Page 130 of Scorching the Alien Empire
I freeze. Dracoth.
My Dracoth.
His guttural, defiant roar cuts through the abyss, distant but unmistakable. My head snaps over my shoulder, heart hammering against my ribs, eyes straining to pierce the darkness, desperate to see him, needing to see him.
Oh, Dracoth!
His rage booms through our bond, roaring like a furnace, hotter, wilder, more primal than ever before. It calls to me, drags at me, tethers me in place. It’s intoxicating, a heat that coils deep in my core, an undeniable pull I can’t—won’t—ignore.
But beneath that familiar fire, something else churns.
A sinking weight. Regret. Shame. Doubt.
All our gazes are drawn behind us, pulled toward the blackness. We hear it—the distant clang of metal, the shriek of weapons, his bestial war cries shaking the walls.
Fuck.
My breathing stutters, erratic, uneven.
What if he actually dies? I need to go back. I shouldn’t have left him. What the hell was I thinking?
My fingers spin absently over the glowing Elerium and diamond rings on my hand. No... The Elerium Goddess ring means more. A symbol from the Gods, its swirling orange light churns, flickering against my skin, urging me to remain strong.
It’s too late now, anyway.
What’s done is done. His fate is in his own shovel-like hands now. I made the right choice.
Didn’t I?
Perhaps, through struggle and sacrifice, Arawnoth will bless him again.
Yes!That must be it. This is a divine test from Father. And I? I am simply the beautiful, impartial classroom assistant.
I must be firm, resolute... and utterly elegant.
Hang in there, you big meathead. Don’t trip over your Bobo the Clown feet.
With a slow, measured sigh, I turn away from the abyss and resume my advance toward the exit. Yet the tension refuses to fade.
Each distant bang, each deafening war cry, is an ice pick stabbing through my ribs, haunting my steps like a perfume store saleswoman who won’t take no for an answer.
A thunderous crash echoes through the ruined corridors. I don’t look back. My muscles coil, instinct demanding I turn, that I see—no. I keep walking.
It’s enough to wish Drexios would break the silence. I would even welcome his disgusting and highly inappropriate comments—his usual boring self.
His gaze shifts restlessly, flickering between the women and the darkness behind us. His fingers flex and curl, opening, closing, stuck on repeat.
“I AM THE FIRE. I AM THE END.”
Dracoth’s roar thunders through the ruins, a sound so raw, so feral, it rattles my bones. It’s a war cry, a declaration, a curse. The howl of a dying god or a god refusing to die.
My hand reaches instinctively for a Todd that isn’t even here. My feet hesitate. Every fiber of my being demanding I turn back.
Keep walking, Lexie. Keep walking.
I’ve made my choice. My chin rises, my heart hardens like week-old, crusty brioche. When I arrive, when they see me, I must be strong, confident—divine.
But then Drexios speaks.
