Page 13 of Scorching the Alien Empire
Dracoth’s permanent Mr. Frowny Face becomes even more frowny, but Ignixis shatters our alluring simmering tension with his eerie cackle.
“You heard the blessed daughter, young Dracoth. She saved us all!” He erupts into laughter, his shadowy form shaking with mirth in the pilot’s chair.
My eyes narrow staring at his shrouded creepy form, unsure if he’s mocking me or just being weird again.
“Take her with you,” Ignixis says suddenly, surprising me. “Arawnoth will protect her.”
“Thanks, Iggy.” I beam, smugly glancing at Dracoth—the smile of victory.
Of course, he doesn’t react. Typical. He’s so used to losing by now.
“Voiding junkers,” Jazreal complains, sliding his scary mask over his face. “They went on ahead.”
“Fools,” Dracoth grumbles, his crimson eyes narrowing as he stoops to gaze out the compact viewport.
“Now thosefoolsare reporting stiff resistance,” Jazreal says, pulling his mask off with a theatrical shake of his head. “Entrenched positions. Heavy repeater pulsars. Battle drones.”
Those sound awfully dangerous.
A ripple of fear churns my stomach, sweeping over me like icy waves from Antarctica. The realization hits: I’m about to walk straight into a warzone. But through our bond, Dracoth’s murderous excitement flares, keeping me toasty warm and keen.
“They cannot stop us,” Dracoth growls, his crimson eyes meeting mine, perhaps sensing my momentary hesitation.
Traitor bond!
Before I can respond, a deafening screech assaults my ears. The entire rust-bucket trembles violently, rattling like it’s being shaken by a nine-point-nine earthquake. We’re all jostledtogether like old socks in a dryer—except some of those socks are giant, metal-clad aliens, no doubt bruising my delicate skin.
“Behold, another smooth landing!” Ignixis proclaims, rising from the pilot’s chair with a creak, as if he himself were part of the ship. “No small task, landing with docking hatches reduced to molten slag. Wouldn’t you agree, young Dracoth?” His eyes glint with peculiar satisfaction. “Praise Arawnoth for his timely revelation of the stabilizer button.” He chuckles wryly, while Jazreal arches a skeptical brow at Dracoth.
“Did we just nearly die?” I ask incredulously, glaring at the approaching creepy shadow that is Ignixis.
“The strong do not fear death, blessed daughter,” Ignixis replies, tucking his runic hand into the folds of his void-black robes.
“So that’s a yes, then?” I shake my head in disbelief. “Jazzy, maybeyoupilot the spaceship on the way back—”
Before I can finish, Ignixis presses his withered thumb into my forehead.
“Hey!” I snap, recoiling instinctively.
“The sacred ashes of Scarn,” he chants, his green eyes flashing with fervor. Without missing a beat, he turns to Jazreal, stepping before him. “Go forth with Arawnoth’s blessing, proud sons of Scarn,” he intones, smearing a lump of ash onto Jazreal’s bowed head. “Scourge the weak, embrace strength. Let the vanquished be reborn in his divine image.”
The ritual takes on an enticing edge as Ignixis shuffles toward Dracoth, stretching his arm in a futile attempt to reach his towering forehead. “Some assistance would be most welcome, young Dracoth,” he rasps.
Dracoth remains unmoved, his crimson eyes flickering with disdain.
It annoys me that Dracoth disrespects Arawnoth’s blessing, so I give him a swift kick to the ankle, urging him to show respect.Pain shoots through my foot as I realize—too late—that my leather boot is no match for his towering tank of a leg. I wince, biting back a groan.
With a reluctant grunt, Dracoth lowers his head. Ignixis seizes the opportunity, jamming his thumb into Dracoth’s forehead and smearing it with ash.
“Let his molten wrath fill your hearts,” Ignixis chants, his blackened face twisting into something nightmarish. “Let him infuse your souls with unbreakable strength. Slay his enemies. Break their spirits. Crush their pathetic wills.”
He steps closer, his voice growing sharper, more fanatical.
“Let their screams praise his name. Let their blood stoke his flames. You are his chosen instruments—wielders of his fury. Leave no bone unbroken, no soul unscorched.”
“Breathe deep of Arawnoth’s blood.” He claps his hands together with a bone-rattling force, releasing a green mist that snakes through the stale air. I recognize it immediately—psychotic murder drugs.
Yes!
