Page 5 of Scorching the Alien Empire
The fires of my ambition glow brighter, reigniting like the molten rivers that flow beneath the volcanic rocks of Scarn.
“Arawnoth’s will flows through my veins,” I growl, my fists trembling with barely restrained passion. “Iamworthy.”
“Good, Dracoth,” Ignixis nods, the shadows of his hood deepening around his face. “Though I wonder if you possess the strength to do what’s necessary,” he mutters, his voice dragging with exhaustion as he slumps further into his chair like a creeping shadow. “Your pathetic junkers are an anchor around our necks. We don’t have the credits to supply their ships—let alone this vessel.” He gestures lazily, his skeletal hands sweeping over the war room.
My gaze falters. The problem is known to me—the solution remains elusive.
“Junkers?” Jazreal scoffs, his ruined face twisting with disdain. “What good could such a rabble serveus?” His piercing eyes lock onto mine, disbelief cutting through the room. “We should strip the weaklings of their Elerium and demand their thanks for sparing their wretched lives.”
“No,” I growl without hesitation, an unknown instinct pulling the word from my lips. I’ve considered Jazreal’s idea myself, but refuse to betray the junker’s loyalty. Deep down, I know their usefulness is yet to come. “I will find another way.”
“Seriously?” Princesa interjects, her tone sharp, her lips curling into a wicked smirk. “I’m with Jazzy and Iggy on this one.They’re a bunch of creeps. Let’s take what we need—wait, screw that. Let’s take everything and leave them here to rot.”
“Dracoth,” Ignixis exhales heavily, his sigh laden with disappointment. “You are not ready yet. Your heart, while strong, still beats with the soft naivety of youth—not the ruthless cunning leadership demands.”
A tense silence grips the room as I meet their expectant eyes, my resolve as unyielding as volcanic stone. Before anyone can press further, the war room door hisses open, drawing our attention to the trembling form of a Tuskarian male.
“Oh!” Balsar exclaims, his beady eyes widening in alarm as they sweep across the room. “You... you summoned me, great War Chieftain?”
The scent of his sweaty fear—sharp and acrid—wrinkles my nose as I study him. It amuses me to see his flaxen hair remain shaved bald, a lingering mark of shame I bestowed upon him. His long polymer coat now bears a new badge: an emblem of a ferocious red beast surrounded by flames. The crown of its head is shaved in some poor imitation of honor.
“Sit,” I command, flicking a clawed finger toward an empty seat farthest from Princesa.
“At... at once, great War Chieftain,” Balsar stammers, forcing a smile that doesn’t touch his darting eyes. He plods forward like a lost puffrio, stumbling into a den of hungry hydraliths.
Ignixis chuckles darkly from beneath his hood. “Speak of the netherworld,” he murmurs, his voice coiled like a vipertail ready to strike. “We were just discussing yourfuture, Captain,” he hisses, each word dripping venom.
“Full of riches, I hope,” Balsar croaks, his nervous laughter ringing alone and dying in the tense air. “Well... um,” he swallows the lump in his throat as he awkwardly collapses into his chair. “Of course, I live to serve—nothing more.” He flashes me a trembling smile, as fleeting as his courage.
“I’m sure pleasing us is at the forefront of your mind, Captain,” Ignixis drawls, meshing his scorched fingers together.
Jazreal shifts his chair away from Balsar, his expression contorted in disdain, as if cowardice were a contagion he might catch from the trembling Tuskarian.
“Tell me,” Ignixis continues, his molten emerald eyes flashing under the shadow of his hood, “do you have any moregiftsfor us?”
“G-gifts?” Balsar stammers, his cream-colored skin blotching darker under the weight of our scrutiny.
“Yes, gifts,” Ignixis sighs, his voice soft with mockery, as though savoring a memory. “Like that sweet treat you brought last time.” He leans back as if reliving a beautiful kill or a luxurious feast. “Fifty thousand credits, was it? Something like that would be... delicious.”
“How... how would I acquire such an amount?” Balsar’s tusks quiver, his snout twitching as though sniffing the danger in the air. “We’ve been loyally following you!”
Disappointment gnaws at me, twitching my fingers. “What of crew and supplies?” I grumble, my crimson gaze piercing into his wide, desperate eyes.
“Begging your pardon, great War Chieftain, there weren’t many willing to join. You Klendathians keep an... orderly planet.” His voice falters as he glances at the others, finding no ally. “As for supplies, we picked up what we could afford, which wasn’t much.”
Disappointing.
“Shame, Captain,” Ignixis clicks his tongue, his yellowed fangs glinting faintly as he sneers. “Some of us had high hopes for you and your...people.” His hooded gaze flicks toward me. “Not me, of course. I knew your anemic blood would disappoint. The problem now is that we’ve no need for suckling babes at the teat, draining precious resources. Isn’t that right...great WarChieftain?” His mocking tone twists the title, demanding I prove I’m strong enough to bear it.
Hesitantly, I rise from my chair. The eyes of the others call for action—demanding strength, to prove I’m worthy to do what is necessary. Even Princesa’s silver eyes glint with predatory glee, urging me forward.
I sigh, a weary sound laden with resignation, and turn toward Balsar. My claws extend with a sharp, deliberate snap.
“Don’t, great War Chieftain! We are loyal!” Balsar shrieks, stumbling from his seat, retreating into the dark metal corner. His trembling hand tugs at the badge on his lapel—a flaming red beast encircled by fire. “You see this?” he pleads, voice cracking. “We are Dracoth’s Shorthairs now.YourShorthairs!” He runs a shaky hand over his shaved scalp, as if the sight of it might save him.
His desperate display halts my thudding approach, a flicker of dark amusement igniting the embers of my heart. But from the corner of my eye, I catch Ignixis scowling beneath his hood, his claws drumming impatiently on the metal table.
“Loyalty,” I grumble, resuming my murderous advance, “is not enough for life.”
