Page 227 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“I see...” the Imperator drawls, suddenly older. He eyes Vorthax. “And you? You stood with War Chieftain Gorexius and the Scythians?”
“I did. Istilldo!” Vorthax’s voice echoes like war drums. Mutters ripple through the Nebian ranks. “Wehadyou! You were broken. Ripe for the slaughter before this—this treason!”
“Guards, seize these tribal barbarians—” Consul Juliara snaps, her voice shrill with contempt.
My muscles coil. Nebian weapons twitch. Battlesuits hum.
“Delay that order!” The Imperator’s voice crashes through the chamber like a thunderclap. Silence falls instantly. “Cross me again, Consul Juliara, and you may find another electioncalled in your province. I fear the imperial coffers will be... less generous this time.”
Juliara lowers her head. “I beg your forgiveness, Imperator.”
The Imperator turns to Krogoth, his voice dropping into something colder, older. “Some advice, High Chieftain. Many cycles ago, I stood where you stand now. They called me tyrant. Usurper.Me.After I bled to unite my people. I offered friendship, forgiveness. Demonstrated fair and just rule. A society built on logic, reason, and justice. But they saw only weakness. The more I gave, the more they demanded.”
He inhales, his gaze drifting upward to the fresco above. Twin suns warring in the heavens.
“Until one day... my Domina Stellara boarded a ship with our son.” His voice hardens. “They killed them both. A bomb meant for me. Elerium-infused. Nothing left but smoke.”
The silence is sharp asarcweave.
“I remember their faces still. Not because I cherished them—but because I seared the memory into my soul while Iexecutedevery last dissident.”
He chuckles once, bitter and low. “Hatred passed. What remained was clarity.”
The Imperator steps forward, voice like claws dragged across stone. “You began a righteous rebellion, High Chieftain. But you did not finish it. The old guard remains—defiant, rotting at the root. Youmustcomplete the purge if you mean to lead. That is the price of peace. And the only way our alliance endures.”
Bulba surprises me with his strength. But that strength bodes ill for my ambitions.
The weight of the chamber settles on Krogoth like a crown of stone. His Mortakin-Kis, Rocks, clings to his side, whispering frantic words as if shouting through water.
But it’s Vorthax who finds his voice first.
“Do it—if you possess the courage!” he roars, not with anger, but calm resolve. “I do not fear death.” He steps forward, arms spread, golden eyes burning with Rush. “Murder me as you murdered my war brother!” His voice trembles, as do the colorful feathers bristling from his grey hair.
Krogoth doesn’t hesitate. His black-furred cloak sways as he turns away from Vorthax.
“I will not,” he declares.
He lifts his chin toward the Imperator, voice firm, uncompromising. “The days of foreign powers dictating to me—or my people—are over.”
The words land like hammer blows. A sharp intake of Nebian breaths.
“Our ways may seem strange to you. But we are not animals. Each of us—every Klendathian—shares a bond. A binding of brothers.” He glances back at my mother, his face softening. “And sisters—forged in hardship, sharpened by blood. Siblings may fight. But we resolve it our way. For all we have in this universe is kinship.”
My heart soars at his fine words. Sincere. Resolute. They mirror my own thoughts.
The Imperator folds his arms, peering down from his vaunted celestial perch like a displeased deity. Through the heated Nebian muttering, Consul Juliara steps forward, broad features twisted with contempt.
“Your lack of intelligence is truly astounding,” she sneers. “Laughable, if it weren’t so utterly nauseating.” She turns to her companions, gesturing wildly with a stubby arm. “Must we subject ourselves to such drivel, drooled from barely-evolved brutes? This—this—is what my Horaxus died for?”
Her laugh is cruel, and she jabs a quivering finger toward Krogoth. “This one hides behind flowery ideals of ‘bonds.’ While this other barbarian,” She flicks a hand at Vorthax, “begsforexecution. And what of your civil war two centuries ago? You tore your own females from their babes and gifted them to the Fallen Scythians. Tell me again, savage—about your sacred ‘kinship.’”
She drives a claw into the festering wound at the heart of our people.An injury carved by my father into our history—inflicted before my time.
Krogoth bares his fangs. His eyes blaze violet. But it’s Rocks who calms him, tiptoeing to whisper in his ear, her hand pressed to his chest. Her gaze locks with the Imperator as if his very soul is laid bare before her.
“Bonds once forgotten are now reforged,” I growl, voice echoing through the Nebian opulence. “Through us, the Gods delivered victory.”
Juliara scoffs. “This one? He’s so grotesquely large he can only grunt cryptic delusions.” She waves her hand as though brushing me from existence.
