Page 184 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“Kill,” I snarl, my arm sweeping wide. “Kill the Scythians.”
Drexios howls with glee, his fingers dancing across the weapon consoles. “Kill, kill, kill. Get your fill.”
TheRavager’s Ruinshudders, a deafening barrage thundering through the hull. Blinding blue plasma and crimson laser streaks ignite the void, each impact tearing into the fleeing Scythians. Their once flawless formation collapses into chaos.
Melted. Sliced. Swallowed.
They die in their millions.
The void becomes a graveyard, littered with their shattered wreckage—a monument to our triumph.
A strange sensation washes over me, something unnatural yet invigorating. Not Rush. Not bloodlust. Something else. It surges through me like fire in my veins, cascading over my body, banishing all doubt, all hesitation. Confidence crystallizes into absolute certainty.
What is this energizing feeling?
Princesa stiffens in my lap.
“Wow, wow, what the hell’s happening to your back?” she gasps, twisting in my arms to glare at her pet cyloillar.
The bloated, useless creature is oblivious, its large gleaming black eye blinking lazily, mandibles parting slowly as Princesa fusses at the strange rune on its back segment. The Klendathian symbol formirrorflares bright silver, blazing with an unnatural luminescence.
“Don’t explode my little Chug Bug. I love you!” she shrieks, hugging Todd like a detonating plasma grenade.
“What the void’s your problem?” Drexios barks, barely sparing her a glance. “I feel voiding great. Like the longest drag of Scoomer. Ahh!” He tilts his head back, inhaling deeply before snapping his attention to the warriors lining the walls. “You feel it too, don’t you boys? All tingly and fuzzy inside.”
The warriors break their solemn vigilance, nodding and muttering in agreement.
Princesa squints at them, then at Todd, then at me.
“It’s stopped?” she mutters, brows furrowed in confusion. The rune no longer glows. The strange energy vanishes. She exhales sharply, lifting the bloated creature with a grunt. Todd squirms in protest, his numerous needle-like legs skittering in the air as she turns him over for inspection. “That was so random.” She shifts toward Drexios. “I didn’t feel anything.”
“Oh, you missed out on the good stuff,Pinkie. I feel voiding amazing!” Drexios laughs, raking his extended claws over his warvisor.
“Okay psycho.” She drags the word mockingly, then peers up at me. “You too, babes?”
“Yes,” I growl, eyes locked on the battle as the Scythians fall back under our relentless assault.
Princesa strokes the cyloillar’s rubbery skin, her tone playful. “Did you do this, my little Toddster? Did your divine grandmother make you all-powerful as well as super-cute? Oh yes, she did.” She pouts dramatically. “But of course, I’m the one left out.” With a sigh, she settles Todd back onto her shoulder.
But I barely hear her. My focus remains on the battlefield, my jaw clenched tight.
This battle boon... where did it come from? A gift from the Gods? The ancestors urging us onward, demanding vengeance?
Whatever its source, the effect is immediate. The fleet surges forward with newfound fury, slicing through the darting Scythian ranks in streaks of molten fire.
They scatter like a swarm of znats recoiling from an inferno that seeks to burn them from existence. Even the mercenary ships grow emboldened, weaving between the chaos, theirpulsar cannons spitting green light into the collapsing enemy formation.
A deep, burning elation courses through me, and I bare my fangs in righteous fury. The Magaxus ships press forward, driving into the withering heart of the enemy. This is justice. This is vengeance long overdue. The buried hatred of entire peoples erupts in an unstoppable tide, a force of pure retribution. Every blast, every slicing beam, carries with it centuries of suffering and defiance.
Our hope. Their extinction. The impossible dream ignites before our very eyes, flashing red and blue across the void. Victory—so close I can taste it. The unstoppable beast lies dying, its throat bared, its claws shattered, oozing blood, drawing its last breaths.
We all feel it. We all see it. The precipice of salvation. A triumph that will echo through eternity, heralding our glorious rebirth.
Then, the comms crackle with a shrill burst of static—an eerie, disjointed shriek, like the death cry of something that should not exist. A single word emerges from the discord, a curse that slithers down my spine like ice.
“CONTROL.”
Chapter 35
