Page 117 of Scorching the Alien Empire
She pries too deep. Knows too much. There is no sanctuary. Nowhere to hide. The fortress of my thoughts lies unbarred, open before her relentless onslaught. And like a merciless venefex matriarch, she strikes where I am most vulnerable.
No.
She is right. There should be no weakness to exploit. I must become harder. Harder than the peaks of Scarn, harder than arcweave. A blazing inferno that cannot be extinguished.
As Arawnoth teaches. Let her challenge harden my heart and strengthen my resolve.
“That’s so much better,” she coos, resting her head against my arm.
“They’re altered clones!” Razgor blurts, shattering the tension. His wrist console glows a soft blue as he scans the final opened vat.
“Wakey, wakey, Razgor,” Drexios sneers, rapping his knuckles against the cringing scientist’s head. “Did that clone batter you senseless? Got a touch of amnesia rattling around that big brain of yours? Of course they’re clones, you voiding imbecile!”
“ALT-ERED.” Razgor enunciates each syllable, failing to swat Drexios’ arm away. His face twists with irritation. “And will you STOP hitting me, you brainless barbarian?”
“Stop,” I growl, cutting through the bickering. My gaze lingers on Drexios. He merely shrugs, settling against the glyph-engraved wall, one leg propped up.
“Speak,” I command, my masked face snapping to Razgor.
“Yes... yes, War Chieftain,” he stutters before exhaling sharply. “As I was saying before being sorudelyaccosted.” His eyes dart to his shimmering blue wrist console. “The clones’ genetic material shows clear signs of tampering. Here—see these markers? Their telomeres have been altered, leading to those... strange outcomes.”
His gaze shifts to the two twisted, malformed clones sprawled in crumpled heaps beside their vats. “Not just those two. All five.”
“Five?” Drexios’ brow arches in mock surprise. “Oh, I think you’re missing one, little scientist.” His eyes flick to me. A slow, knowing smirk twists the vertical scar on his face. “The biggest, baddest clone of them all—our young War Chieftain.”
Pride surges through me. Even Drexios, the ever-mocking, gives begrudging respect. Hard-won and deserved. Inevitable. For I will surpass my predecessor—my so-called father. The one Drexios faithfully served for centuries.
I see through him. Beneath his crude jabs and sharp wit, there is cunning. Drexios understands people. Knows what beats in their hearts. Fearless, he exploits weakness like the blades he slides into gaps in armor. I need only point him in the right direction.
“Well... you see...” Razgor’s voice wavers, doubt flickering across his unblemished face. “I... took the liberty of... ah, scanning your genetic material.” His eyes snap to mine, his body tensing as if expecting my displeasure.
I am not displeased. Only impatient.
“What?” Drexios barks, his face twisting with mock disgust. “Were you stalking his latrine? Is that it—”
“Ack,” Princesa interjects, grinning. She tilts her head toward the slightly trembling scientist. “Leave him alone. You’re doing the verybestjob, aren’t you, Razgor?” Her voice drips with sweetness—but there’s sharpness beneath it.
“Yes... yes, of course, War—um, Blessed Daughter.” Razgor’s eyes flick between Drexios and Princesa like a malfunctioning targeting system. “It was just some hair I scanned.”
His fingers dart over the holographic controls. The projection morphing into spiraled strands, their meaning unclear.
“Your telomeres are normal, great War Chieftain.” Razgor smiles, nodding his head eagerly.
Normal.
Is that what I am?
“Brilliant!” Princesa squeals, clapping her hands with glee. “See? All that worrying for nothing, babes.” She peers up at me, her silver eyes swirling with my crimson. “I always knew you were—”
“Um,” Razgor interrupts with a nervous cough. “Actually, it only proves you’ve not been altered at the genetic level.”
The balm for my shattered identity continues to elude me.
“I do hate ‘actually’s’,” Princesa sighs, disappointment dripping from every syllable. “Well, Iactuallythink this is enough proof to lay this stupid issue to rest. I’m so over it.” She waves a dismissive hand.
“What about Gorexius?” Drexios tests the strength of his blades with a meaty slap, sounding almost bored. “You didn’t manage to lap up some of his juices, did you? He sneers, sweeping the flat of his blade over his tongue, eliciting laughter from the other warriors. “A slimy little snarlbroc sucking on rocks.”
“Don’t... don’t be ridiculous!” Razgor snaps, his face darkening. “Though...” He hesitates. “You do stumble onto a good point.” He turns to me, expression sincere. “If we foundGorexius’ genetic material, we could compare it to yours. Then we’d know for certain if you were a clone.”
