Page 177 of Scorching the Alien Empire
But the Seeker drones react.
The billion-strong Seeker drones respond, an enormous ocean of coordinated movement on an impossible scale. Perfect synchronization executed by a single consciousness—the Voidbringer.
They split off into groups tens of thousands thick, forming swirling screens protecting Voidbanes. I watch in astonishment as Starcruisers and Starfighters continue their onslaught only for the alarming intelligence of the enemy to reform the drones into a single line to absorb incoming fire.
Elsewhere, splinter formations break off, pursuing the Nebians.
The drones move like a plague, a sea of blistering plasma and grinding metal, hunting down its prey. Nebian Battlesuits vault into action, red booster trails flaring behind them as they escort their larger kin, repeater lasers raking fire into the relentless tide.
It’s surreal—the absolute scale of destruction. My warvisor-enhanced senses threaten to overwhelm me. No sound reaches us, no echoes of war, no screams of the dying. Only silence.
A silence so vast, it feels like it might consume us.
The battlefield is already littered with broken vessels, smoldering wrecks venting plasma into the void. Some detonate entirely—Elerium engines going critical, blasting molten shrapnel in all directions, shockwaves rippling through the fleets.
Passing high over the Scythian forces my warvisor blares with a new alert. A group of Seeker drones breaks formation, peeling away from the horde. Toward us. A smirk creases my lips at theinsult—a few thousand. So be it. If the Scythians won’t guard their flank, I’ll carve it open myself.
I shift the ship from advancing toward the friendly lines to evasive maneuvers, keeping our distance from the heart of the battle. The Seeker drones are close now, their glowing red lenses glinting ominously as they surge toward theRavager’s Ruinand myBattlebarge.
“Um... did your big shovel hands slip off the controls, babe?” Princesa asks, shifting forward in my lap. There’s an edge to her voice now, something approaching concern.
Then, as if trying to brush it off, she lets out a sharp, mock laugh. “Oh! Are you trying to teach me another lesson? Hah, very funny. A riot. Right, let’s hurry this along now.” Her fingers clutch at my arm—not playful this time, but urgent.
I ignore her.
“Fire!” My bellow thunders through the throne room, my arm swinging wide—nearly taking Princesa with it.
TheRavager’s Ruinresponds instantly.
A barrage of plasma cannons erupts, their rhythmic thuds reverberating through the hull like the pulse of Arawnoth’s molten heart. The viewport tilts as I maneuver, shifting the stars while shimmering blue plasma slices through the darkness. The blasts punch through the incoming drones, swallowing their shields, then their metal frames, then nothing.
Destroyed. Obliterated in an instant.
“Really, Dracoth?” Princesa huffs, brushing her hair back as she vigorously strokes Todd’s back, her fingers rubbing at his silver rune as if trying to scrub it off. “You almost woke up our little Chug Bug! Is now really the time to show off? You know, with the million-billion murder-bots floating around?”
Her voice is drowned out by the electric buzz of the shield generator, straining under the retaliatory fire. The distant thudof plasma strikes against the hull ripples through the chamber, but the ship holds firm.
“Shields at 95 percent, War Chieftain,” Corsark reports coolly.
More than enough.
My hands move automatically, fingers flying over the controls, weaving the ship through the chaos. The constant rhythmic thuds of plasma fire fade into the background. My focus remains on the pursuing horde that chased us from Scythian territory. My fingers hover over the controls, ready to break free.
Then—they stop.
As the Seeker drones reach the main battle, they don’t continue after us. They don’t engage. Instead, they slip effortlessly into formation, like a single drop merging with an ocean of glinting metal.
Strange.
The enemy’s focus is no longer on me—no longer on theRavager’s RuinTheir priority has shifted. Now, they focus on the Nebian fleet.
Their ranks are like blades of crimson light. Watching them tear through the Seeker Swarm, I almost feel a flicker of hope.
Almost.
Until I see it. The tactical error and disorganization amongst the defenders. The two hundred Battlebarges of my kin remain at the rear, fighting as a coordinated group—but not in support of the Nebians. Not just them. The mercenary vessels hover at the flanks, distant and uninvolved—mere observers. Cowards? Or something else?
They fight as three separate forces. A rift. A crack in the alliance. Distrust? The result of once-sworn enemies now forced to stand together at the last moment? No. Krogoth and the Nebians are no fools. There is more at play here.
