Page 131 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“Void this!” he hisses, and my neck tingles, the weight of his glare burrowing into my back. “Aren’t you two bonded? And you’re just going to abandon him?”
Abandon.
The word hits like ice water, a slow, creeping freeze that slides beneath my skin.
Yes. I suppose I am.
I was abandoned my whole life. No matter how kind I was, how much I begged—forsaken. Until I found Arawnoth and Aenarael’s love. Their power. Their favor. Maybe it’s high time someone else experienced a fraction of that pain.
Let’s see if Dracoth has the strength I did. I suppress the uneasy knot curling in my stomach, forcing a smirk onto my lips.
“Unlike you, Drex-iot, my Dracoth can handle himself.” The words drip with saccharine confidence. “But if you miss him so much, you should be a good little doggie and go fetch.”
A brilliant idea. I amaze myself sometimes.
“You’re a real sweetheart.” Drexios snaps, rage whistling through clenched fangs. “I’m out of here.”
Before he can take a step, a black-haired space-knight grabs his pauldron in a firm, warning grip. “You heard the War Chief’s orders. You tarnish his sacrifice by leaving.”
“Get the void off me, Varak.” Drexios shrugs sharply, freeing himself. “Or I’ll tarnish your mother’s asshole.”
“You are his Second. It falls to you to lead in his stead!” A brown-haired warrior insists, his tone more commanding than Drexios could ever manage.
Ugh. Shut up, Mr. Brown Hair. You’re ruining this.
“What are you Tharok, a voiding borack calf? Kill Scythians. Even a snarlbroc jelly brain like you can understand that.” Drexios snorts, banishing his twin energy blades, smashing them together in a searing crackle of heat and light. “Right, I’m off to get our big shorthair bastard back.”
And with that, he’s gone.
He disappears into the darkened wreckage, his footfalls fading amongst the shattered, smoldering droids.
“May you die a glorious death.” The six space-knights echo in unison, their voices solemn.
Drexios’ voice rings back, distant but unwavering. “BERSERKERS NEVER DIE!” His manic laughter follows him into the abyss.
The warriors respond in kind. “BERSERKERS NEVER DIE!”
I watch him go, arms folded, face blank. “Oh no, please don’t go...” I deadpan, sarcasm thick and syrupy.
This couldn’t have worked out better. Maybe he’ll actually help Dracoth. And if not...? Well, that’s one less rival in my way. A rival as annoying as a forgotten label scraping against my neck. Though, knowing that clown, he’ll probably blow himself up by mistake or something equally stupid.
Divine mother was right.
These guys pretend to be strong. But when it truly matters? They wrinkle like cheap suits.
Oh sure, they’re physically powerful. All bone-through-the-nose, bashing each other over the head with their big sticks or whatever. The envy of cavemen everywhere.
But mentally?
They’re weak. Only I have the resolve to follow Arawnoth’s sacred words to the letter. That’s what Ignixis saw in me. Why the Gods favor me.
Why I’ll reach the top.
The further we walk, the quieter it becomes. A silence so deep, so unnatural, it presses against my ears. No gunfire, no shouting, no explosions. Only shallow breaths, the clink of armor and shuffling footsteps interrupt the thrum of my heart. What does it mean? Is the fighting over? Who won? Did my Dracoth survive? ...Will he ever come back?
Despite the silence gnawing at my thoughts, the signs of battle grow worse. The partially melted floor glows dimly, pulsing with residual heat. The corpses of murder-bots pile higher, their bodies sliced, torn, perforated, some still leaking smoky-blue plasma from gaping holes.
There are more than before. Far more.
