Page 93 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“Enough.” Dracoth’s growl is quiet but absolute.
He stops Drexios in an instant, a single massive hand pressed firmly against his chest plate. The loser glances between us, his face twisting with impotent rage, his whole body trembling as I dig my nails in deeper with a smirk.
Finally, Drexios barks a frustrated roar, before whirling around to storm off toward Jazzy, like last season’s back catalogue.
“You know, youshouldreally address me properly. War Chieftainess,” I mock with a sharp laugh haunting his retreat. “Or Blessed Daughter. Oh, and let’s not forget our little Divine Cherub,” I add, interrupting Todd’s beauty sleep with a stroke. His mandibles parting lazily with what could only be agreement.
“Both of you,” Dracoth rumbles. His arm shifts slightly, jostling me like a gorgeous sock stuck in a spin cycle.
I shoot him a murderous glare, only to meet his steely crimson gaze that glows faintly in the dim light. Look at him. Face frowning, eyes blazing. My big red murder-orb, energy radiating from every inch of him. Commanding. Stubborn. Hm. Kind of hot, actually.
Until, of course, he bends forward before the throne and tries to dump me off like an unwanted child at an orphanage of hobos.
“Hey!” I exclaim, clinging to his arm like a desperate koala. “You’re taking me to the top.”
I glance at the looming obsidian throne, still ungraced by my divine buttocks.
“Remember your promise?” I challenge with a glare, my meaning extending beyond the throne, to everything.
Dracoth emits a faint grunt, practically a lecture by his standards. Still, he clambers onto the immense throne of jagged bone and rock, absurdly large and over the top—just like him.
A contented sigh escapes me as we settle into the high-backed seat, savoring howsmallthe bone-through-the-nose space-knights look from up here.
Yes!
This is where I belong. Raised high, revered, glorious and gorgeous. The sense of grandeur and power flares from my chest, my fingers absently tracing my glowing runes.
“Drexios.” Dracoth’s voice snaps me back to the present, firm and unyielding. “Strip the remnants of the Crucible from thisship. Every circuit, every bolt, every shard of metal. Vent them into the nearest sun.”
“Wentthatwell, huh?” Drexios muses, fingers darting over his glowing wrist console. “When War Chief Gorexius returned from the Crucible, he didn’t start an apocalypse.” He barks a short laugh. “Except for the enemies the Scythians pointed at.Thosepathetic wretches we obliterated.”
The ship’s weapons hammer through the hull—like the start of a roller coaster I can’t escape.
“The Scythians are now that enemy,” Dracoth announces, his fingers tightening over the monstrous skulls carved into the throne. Bone groans in protest beneath his grip. “I will scourge the galaxies of their filth.”
His words linger like new perfume. But is it cheap dollar-store trash or the finest money can buy?
The towering guards remain still, though a few sneak glances toward the viewport looming behind the throne, where swirling blue streaks of energy blasts bathe the chamber in ghostly light.
The sharp clang of metal striking stone reverberates through the room.
Jazzy.
He pounds the butt of his spear against the marble floor like he’s calling last orders.
“It warms my heart, after these long, terrible years.” Jazreal steps forward, as graceful as a cat, his long black-grey hair cascading behind him. “To see the hated Scythiansfinallyget what they deserve.”
His voice trembles with righteous fury, his sneer sharp as a new suit. “The unspeakable atrocities we committed in their name. And what they later did to our females...”
His head bows, chest rising with heaving breaths. “I should have spoken up then. Should have tried to stop your father. If I’d known the true cost—the horror of what was to come.”
Then, in a flash, he whips around, eyes burning, his fervent gaze sweeping over the guards. “Well, I sayto the void with them! Death to the Scythians!”
“Death to the Scythians!” The guards echo, a thunderous cacophony of raised voices and fists slamming against chest plates.
Ah.Thatperfume was sweet indeed.
My heart soars at the sight. The murder-bots must die. I don’t know how that’ll help me reach the top, but my every instinct screams for their destruction.
