Page 22 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“Did you hear whatheand Princesa were doing during the hunt, Ignixis?” Jazreal asks, the smirk on his lips widening as he risks a glance at the yawning old gas-cloud.
“I do not care to learn such sordid details, Death Herald,” Ignixis rasps, his tone laced with faint disgust.
Foolish to take your eyes off your opponent—even for a heartbeat. I seize the moment, stepping inside his flurry of thrusts, throwing a brutal elbow aimed for his head.
Predictably, he ducks with impressive speed, but right into the path of my rising knee.
Victory is mine for the span of a breath—until Jazreal twists, deflecting my strike with both hands. The impact launches him into the air. Time seems to slow as he folds into a smooth backflip, landing just beyond the sandy perimeter of the arena.
Jazreal glances down at his feet, a grimace spreading across his face. “You win another one,” he declares with a short laugh.
“No,” I growl. The notion that the finest warriors in the universe should be confined to a paltry circle of sand offends me. “Ignore the ring. It disadvantages your speed.”
Jazreal inclines his head in respect, twirling his spear in quick, efficient arcs—training maneuvers executed perfectly.
“If you relied less on your strength and more on technique, you might’ve caught me cleanly,” he suggests, his tone annoyingly measured.
My grip tightens on the wooden claws, the handles groaning under the strain. Thathe—a warrior I’ve bested repeatedly—dares to mock me with drills fit for a Prospect.
“It is you who should improve,Death Herald.” I sneer down at him. The Rush blazing through my veins, demanding release.
“Now, now, young Dracoth. We’ve discussed your childish outbursts,” Ignixis interjects, clicking his tongue. His condescension grates like claws on rock. “And know I sought Jazreal’s aid to teach you what I cannot.”
Did he?And yet, the mystery ofhowIgnixis convinced him to join our cause remains unsolved.
“What can the vanquished teach the conqueror?” I demand, my glare shifting to Ignixis, daring him to justify his flawed logic.
But it is Jazreal who answers, unperturbed. “You swing wide and hard, as if to smash a Battlebarge to pieces, when with your great strength, even a glancing blow would take the head off an aurodon.” He stretches his shoulder and neck with casual ease.
“You’d have me prancing through the air?” I jab my practice claws at him accusingly, the notion absurd. “Like me, you lead where you’re strongest—for you, speed.”
“I’ve fought in the Ravager Berserkers for over five hundred years,” Jazreal replies, his casual tone sharpening like tempered arcweave. “Centuries of unending battle and death. Fighting with and against the best the universe has to offer. So no, WarChieftain, unlike you, all my skills are honed to their zenith, tested in war’s brutal embrace.”
Unimpressed, I suppress a frown. “Yet your so-calledzenithfails to best one who swings too wide?”
“Infuriating, isn’t he?” Ignixis interjects from nearby, his cackling laughter rattling like chains. The gas-cloud Elder is hunched over a graviton belt, tinkering with its controls. “I choose to believe it’s not his fault, but the combined arrogance of youth and genius rolled up into that boulder he calls a head.”
“It’s a simple concept, Dracoth.” Ignixis continues, approaching with a gleam in his hooded green eyes. “Your talent precludes you from the joy of effort, the beauty of struggle, because for you, it’s all too easy.”
He throws the graviton belt at my feet with a heavy clang. “Put this on,” he orders, his tone brooking no argument. “With this, you’ll have no choice but to adapt.”
I frown, picking up the belt and wrapping it around my waist. They think me a fool—that I don’t understand. But it is they who are fools.
“What purpose does this serve?” I demand, gesturing to the contraption now fastened around me. “I’ll not face Krogoth wearing this device. Like Jazreal, he will succumb to mytalent.”
“No,” Jazreal says, his voice unusually serious. “Krogoth is faster and stronger than me.”
I stare at him, barely believing the words. Jazreal, who moves like an arrohawk, admits inferiority?
“He was always one of our best,” Jazreal continues, his expression grim. “And when he fought your father... he was greater still. Unbelievably so. His blows appeared like streaks of light.” He shakes his head as if dispelling a nightmare. “You must improve, or you’ll not land a single blow against him.”
“Oh, dear, young Dracoth,” Ignixis titters, his laughter breaking the tension like a snapping twig. “You best activate that belt now.”
My gaze drops to the graviton device strapped to my waist, my mind a storm of questions and doubts. I’ve heard many wild boasts about Krogoth’s power and skill, but coming from Jazreal—an impressive warrior himself, with a rare sincerity in his voice—it lends those boasts a troubling credibility.
As I flick the switch on the belt, a sinister hum resonates through the air. An impossible force bears down on me, crushing the breath from my lungs. It’s as if the weight of the entire cosmos has settled on my shoulders. My muscles quake with the effort it takes to draw a single breath, to turn my head even slightly.
“Death Herald,” Ignixis intones, his voice laced with cold amusement. “Teach our young War Chieftain the meaning behind our words. If you’d be so kind.”
