Page 174 of Scorching the Alien Empire
A wave of flickering dots materializes before us, a vast horde surging into existence. So many that the screen is no longer a navigation display—it’s a blinding mass of pure white light.
My throat tightens.
“Uh... babes?” My voice is little more than a hushed whisper. “What dotheseblinky beeps mean?”
The space-knights behind me are already scrambling, voices rising in alarm.
Dracoth doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, his smoldering hand rests over mine. When he finally meets my gaze, his eyes burn like embers from the forge of a dying world.
“Argon-Six,” he says. “The last battle.”
Of course it is.
How wonderful.
Chapter 33
Dracoth
Fight for
“Yeah,Ithinkyoushould keep piloting for now,babes.” Princesa mutters, her misty silver-crimson eyes reflecting the pulsing white mass on the navigational display. I feel the ripple of doubt and fear from her side of our bond, but within me, there is only Rush. It surges through my veins like molten lava, burning with fury and murderous intent.
The warning alerts whine incessantly, each flash of red signaling another ship detected—another piece of an endless storm of light and clamor. My eyes flick across the console, struggling to process the sheer scale of what lies before us. Even my tactical mind strains under the weight of the numbers.
Millions? No. Billions.
A vast horde beyond imagining.
Some blips vanish as quickly as they appear, the flashing indicators of weapons discharge confirming what I already know. A battle—Krogoth’s alliance with the Nebians—an uprising against the Scythians’ murderous stranglehold on our people. A chance to win our freedom.
A chance to change our fates. To cleanse our sins in blood and death.
Our blood. Their death.
My hands tighten over the controls, frustration gnawing at me like a wyrm burrowing through my skull. What is the situation? Where are the battle lines? Where should I strike? The navigational display was never designed to handle such an overwhelming mass of ships—instead of individual markers, all I see is an impenetrable field of white light, a shapeless storm of war.
“Corsark, try to hail any ships,” I order, my voice a steady rumble beneath the raised voices of warriors and the garbled static haunting our comms.
“I... I can’t,” Corsark replies, his usual composure shaken. “Something is disrupting communications.”
The whispering static surges, curling through the air like a phantom’s breath. Amusement flickers at its edges, a distant, mocking laughter that presses into the recesses of my mind.
A chill cuts through the heat of my skin, sliding down my spine like an icy blade.
The Voidbringer.
Its presence lingers—unseen but suffocating. The murmurs in our ears slither through the comms like a miasma settling over us, an intangible toxin waiting to corrupt. It seeks to poison our hearts with fear.
But such weakness has no place in me.
My heart is a furnace of rage, a burning forge of brutal vengeance. Every beat pumps lifeblood for my people’s rebirth.
“Warvisors,” I command, sliding my own into place with a practiced motion. The mask seals around my face with a soft hiss. Below me, Princesa frowns, her annoyance obvious.
Then, my mind implodes with too much knowing.
The warvisor pricks my consciousness like a thousand sharpened needles. A tidal wave of awareness floods my mind, a violent surge of raw data and impossible scale.
