Page 145 of Scorching the Alien Empire
A sneer bares my fangs as the volley strikes home, vaporizing drones in a blinding cascade. Their shields rupture instantly, their metal bodies disintegrating as if they were but fragments from a fading nightmare.
The horde retaliates.
Tens of thousands of red-glinting lenses flicker like malevolent insects. Molten plasma rains down, hammering against our shields with brutal, ceaseless force. Each impact is a blinding surge of white-hot energy, the ship groaning under the relentless assault.
Some drones crash like arcweave meteorites against the barrier itself. Razor-sharp limbs extend from their spherical bodies, slashing wildly, spinning erratically as they hack and tear with mechanical precision.
“Shields at fifty percent, War Chieftain,” Corsark reports, his voice calm despite the chaos. His fingers fly over the holographic controls, adjusting our defenses with the precision of a seasoned warrior.
A smirk tugs at my lips. Fifty percent is more than enough. The Voidbanes may be monstrous in size and strength, but they cannot match our speed. With the shorthair fleet docked, I’ve eliminated the liability of their outdated engines, securing our retreat. And yet...
My eyes drift to the vast unknown ahead.
A half-day’s travel through Scythian territory stands between us and Argon Six. What awaits us there? Salvation? Damnation? An alliance, or another battle for survival? The uncertainty gnaws at me, but there is no turning back.
I loathe guessing, but there is no strategy for the unknown—only faith. This is the moment to gamble, to trust the Gods, theancestors. Let them guide our course. Let them move through me, the chosen of Arawnoth.
The ship finishes its banking maneuver, the immense viewport stabilizing just as the engines ignite. The deck trembles, and then, the stars erupt into motion. A burst of kaleidoscopic light streaks across the viewport, the shields shimmering under the dazzling reflections. We cut through the void at hyperspeed, plunging deeper into the unknown.
I exhale slowly, some tension easing from my chest. The navigational console displays our Battlebarge alongside us, the distance between our fleet and the Voidbanes growing with every second. Yet the Seeker drones remain, clinging to our wake like parasites, millions more matching our speed behind.
Amusing.
Now, I must wager on Krogoth’s alliance with the Nebians. A thought that once repulsed me is now our only lifeline. I was a fool not to see it sooner.
Blinded by the fires of my father’s glory. Crushed under the weight of his legacy.
The old and wise knew the truth long before me. The Scythians were never our allies. They were not merely an ambitious empire seeking conquest, but the true scourge of all life, the scourge of everything. Only fear—fear of my father and his fury—held the clans together.
Except the Draxxus.
Krogoth’s clan.
Ironic.
The weakest clan proved to be the bravest. Their resolve, his foresight has led to this moment—this chance.
My fists clench, the bone-laden armrests of my throne groaning under the pressure. The conflicting emotions twist my insides into knots.
Krogoth. The one who shamed me. The one who killed my father. Honor demands his death.
And yet...
I glance at my open fingers, the same fingers I once swore would ring the life from his throat. But now? There is no rage, no burning fury.
Only begrudging respect.
“Corsark,” I say, noticing the other ship’s shields pulsing with diminishing strength under the swarming drones’ relentless assault. “Focus fire to cover the Battlebarge.”
“At once, War Chieftain.” Corsark’s fingers blur over the console, redirecting the weapons.
TheRavager’s Ruintrembles under the rhythmic thud of battle, a steady war drum beating in the heart of the ship. Our cannons pivot, locking onto the Seeker drones.
Then, with a deafening blast, a salvo of twin-linked plasma beams lances through the void.
The drones scatter, darting with frantic, erratic motions—too slow. Many are caught in the barrage, their shields winking out in an instant. Their frames disintegrate, vanishing into searing blue light. Others are partially hit, cleaved open, the molten edges of their wounds glowing, resembling a dying schematic.
“Are we winning?” Drexios asks. His voice jolts me from my thoughts, his presence unexpected. I don’t need to turn to know he’s there—I can hear the smirk in his tone.
