Page 141 of Scorching the Alien Empire
The berserkers advance in formation, a living wall of shields protecting the Revered Mothers. But they are too slow. They move like an armored mollusk, when an arrohawk’s speed is needed.
The fools protect that which is already protected. What needs guarding is our escape.
“Break rank!” I roar over the clamor of battle. “Operate the cannons! Prepare the shuttles for launch!”
“You heard the War Chief!” Drexios shrieks, spinning on his heel and pointing a clawed finger toward the warriors. “Move your lazy hides, you voiding snarlbrocs, or I’ll personally gut every last one of you!” His laughter rings out, wild and manic, as he dashes toward the ships.
The Seeker drones wheel overhead, weapons primed, their movement a blur of red and silver. They dive again, preparing for another strafing run.
Warriors brace behind their shields as the heat of a thousand suns rains down.
But they target our females.
Cruel. Brutal—a heartless machine’s calculation. Designed to break our spirits.
But they underestimate us. Underestimate her.
Plasma bolts surge downward, streaking toward the shielded females—only to freeze midair, suspended as if caught by unseen hands. The energy sputters, distorts, curling inward before sliding down the shimmering dome of Princesa’s barrier, pooling at her feet in bubbling puddles.
The retaliation is swift.
A storm of plasma fire erupts upward, scorching through the air, turning the darkness into a swirling maelstrom of blue. The heat warps the very air, hazy waves of distortion rippling outward. Dozens of drones are ripped apart in the chaos, theirshields flaring white-hot before failing, their frames bursting into fragments of molten slag.
Like dying meteors, they crash into the station floor in smoking wreckage, leaving behind streaks of burning blue fire.
“Cannons! Now!” I bellow, gesturing toward the shuttles.
My berserkers abandon their shield wall, breaking into a sprint, weapons raised as they charge toward the shuttles. Drexios is at their heels, barking obscenities between shots, weaving through plasma fire.
Above, the shorthair fleet surges forward. Hundreds of smaller vessels swarm the station, their ballistic cannons rattling as they engage the enemy drones. Their missiles detonate against Seeker shields, knocking them off course, creating an opening.
A smile tugs at my lips—my loyal shorthairs. Inept, reckless, but utterly fearless.
“War Chieftain, we... we must protect the females!” Jazreal’s voice is taut with shock and indignation. He steps forward, slamming the butt of his spear against the floor, the metallic clang ringing out like a challenge. “We cannot forsake them again! I won’t allow it!”
My gaze flicks between him and Princesa. She stands just beyond the protective barriers, arms folded, gaze locked on the battlefield, yet I feel the weight of her silent judgment pressing down on me.
I force the growl past my raw throat, my words coming out like grinding stone. “Rapid withdrawal is the only option. Go.”
I tower over him, letting my presence loom, letting him feel my shadow engulfing him. He hesitates, masked face tilting up to meet mine, his stance stubborn. Then, his gaze shifts—to her.
Rage boils up, scorching hot.
“Do not look to her, Death Herald!” My voice rips through the chaos as I lash out, gripping his chest plate and lifting himeffortlessly off his feet. “Question me again, and I will leave you here to suffer the folly of your inaction.”
I release him with a shove, turning my attention to Princesa instead.
Jazreal lands hard but doesn’t falter. “Understood, War Chieftain,” he says, rapping his spear against the floor in affirmation. Then, his head bows slightly toward her. “Divine Daughter.”
Divine Daughter.
So this is why he hesitates. He believes in her divinity. The unquestionable guidance of a Goddess. But we aren’t Gods. We are merely favored by them. And even Gods are not infallible. I have seen that harsh truth with my own eyes—Arawnoth, the molten deity, nearly extinguishing himself against the Voidbringer. A tactical error.
Princesa stands there, outside her protective barriers, as if daring the chaos to touch her.
I narrow my eyes. “Princesa, you—”
“Oh, babes, it was awful!” she interrupts, voice high-pitched and distraught, peeking around my broad frame as if to ensure none of the warriors hear her distress. “I mean, it wasbrilliantat the start, but then all these horrible murder-bots showed up, and the bone-through-the-nose—uh, space-knights—started asking me all these annoying questions I couldn’t answer.”
