Page 149 of Scorching the Alien Empire
Divine Father probably took one look at his pathetic little glow sticks, laughed his molten head off, and decided to abandon us both. Yep. We’re just two little snot-nosed brats dumped on the steps of the nearest cosmic monastery.
How is that fair? Just because Dracoth has... issues getting his flames up doesn’t mean I’m useless and should be punished too. If anything, I’ve been the one carrying Arawnoth’s teachings forward. I’ve been blessing the space-knights, spreading the sacred words, dusting them with Ignixis’s holy ashes like a celestial seasoning shaker.
At the thought, my fingers graze the near-empty pouch at my hip, and a stab of anxiety flares in my chest. If I’d known Ignixis’s ashes would fly off the shelves like the last turkeys before Thanksgiving, I would’ve fattened him up a bit before he died.
I’m going to need more—um, remains. But where?
I tap a finger against my chin, already deep in thought as I stride toward the exit, the door closing behind me with a smooth hiss. I don’t recall deciding where to go, but my feet carry me in the direction of Razgor’s lab, regardless. The last place I remember being before total exhaustion nearly drove me face-first into a metal table.
The dimly lit purple corridor stretches before me, a vast black marble-clad hallway built for wannabe rock-star-like giants. It reminds me of a museum. Vaulted walls lined with garish war trophies—singed banners, shattered bones, and battered weapons mounted like relics. Some of them look like ancient guns, though knowing these bone-through-the-noses, they probably fire smaller guns that shoot laser claws or something equally ridiculous.
There’s a distinct lack of relentless thudding rattling through the ship’s core now. Before I slept, the constant barrage of energy blasts had been endless—a demented fire alarm I couldn’t turn off. Now, the absence of it lets me breathe a little easier.
I guess Dracoth deserves some credit. The way he took charge, got us out of there and away from the murder-bot swarm. All busted and bruised like an overripe banana, still booming orders, still slaughtering everything around him.
It was kind of hot.
At least he’s still got some heat smoldering in those big, clown-sized feet of his. My fingers absently trail over the scorched flesh on my chest and neck before I catch myself.
“Bad fingers,” I scold, snatching my hand back.
I mean, to be fair, Dracoth only did what his meathead training taught him. And while I’ll admit that I may have been a teeny, tiny bit overwhelmed by all the loud banging and clanging yesterday. But given time and practice, I can lead these jocks just as well as he can. Just like how I learned the sacred words of Arawnoth—well, some of them.
Yep. Things are looking up. Soon, I won’t need anyone. I’ll be the complete package. Lexiage.
A soft “Oh” escapes my lips as something outside the viewport catches my eye.
Dazzling streaks of multicolored light spill through the reinforced glass, shimmering like a sparkling diamond held against the sun. I step closer, drawn like a Lexie-moth to a flame.
Beyond, our ship cuts through the void like a bullet made of rainbows, framed by our pulsing blue shield. It’s the stars. We’re going so fast they’ve become strips of confetti. It means only one thing.
Confetti-speed.We’re traveling at confetti-speed.
To where? I have no idea.
And for what purpose? Another excellent question.
But I trust Divine Mother and Father to guide me along the yellow-brick road to godhood. Unlike my basic parents, who failed spectacularly.
Two abandoning pricks!
The thought sours my mood instantly. Seriously, screw them. They’re nothing but mental clutter—fashion disasters of my past, ready to be tossed out like last season’s worst trends. Perms, low-rise jeans, corsets, gnomish furs—hobo chic, the whole stupid lot of it.
My hand groans under clenching fingers, nails digging into my palms, I hardly notice a bone-through-the-nose marching past, his blonde mohawk swaying against his back.
“Divine Daughter.” He punches his own chest like a silly gorilla, bowing his ash-smeared head in reverence.
Oh, yeah. That’s right. I’m marvelous.
Like flipping a switch, my posture straightens, my fingers unfurl, and my expression shifts into one of effortless grace. A warm, knowing smile spreads across my lips as I turn toward him.
“May Arawnoth burn away your weakness,” I intone, voice rich with authority as I trace runes in the air.
I have no idea why and when I started doing that—A replica of my runic chest and neck brand—but my followers seem to love it. So, naturally, I kept it.
The space-knight, a towering wall of muscle and armor, copies my movement, his massive gloved hand following the delicate arc I drew. It’s hilarious and delicious—this terrifying soldier performing a dainty little flourish because of me. I nearly laugh with delight but smother the urge with all the regal composure I can muster.
He hesitates, shifting on his feet like a nervous toddler about to confess to eating all the cookies. “I had a dream,” he admits at last, his voice thick with unspoken weight. “A vision, Divine Daughter.”
