Page 125 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“Hold the shuttles, no matter the cost. We escort our people’s rebirth.” The projected command carries my pride—the weight of this moment.
“Rebirth?” Jazreal echoes in question.
But I do not reply.
The battle rages, hot and heavy. My Rush blazes like an inferno, pouring liquid fire into my veins. Muscles tense with the murderous need to break rank, to charge into the droids with the force of a hyperspeeding Battlebarge. It would be easy—pleasurable, but I cannot. Ultimate victory balances on a claw’s edge.
The immense cloning chamber now hisses with scalding steam, the result of countless plasma blasts scorching the air and burning through the floor in large, bubbling pools. Sweat beads on the necks of my warriors, yet they do not falter. Each is a legend. The best of the best. They return fire with methodical precision, every retaliatory bolt another droid destroyed.
The rising temperature and acrid scent of scorched metal fills my lungs. I welcome the heat. It fuels me. For I am molten. The chosen son of Arawnoth. None, not even the Scythians, will stand in my way.
We pass many towering metal stalks of cloning vats. Each step is hard-won. Agonizingly slow to my Rush-enhanced senses. The droids continue to swarm around us, an encirclement of endless plasma fire and glaring red lenses.
We must be nearing the chamber’s exit. Need to be.
“I’m never leaving without my little chug bug again,” Princesa sighs. Her casual tone is utterly absurd, given our desperate struggle for survival. “These gross murder-bots keep coming, and his wee clackers aren’t even here to comfort me.”
Drexios snorts as he hurls another grenade over his shield. “I always knew Pinkie had voiding space madness.” He flashes me a smirk, his scarred face twisted in amusement. “A War Chieftain who bonded a vipertail. The barb so near, a tragic tale.”
Madness is catching.
His laughter erupts in sharp bursts, wild and manic, only to be drowned out by the deafening explosion of his grenade. A shockwave ripples through the battlefield. Twisted metal andsizzling plasma droplets rain down against our shields, hissing as they collide.
A massive metal tower buckles, half its base partially melted. It groans in protest, tipping to one side, falling like a colossal arm of vengeance. The battle droids bump into each other, scrambling to avoid the darkening shadow with skittering limbs a blur.
It’s too late.
The impact shakes the floor, the chamber trembling as if caught in the grip of an earthquake. A cloud of dust billows outward, flames roaring through the wreckage. Droids are crushed beneath the twisted metal stem, limbs twitching in their final, pitiful spasms before they go still.
“Woo!” Drexios cheers, pumping his fist into the air. “Did you voiders see that?” He sweeps his gaze over the warriors, grinning as laughter erupts around him. “Worked better than I expected.”
“Void off,” the black-haired warrior Varax snaps, shaking his head. “Lucky bastard.”
Yet, beneath the camaraderie, I detect their exhaustion. Their sluggish movements. The forced, desperate edge of their laughter. Warriors resigned to their fates—the courage of the condemned.
Finally, the vat chamber exit swooshes open, the sound is sweet honey to my ears. The frigid, cool air brushing over our scorched bodies, pushing back the stiffening, swirling steam. The chamber is a ruin—floor partially melted, collapsed columns, molten piles of droids smoldering in heaps.
Glancing over my shoulder, my fleeting hope is almost crushed beneath the weight of more droids. The corridor is thick with them. Their plasma cannons already glowing with ominous intent, their red lenses glinting beneath shadowed, flat heads fixated on us—life that dares to survive.
“Ugh,” Princesa groans, bringing her arms down.
Suddenly, metal screeches across metal. A thousand skittering droid legs, straining, failing to resist the crushing force pressing them against the walls.
“I swear on divine mother and father, I’m so sick of these annoying murder-bots!” Her fingers clench, nails digging into her trembling palms.
The droids jerk and spasm, their programming demanding our deaths. Still, they fire their weapons, despite limbs bending, twisting at odd angles. The blasts that don’t backfire hurtle mere inches before stopping uselessly against Princesa’s divine barriers.
Two of her barriers have sliced through the corridor, crushing the droids against either side. I can only listen, the droids in the vat chamber demanding my attention. A cacophony of straining servo mechanisms, spluttering. Metal plates shrieking in protest until they buckle and snap. Hissing hydraulics from skittering legs gouging the floor, desperate to escape the inescapable.
Then, from behind—silence.
Princesa resumes her walk, a loud, frustrated exhale leaving her.
We step backward, following in her wake. Our side is still a frantic battle. Hundreds of droids form a semi-circle, raining blast after blast as we retreat through the door. Plasma blasts slam against plasma shields with a deafening thoom, exploding in bursts of light, sending ripples of energy across our shields’ surfaces. A dazzling display of blue sparks. Our shields flicker slightly under the sustained fire, the strain beginning to show.
Razgor struggles bravely. His body jerks with each impact. Veins bulge in his neck, his arm trembling under the strain. Sweat drips from his face, rasping gasps as he gulps scorched oxygen. Even the ground beneath our boots cracks. Tiny fractures from melting metal, running together, forming treacherous, sinking traps.
He will die here. They all will. Only I remain undiminished. A titan of war. The greatest of our blessed kin. An avatar of our vengeance.
