Page 57 of Scorching the Alien Empire
Ignixis’s head hangs, shaking it ruefully. He looks ancient—more so than usual—as though he’s aged decades in mere hours. “Spoken with the boundless arrogance of youth... I wish I had more time to guide you... but tomorrow, we consult the Crucible. There, you will be tested, with the destiny of the universe hanging in the balance.”
Dread grips my heart like an icy fist, squeezing the breath from my chest. Ignixis’s concern, this mysterious Crucible—it threatens everything Dracoth and I have built.
“Blessed daughter?” Ignixis calls, snapping me from my disturbing thoughts. “Perhaps you could enlighten our young War Chieftain on the error of his thinking?” He gestures up at the immense throne, his tone lacking the usual dark amusement.
All eyes turn to me, their eager expectations sending butterflies barrel-rolling in my stomach. None are more intimidating than Dracoth himself, looming above, his gaze piercing my very soul. I almost stroke the rubbery skin from poor Todd, searching for comfort as I scramble to organize my thoughts.
“Like fashion, like everything—appearances matter,” I begin, straightening my shoulders as confidence hardens my voice. “Symbols aren’t just decoration. They’re power. They shape perception and remind everyone who we are—whoyouare.”
I glance up at Dracoth, my silver-red eyes gleaming, a silent plea for him to understand.
“That throne isn’t just a chair; it’s an anchor of belief. If people don’t see power, if they aren’t reminded of your presence, they’ll begin to doubt. They’ll stop caring. That’s why it matters most.” I let the words settle, spinning my diamond and Elerium rings absently.
“Excellent!” Ignixis booms, clapping his hands with a jarring crack. “Yes. Take counsel from your Mortakin-Kis. She can be rather insightful when her head isn’t lost in glittering nebulas,” he cackles like a half-mad lunatic.
Surprisingly, pride swells in my chest, though my hands clench into fists at his words.
“Fear,” comes Drexios’s distant, muffled voice.
I turn to see him glaring like a hungry wolf, his hands pressed against my divine barriers. “Oh, I forgot about you,” I titter, dispelling his prison with a mere thought.
“Fear,” he repeats louder, sneering at me as he strides forward. “Oh, how the pathetic aliens soil themselves when theRavagers’ Ruindarkens their skies. You can practically taste it in the air, mingling with the sweet scent of plasma and death.” He inhales deeply, a deranged smile stretching across his face as his vertical eye scar twitches with delight. “When the War Chief descended, his Berserkers at his back, the cowards couldn’t bow fast enough.” He speaks with purpose, his voice unusually sincere.
“That is your father’s legacy,” he says, looking up at Dracoth, his arms spreading wide. “Whatthisrepresents.”
Dracoth looks down from his throne, one hand resting against his chin—the only sign he’s alive.Maybe he’s actually listening?
“Good, good.” Ignixis nods sagely, like a proud parent watching their kid use the potty for the first time. “It’s a rather simple concept, young Dracoth. I do hope you take it to heart.”
He just explained the same thing I did, only in a psycho way!
“Um...” Sandra chimes in, her soft voice laced with concern. “So, what’s this Crucible thing?”
She looks to Ignixis, but it’s Drexios who cuts in, his face twisting into a snarl. “Voiding useless scrap metal.” He whirls toward Ignixis, fixing him with a fierce, accusing finger. “You told me if I brought the ship here, it would work!”
“But itisworking, Second,” Ignixis retorts, cupping a hand to his long, runic ear. “Can you not hear its whispers even now?” His voice trails off, and our collective hushed breaths hang in the tense silence.
Then the familiar eerie static crackles, like a distant laugh, tickling my ear and sending a chill down my spine. It coincides with the pulsing green energy beams streaming from the immense viewport outside.
“Ah, how convenient!” Ignixis titters, dark amusement creasing his scorched face.
“Borack shit!” Drexios stalks toward Ignixis, his head lowered like a predator studying its prey. “You’ll not play me the fool again, cultist.”
“You weren’t played—merely acted as I knew you would. A fool, if you wish to call it thus.” Ignixis shrugs nonchalantly, despite Drexios looming threateningly over him.
“Old bastard!” Drexios growls, violently yanking Ignixis toward him by his black robes, their faces inches apart.
“Drexios,” Dracoth rumbles from his throne like Zeus atop his mountain of clouds. “Release the old gas-cloud,” he orders, neutral but firm.
“Gas cloud?” Drexios scoffs, his one red eye glaring at the smirking Ignixis. “He’s a virus bomb of lies.”
Drexios’s hands tremble with rage as he holds Ignixis. I watch carefully, ready to slam my shields into him if he moves to harm my creepy teacher. After what feels like an eternity, Drexios finally releases Ignixis, the tension easing from the room.
“You know the Crucible isn’t some voiding static but a machine the War Chief used,” Drexios says, his voice unnervingly calm as he smooths out the wrinkles in Ignixis’s robes. “Even here, among the voiding Scythians, it doesn’t work. Now, why don’t you cut the shit and speak plainly, or I’ll carve more words into that wrinkled skin of yours?”
Ignixis clears his throat, coughing into his hand as Drexios slowly circles him, retracting and extending his claws like an escaped lunatic.
“The Crucible is on board this very ship, but it only operates within the Scythians’ profane communication network.”
