Page 38 of Scorching the Alien Empire
My ascension.
Before I can speak, Ignixis cuts in, a hint of distaste in his tone. “Tellthem,” he snarls, spitting the last word out like the vilest venom, “Dracoth, son of War Chieftain Gorexius, seeks the Crucible.”
Nexarn’s hands dart over the shimmering console with precision as an eerie, tense silence hangs in the air.
Then it happens—a blinding blue ray bursts from the sea of drones, countless individual beams converging into a single, dazzling strobe. It sweeps over my Battlebarge with overwhelming intensity, forcing me to narrow my eyes against its brilliance.
“They’re scanning the fleet, War Chieftain,” Keth announces the obvious, his tone utterly flat.
“I hope they can’t see through clothes,” Princesa mutters, wrapping her chieftainess cloak tightly around herself as if to shield against the invasive light. “You know, like how you were perving on us with that scary mask of yours,” she adds, shooting me a pointed look.
Where does she conjure these ridiculous notions from?
“You lie. It was you who kept exposing yourself,” I remind her with a stern glare.
“Me!” she fires back, indignant. “Says the guy who stole our—”
More garbled shrieks of nonsensical static cut through Princesa’s protest like the sharpest claw. Jarring and shrill,it rakes across my senses, a calculated weapon designed to unnerve and intimidate.
“That isso goddamnannoying,” Princesa huffs, placing a hand protectively over her pet cyloillar’s segmented head. “Poor wee Todd can’t hear himself think.”
If the meaningless creature thinks at all.
“War Chieftain, they command us to follow them,” Nexarn says, his green eyes locking onto mine. “Any deviation from the path will result in immediate termination.”
“We’d better stay between the lines, then,” Princesa quips, though the meaning of her words escapes me.
“Inform them to proceed,” I command, my voice steady despite the unease roiling beneath my calm. “Instruct Balsar to follow us... closely.”
“Are their hearts strong enough, young Dracoth?” Ignixis asks, his tone dripping with mockery, somehow echoing my own unspoken doubts. “Will dread’s icy clutches snatch their feeble resolve?” His green eyes narrow, glinting with accusation. “I wonder... how will the Scythians respond if even one of their number flees?”
“Silence!” I roar, my glare promising swift retribution if he dares speak further. The old gas-cloud only glides toward the navigation console, a smug smirk twisting his scorched face.
Outside, the writhing visage of endless red eyes collapses, dissipating like grains of sand slipping through unseen fingers. In a disturbingly synchronized motion, the drones part before my fleet, forming twin lines of crimson lights that stretch beyond the horizon—a path to either glory or damnation.
“Keth, take us through,” I command, my gaze locked ahead, scanning for any sign of treachery.
The engines hum louder, vibrating through the deck as my Battlebarge glides forward, steady through the void.
Princesa slips from my grasp, rushing to the viewport. “This looks like an airport runway... well, minus the endless murder-bots,” she muses, her voice tinged with awe as her nose nearly presses against the reinforced polymer.
But my focus is elsewhere—on the fleet trailing behind us. My eyes flick to the navigation display, where hundreds of blinking neon dots form a steady procession. Relief loosens my shoulders. All follow. All show courage. My loyal Shorthairs—they continue to impress.
“What are those things?” Princesa asks, her voice cutting through my thoughts. She gestures toward the viewport, where a vast latticework of machines emerges from the void.
Unlike the Seeker drones, these constructs are massive and square, with crackling green energy forming crosses that jut from their frames. Together, they weave an intricate web of power, blanketing the expanse like a pulsing, artificial constellation. Occasionally, sharp beams of green light sweep over my Battlebarge, their purpose unknown and unsettling.
“The profane,” Ignixis hisses, his bald head swiveling as he scans the viewport. Disgust deepens the furrows in his face.
“Brilliant,” Princesa mutters, her exasperation plain as she absently strokes Todd for comfort.
The matrix of machines grows denser, forcing the path of red Seeker drones to weave and undulate, their gleaming forms dodging the crisscrossing beams of green energy. The latticework is so vast and intricate now that it casts an eerie glow across the void, bathing everything in a ghostly hue like the spectral fingers of some malevolent force tightening its grip.
Our ship tilts and shudders, mirroring the winding route laid out before us. Keth’s unwavering focus remains locked on the holographic navigation display. His hands dart over the controls with intense mastery.
“More come to herald your coronation,great War Chieftain,” Ignixis declares, with a loathsome hint of mockery in my title. His gnarled finger traces the viewport. “Look at them, aren’t they splendid? Lifeless hulks of metal, their sole purpose only death and destruction.” He titters, feigning an exaggerated shiver. “Eerily familiar, isn’t it?”
He cackles, the sound as shrill and grating as the Scythians’ garbled transmissions. I ignore the old gas-cloud, unable to decipher his more unsettling slips into madness.
