Page 87 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“Greetings once again, my sweet oblivion.”
Her voice is sweetened arcweave, smooth yet commanding, a choir of countless tones layered in perfect harmony. She glances downward, eyes dancing with amusement.
“Stop, you hothead.” She sighs, turning to Arawnoth as if he were an undisciplined Prospect. “You’re only feeding it.”
A pause. Her golden hair flutters in the dying gales, and her tone softens, almost regretful. “Foolish Arawnoth. When will you learn?”
With a flourish of her wrist, the silvery sun behind her dissolves into a pristine puddle of mercury, floating under her feet. “You cannot seed life into that which is barren, nor spark creation into that which is void of existence.”
The mercury streaks across the void, reflecting the smoldering flames of Arawnoth in dazzling streams of liquid silver. They twist and spiral, defying gravity, until the Goddess raises her hand.
“Only cut it off!” she commands, her voice a crescendo of echoing power.
The streams converge, forming a spherical cage of rippling mercury around the entity. The last section merges with a resonantclick, sealing the prison.
“INEVITABLE OBLIVION!” the ancient voice booms, shaking the void.
“No, Voidbringer,” the Goddess snaps, her fingers weaving elegant patterns in the abyss. Shining runes materialize, intricate and interlocking, orbiting the prison like celestial chains. “The cycle continues.”
She raises two fingers, and the runes ignite with silver fire. The mercury cage spins endlessly through the void, a shimmering monument to her power.
“For now, at least.” Her multitude of shifting beautiful faces frown as she takes in the smoldering sight of Arawnoth and me. “Am I not divine? Am I not glorious? Am I not beautiful? Sadly, the same cannot be said of you two...” Her gaze lingers on my flickering flames, her expression twisting with disdain. “Poor little splutters. Diminished. Spent. Tragic, really. If it weren’t so utterly ill-advised!”
She jabs a finger toward me, her voice sharp as a blade. “You! Know this—the Voidbringer will soon escape. It will seek retribution.”
With a dismissive wave of her hand, my vision begins to fade. The heat, the sounds, the chaos—all dissolving into darkness.
“Act quickly. Go now, back to my beloved daughter. Back to tragedy. Back to folly. Cherish her. Worship her. Protect her.” Her voice grows distant, but her warning rings clear. “Though you are a weakened brute, I will rend your mind asunder should you fail her.”
All fades to black, and a scent of charred flesh grows stronger.
Chapter 18
Dracoth
Parting Burns
“Ignixis!”Princesa’svoicecutsthrough the fog of my exhaustion, sharp and urgent.
My vision swims as I stagger from the Crucible, every muscle screaming in protest, every breath a battle. The weight of my fatigue feels as immense as the Peaks of Scarn. But it’s the sight before me that truly paralyzes me—a scene that etches itself into my mind with searing clarity.
Ignixis lies cradled in Princesa’s lap, his head lolling against her. His eyes are barely open, his face contorted in agony. The runes etched into his body glow like molten lava, hissing and steaming as they devour his black robes and the flesh beneath. The air reeks of burning fabric and charred skin.
“Fuck!” Princesa snarls, jerking her hand back as flames flare up from his body. Her fingers are red and blistered, and she swats furiously at the embers threatening to ignite her own robes. “He... he’s burning alive!”
Dread coils in my gut, cold and unrelenting. I lurch forward, my own pain and weariness melting away like the charring flesh of my old mentor. The heat radiating from his body is unbearable, like standing in the heart of a volcano, but I don’t care.
I am molten...
I am... desperate.
Desperate to save him.
My hands move on their own, smothering the flames that erupt from his runes.
“Can you speak?” I demand, my voice cracking. The heat scorches my skin, but I don’t stop. I can’t. Not when he’s slipping away before my eyes.
The raw terror of losing him hits like a plasma blast to the chest. He’s always been there—steadfast, infuriating, wise. The thought of him reduced to mere ash, gone forever, cuts deeper than any wound I’ve ever endured.
