxius’ face. “The wars never stop, always nearby, always closing in.” He sniffs the air. “You can almost smell it.” Then he licks Nyxius’ wrinkled forehead. “You can almost taste it” He turns his back laughing madly, before halting. “Or is it fear I taste?” he asks, turning with a brutal blow aimed at Nyxius’ face. The Elder stands unwavering, unflinching, and unafraid, prompting Drexios to pull his savage blow at the last moment.

Terrified gasps from the Elders do not sway Drexios as he smiles, peering into Nyxius’ eyes. “Oh, this one is not afraid... No, not afraid one bit. The eyes of a warrior,” he says excitedly, performing a mocking salute. “Magaxus Second, ready for battle!” He laughs insanely.

Gorexius has the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “Nyxius, where is Zyraxis?” He asks, his gaze fixed on the ancient Elder.

Nyxius’ wrinkled face twists with anger. “Zyraxis is dead,” he spits before continuing. “A vipertail in our midst, we expelled him for his crimes. Then he forsook the sacred tenants attacking young Chieftain Krogoth, getting himself killed,” he finishes, his face stern locked onto the War Chieftain. My pulse quickens, wondering how Gorexius will react to the news that I killed Zyraxis.

Drexios erupts into laughter. “He attacked Krogoth directly?” he inquires, his voice laced with amusement.

Nyxius nods affirmatively. “So brave and so foolish our little Elder turned out to be, yet gravely underestimated, his enemy,” Drexios rhymes absently before turning his snarling gaze on me. “Yet another reason to kill you.” He marches down the stone steps, looking towards Gorexius. “Let me end Krogoth, he’s ruining everything!” He shouts.

Gorexius peers down at Drexios, towering over him as I tower over Pebbles, before his gaze finally shifts towards me, his crimson eyes studying me, showing no sign of his thoughts. It’s a struggle not to shrink under the intensity. Pebbles clutches me tighter, “He’s not angry. I don’t think he will attack,” she whispers.

“No, losing you won’t satisfy Krogoth’s revenge,” Gorexius states slowly, his eyes still locked onto mine, unwavering in their focus.

Drexios bristles, pacing back and forth in a display of defiant frustration. “You shame me, War Chief. He’s overrated. Let me kill him!” He demands, his voice echoing with indignation.

Gorexius raises a hand. “Silence, Drexios,” he commands, sweeping his dark green scaled cloak over his shoulder before extending a hand toward me. “I intend to return our wayward Chieftain to war’s loving embrace.”

Suppressing a flicker of surprise at his words, I respond firmly, “I refuse.”

Gorexius remains unfazed, used to getting his way as persistent and unyielding as a mountain.

Drexios scoffs, gesturing towards Pebbles. “Too busy mating her,” he remarks, his tone dripping with contempt. Drawing nearer, he leers at her. “Not bad at all,” he comments before sneering at me. “Not pretty enough to turn into a filthy traitor, though.”

Gorexius’ eyes flicker to Pebbles for an instant, as if seeing her for the first time. A hint of amusement flashes on hislips. “Surprising Krogoth, abandoning your war brothers for a female.”

Pebbles shifts uneasily under the War Chieftain’s intense gaze as I place a reassuring hand on her back. “He seems more amused than anything now,” she whispers softly.

“Who is this female, whispering like some sorceress, wearing Nu’warian exoenhancer armor and the cloak of a Chieftainess?” Gorexius inquires, his tone touched with surprise.

“My beloved, my Mortakin-Kis. Blessed by the Gods in the Proving and Mortakin-Tok, now Chieftainess of Clan Draxxus,” I declare, my voice brimming with fierce pride for my beautiful Pebbles.

Gorexius’s heavy brow furrows in disapproval. “Superstition and pointless traditions.” He dismisses before gesturing towards Pebbles. “Take her Krogoth. She’ll warm your bed while you return to your rightful place leading Clan Draxxus against the Nebians.”

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