Page 307 of Scorching the Alien Empire
Then—Nebian murder-orbs descend.
A swarm of them, sleek and silver, dart toward the cooling ruin. Their laser-tips flicker, sculpting the slag with surgical precision. Metal groans. Steam bursts upward in hissing veils.
I grip Dracoth’s wrist, pointing like a child at an amusement park. “Look, babes!”
The ruinmoves. Sculpted by machine. Forged in heat.
An effigy rises—a towering Mr. Frowny Face, his axe raised high, hollow eyes smoldering pits ready to be filled with eternal flame.
Dracoth chuckles low and deep, his pride rumbling through my spine.
But the murder-orbs aren’t done. No. They appreciate a bit of drama.
Beside him, another figure forms.
Me.
A wild Lexie appears, immortalized in gleaming metal. One hand raised in benediction, the other cradling a very round, very shiny Todd like the Divine Cherub he is.
I gasp. “Look, Chug Bug!” I jostle him gently.
Todd’s single sleepy eye cracks open. His Wrapper-Tok ruffles once in drowsy confusion. “You’re famous!”
His mandibles clack once. Then it’s all too much for his little heart—sleep claims him again.
What’s he like?
“I love it,” I say. My voice is thick with wonder. “I love all of it.”
The crowd’s chant continues. The drums pound. Dracoth’s chest rumbles against my back like a thunderstorm filled with pride and hunger and the unspoken promise offorever.
I squint at the statue. “...Okay but, like, they could’ve beenslightlykinder on that midsection.”
Dracoth snorts, amused. The bond between us pulses—hot with laughter, with desire, with something more ancient than either.
The crowd, of course, cheers louder. Because why wouldn’t they?
It’s almost perfect. But there’s always next time.
“Absence has made Klendathor’s air all the sweeter,” Dracoth rumbles, inhaling a wind-tunnel breath that nearly yanks the car-sized red leaves off branches thick as Earth trees. “Though this Draxxi air is too light. Too... soil-like.” He sniffs with loud disapproval.
“Tell me about it,” I agree, sinking deeper into his warm embrace like some sexy-Lexie marsupial. “Why are the trees so bloodymassive? And what’s making all these creepy noises? Wee Todd’s booties are shaking.” I clutch him closer—my adorable, rubbery stress-ball—while my eyes dart over the dense forest. Every eerie bark or alien croak has me swiveling like a disturbed bobblehead.
But there’s nothing. Just trees. Big trees. Bigger trees. Forest stacked on forest, climbing so high they vanish into the purple-tainted sky.
Who grows trees this big? Rampaging hippies. That’s who.
“So do Krogs and Rocks really live in a treehouse?” I ask as Dracoth trudges through knee-deep foliage like a not-so-jolly-red-giant who’s late for his flight.
“Yes,” he growls, glancing upward like he half-expects Godzilla to drop in for tea—which, given this planet, isn’t out of the question. “All Draxxus do. They crave mold and dark places. As all grubs do.”
Did... did his lip just twitch?
Might be a trick of the violet light seeping through the canopy, but I swear that was a smirk.
“Oh my Gods, was that a joke?” I gasp. “Babes, I’m so proud.”
No response. Just pure, concentrated Mr. Frowny Face.
