Page 123 of Scorching the Alien Empire
I raise my arc blaster, poised to rain death upon whatever emerges. Within the walls, panels spring open. But where plasma turrets should be are only the melted, ruined stems of shattered machines. Liquefied defenses, smoldering husks. Their teeth have been broken.
“FUCKING MURDER-BOTS!” Princesa’s shriek shreds through the air. Her hands shoot up toward a spasming droid, its movements erratic, unnatural. Its red lenses flicker, struggling to stay lit beneath its flat head. Its severed limbs twitch and jerk, straining—reaching for us.
Shimmering silver shields materialize from thin air. They slam into the droid from every direction. “DIE!” Princesa hisses through clenched teeth, hatred dripping from every syllable.
The machine buckles. Its armor crumples under the unrelenting force of her divine barriers. Casings pop, erupting open—sparking circuitry exposed. Polysynth boards splinter.
Its red lenses shatter into pieces. Its life flickers out. But Princesa’s doesn’t stop. Her fingers tighten. The walls of force crush inward. Metal screams. The droid collapses in on itself, until there is no longer a machine—only a twisted pillar of fused wreckage—a monument to the Scythians’ destruction.
“Don’t just stand there!” Princesa’s head snaps up, silver-red eyes wide. “There could be more of these pricks coming.” Her gaze sweeps frantically over the ruined droids and turrets. “It’s like that creepy Mortakin-Tok vision all over again,” she adds whispering.
She’s right. Thereismore. Hundreds. Thousands. My warvisor floods my senses with new awareness—every microsecond revealing new threats. They’re spilling forth from every direction. Moving to intercept. Converging toward our docked shuttles.
Urgency drives me onward, my armored boots thundering against the trembling floor. However, the others linger behind. My berserkers struggle to corral the females. Some stoop, tracing fingers over the ruined droids—lost in shattered memories. Others wail, trembling, desperate to turn back.
A sickness grips me. A rage not at them, but at what was stolen from them. Their confusion. Their fear. Our females reduced to a shadow of their former selves. The noble, proud heart that beats in every Klendathian, stolen.
My ears twitch, the faint sound of distant battles reaching me. The searing zaps of plasma, metal skittering on metal. The bellowed commands of warriors holding the line. My blood ignites, molten Rush scorching my veins and quickening my breath. Fingers coil into trembling fists, aching to strike. Every instinct demands I lead the charge. To crash into their ranks like a meteorite. To rend brutal vengeance upon the machines.
But I cannot. The females must be protected. No matter the cost.
Finally, we reach the corridor’s exit. Every muffled shout, every faded clang of metal an agony to be endured. And worse—beyond this door lies the vast cloning vats. My warvisor-enhanced senses inform me of the hundreds of machines roaming within.
I glance back at Drexios and the others. They know what’s coming. They sense it. Their masked gazes are locked ahead. Weapons poised. Rush leaking from their warvisors.
No matter the cost.
I will pay it.
“Wait here,” I growl, bending to lower Princesa.
“No, you wait!” Princesa protests, arms tightening around me, clinging like her pet cyloillar. Her eyes narrow. “You’re thinking of doing something stupid, aren’t you?” Her voice is low, accusing. “I can feel your Mr. Frowny Face energy being extra frowny.” She grimaces, head tilting to peer at the door behind me. “What? Is that room buzzing with murder-bots or something?”
She glares up at me, expecting an answer I will not give. She finds only a stern, unreadable expression hidden beneath my mask.
“I fucking knew it!”
Failure.
“Brilliant! A horde of murder-bots.” A shudder wracks her from head to toe, her entire body coiling with disgust. “Beep, beep, put me down.” A loud, exaggerated sigh follows.
I lower her gently, stretching my arm to remove the stiffness, as she slips from my grasp.
“Ugh, it’s cold now,” she complains, hugging her black robes tighter, shoulders hunching slightly. “Right. Okay.” She strides toward Drexios and the warriors, waving them aside with a dismissive flick of her hand. “Forgive me, ladies. This is a bit rude. But you don’t need me to tell you—this is better than the alternative.”
The Revered Mothers do not react to her words or when she stands between them with hands raised high. Suddenly, silver-edged barriers spring to life—one by one. Layer upon layer. Untilshimmering shields coil around them, a dome impenetrable, unbreakable.
“Divine, isn’t it?” Her tilted smile is smug, satisfied. Through our bond, her pride and elation burn like an inferno.
She saunters forward—chin raised, arms high, hips swaying. Arawnoth’s blessing blazing across her chest and neck. Regal. Confident. Untouchable.
When did this happen? When did the frightened, broken female she once was become this—a living Goddess. A creeping realization or something sharp and sudden? Regardless, pride swells in my chest. Her strength is the result of our union. Together, reforged, we stride like Gods.
She stops before me.
“You’re in my way, babes,” She smiles. But her silver-red eyes burn.
“No.” My hand shot out, slamming against her barrier. A jolt of force ricochets up my arm, stinging my fingers. “This is my burden.”
