Page 139 of Scorching the Alien Empire
My claws slash along the backs of the partially melted droids still clinging to me. Blue-gray smoke billows all around, faint, dimming red lenses flickering through the haze. The sizzling, burning remnants of droids crackle in the blistering air. Limbs writhe and whirl in their final death throes, no longer even attached to their cores.
“Oh, don’t you just love the smell of burning plasma?” Drexios loudly sniffs the charred air. “Or maybe it’s the stillness after the carnage. The voices which sung, now undone.”
Through the fog, I make out his silhouette, twin blades brandished from his back, their faint glow swallowed by the smoke.
“For now, at least,” he muses, before charging forward, his boots thudding over solidified metal and smoldering shrapnel.
The surviving droids—most missing limbs or dripping liquefied metal—whirl around to meet him. Their movements are erratic, jerky limbs struggling to trace his path. But he’s on them with a snarl, his blue plasma blades cutting through the haze, leaving shimmering afterimages in their wake. The weapons slice through their arcweave armor like lightning through rain.
Sliced bodies thud to the floor, their lifeless forms crumpling like scraped junk. Nearby droids raise their cannons at Drexios,their red lenses glowing with cold, mechanical intent. Without hesitation, I charge into them, my claws carving molten ruin through their ranks. Another burst of ionized plasma fills the air.
Together, through the blistering fog, Drexios and I dispatch the remnants. He is a weaving blur of twin blades, darting like bioluminescent insects in the dark. I am an unstoppable avalanche, breaking, smashing, crushing. Each step is a droid splintered, each strike a testament to our unyielding will.
Then, the impossible.Silence.
The absence of skittering limbs and whirling gears feels almost wrong to my ears, as if the universe itself has paused to catch its breath. My fingers twitch, my fangs bared, my warvisor scanning for more enemies that surely must be lurking nearby. But there are none. Only our heaving breaths, the smoldering debris piled ankle-high, and the corridor’s bowed, crumpled walls where Drexios’s grenades had detonated.
“I might start believing you’re blessed by the Gods,” Drexios muses, his voice laced with awe, cutting through the sizzling tension. “Or maybe you’re a ghost, a Hemovyrn seeking blood.” His single eye takes in the carnage behind us. The corridor stretches beyond sight, every inch littered with broken, melted droids. Tens of thousands of them—a monument to my power, a shrine dedicated to my resolve.
“I live,” I croak. The words a rasping agony in my singed throat, barely audible.
“You look like a big ol’ pile of freshly cooked shit, War Chief,” Drexios barks, laughing as he swats at my armor, extinguishing blue embers I hadn’t noticed. “I’d offer to carry you, but that ain’t voiding happening.”
An absurd idea.
Yet, unease gnaws at my mind, the bond rippling with fear and concern. It pulls me toward the exit of this metal-strewn purgatory. Now, as the heat of battle wanes, a thousand woundsmake themselves known—searing cuts, charred flesh, every nerve throbbing with pain. Each unsteady step sends an icy dagger lancing into my mind, a reminder of the cost of survival.
Drexios notices my hesitation. He moves to support me, his arms outstretched, unspoken, without mockery.
“No,” I rasp, waving him away, despite my vision swimming and my steps faltering.
This day—long and brutal—feels like an endless trial, a crucible that could crush even the toughest arcweave. But not me. I cannot be stopped. Not now. Not ever.
I refocus, breathing deeply, the blistering haze filling my scalded lungs as we make our way toward the exit.
“Princesa?” I croak, her rising fear and panic pulsing through our bond like a distant scream. “Why, leave her?” Each word is an effort, a searing agony that scrapes against my throat.
“That’s a good voiding question!” Drexios erupts into laughter, the sound jarring against the sizzling destruction surrounding us.
Every step reveals more ruined droids, their frames crushed and pressed into the walls like twisted metal sculptures. It could only be the work of my Princesa. Her powers grow, and with them, her recklessness and conceit.
It will spell our doom if she does not see reason. But she will only heed the words of the powerful. And I am diminished. My Klendathian blood will heal quickly, but Arawnoth’s blessing? The fires of his wrath may never return. Princesa may now be the strongest being alive—a power gifted too easily, unearned, unopposed. A chaotic wildfire. Beautiful. Unpredictable.
Dangerous.
I will find a way—I will bring you back from the brink. My Princesa.
“That venomous vipertail can look after herself,” Drexios sneers, kicking aside a twitching droid leg to clear our path.“Oh, I know the wild ones when I see them, trust me.” He barks a laugh, then abruptly cuts it off, his face etched with sudden seriousness. “As to the why. Why, oh, why ask the why, is it to pry? To make me cry? The Second comes after the First. One. Two. Three.” His shrill cackle fills the smoky halls.
“Lunatic,” I rasp, the scarcely audible grumble halting his laughter like a claw through vocal cords.
“A lunatic once said to the wise Second, ‘You’re in my way.’” He grimaces, scratching his head with the end of his blade. “It was something like that. Ah. Then this crazy bastard charged into an army of droids. Alone, his balls in one hand, claws in the other, a prayer on his lips. Was it to protect? To kill? A death wish? Who can say?”
He smirks up at me, his red eye glinting. “And here’s the best part—this wasn’t no ordinary berserker, but the true-born son of Gorexius, the Chieftain of the Magaxus. Not some vat-spawned clone.” He spits on the floor, face twisted with disgust. “The biggest. The strongest. A quiet, clever bastard. A leader like no other.” He turns to me, his expression stern, solid. “That’s who you are, War Chieftain Dracoth. That’s why I came back.” He claps his hand against my back, the armor clanging like a war drum.
Pride bursts within me, almost washing away my aches and weariness. For Drexios to speak these words, for him to come back for me... to see in me the qualities I strive to exemplify. The person I prayed I was. Prayers Arawnoth answered.
But something loathsome also comes—weakness. It threatens to consume me. Flushed skin, trembling lips, eyes moistening.
