Page 77 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“No.”
I murmur the word, and my fractured mind begins to knit itself back together.
How could the Gods exist in oblivion? My ancestors... MyPrincesa.
By Arawnoth’s molten core, this thing—thisvoid—it nearly took her from me. An existence without ever knowing her touch, her biting, clever wit, her soul that burns as bright as mine? It is an anathema to the blood coursing through my veins. To all we Klendathians hold dear.
What moments ago felt pure and freeing now curdles into the rankest foulness. Disgusting. That I even entertained such weakness... I wouldretchif I could.
A world without meaning, without bonds, without fire—must be crushed.
Reality shifts.
I stand atop a ruinedNebian Starcruiser.Its immense, sleek hull is a smoldering ruin, still glowing with partially melted plasma. The acrid scent of fire and scorched ozone fills my lungs. The heat of flames kisses my skin, casting my armored frame in a deep crimson glow.
All around me, my warriors surge forth, pushing deep into the enemy forces.
The Nebian lines are broken. Overwhelmed. Outmatched. A few fight bravely in their Battlesuits—until my Ravager Berserkers reach them, tearing them limb from limb with plasma claws.
Glorious.
Fierce pride surges deep within me.
A Nebian male crawls from the wreckage, bloodied and broken—a pathetic, tiny creature. He looks up at me, tears in his eyes.
I give him the gift of a swift death, stomping his skull into deep blue paste—a mere znat beneath my boot.
“Let them be reborn in strength!” I roar, as Rush and elation flood through me.
Above, the skies burn. Clouds flash azure and crimson as if the gods themselves wage war in the heavens.
Nebian Starcruisers weave and dart through a vast host of Voidbanes, their superior lasers cutting down many. But for each one they destroy, two more take its place—an endless tide. Hulking, relentless, inevitable.
Their shields flare, flicker—then fail. And then, the slaughter begins.
Seeker Drones cling to the enemy hulls, drilling, cutting, swarming. The Nebian warships, once swift and graceful, now plummet like dying stars, crashing into the burning industrial zones below. The impact sets off a chain of roiling, crimson chemical fires.
Victory.
A world aflame, a people conquered—a species even my father failed to subdue. Now that honor is mine, grasped in my unbreakable grip. All my fuming red eyes survey—my domain. None can challenge me, stop me. My unyielding will, my molten strength, my masterful stratagems.
I’m the pinnacle of existence.
“War Chieftain!”
Drexios strides toward me, a wide grin splitting his blood-scored face. His armor is thick with gore and fresh scars.
“Nebian Prime is spread wide open—begging for a good mating,” he laughs, tossing a severed head at my feet—blue skin, blood-soaked white beard, and hair. The old Nebian eyes—orange and lifeless—still stare up at me.
Accusing.
“Their Imperator nearly shat himself when we burst into his throne room,” Drexios sneers. “Little wonder the stunted mutants bend over like shameless whores, serving such a weak, spineless coward.”
His red mechanical eye glints as he twists his scarred face.
The eye I took from him.
The eye he should not have.
