Page 143 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“On your voiding feet!” Drexios snarls, spitting blood and laughter behind his own shield. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint the ladies now, would we?”
Laughter ripples through the chaos, mingling with the whining zap of plasma streaking overhead. A few masked warriors steal glances toward Princesa and the females as they approach, their attention lingering a fraction longer.
“Tharok, swap with Andoth—his shield’s spent!” Jazreal commands from a shuttle ramp.
The two warriors smoothly swap places—a precision honed from countless drills and battles.
My chest swells. These warriors—my warriors—the finest in existence. None but they could hold here, do what is necessary, endure what is to come.
The shadows of the Voidbanes grow larger, swallowing starlight. Time is running out.
The Voidbringer seeks revenge, and it will not stop. It will hurl everything it has against us, because we carry something precious. Something it stole from us.
Hope.
“Corsark,” I command through the warvisor, voice taut with urgency. “Have theRavager’s Ruinand Battlebarge support the shorthairs. Kill these drones.”
Plasma streaks back and forth in an unrelenting storm. Molten husks of drones crash all around us, burning wreckage littering the open hangar. The heat rises, thick and suffocating, each blast adding to the scalding haze. The stench of charred metal, discharged ozone, and burning polysynth chokes the air.
Above, a shorthair vessel spirals out of control, its hull cored, flames licking at the breach before the void snuffs them out. The wound tears wider, venting its contents into space—bodies, debris, remnants of lives cut short.
“Finally, we made it,” Princesa announces behind me, her words the sweetest music to my ears. I turn to see her standing at the base of an open shuttle, the females huddled behind her.
“Hmm,” she ponders, a finger to her lips, frowning as she considers the carnage above. “Yeah, so, you’re not actually planning for us to fly through that horde of murder-bots, are you?”
I nod.
Her expression drops into theatrical disappointment. “Honestly, babes,” she tuts, shaking her head, blonde hair swaying. “That’s your plan? Might as well charge naked and screaming through a minefield.” Her hand flicks toward the sky. “Except these mines have minds of their own.”
Amusing. Because this is the result of her inaction.
She waves a dismissive hand before her frown softens into something more playful. “At least we’re not naked anymore,” she murmurs with a smirk, silver-crimson eyes peering up through thick lashes. “Such a shame, though.”
For a moment, I don’t follow her meaning. Then, I see it.
Barely visible silver edges shimmer in the chaotic blue light, catching like molten sunrises bursting overhead.
Her shields.
Each shuttle is encased in a protective barrier, translucent and impenetrable. A divine safeguard, heightening our odds of survival.
A smirk tugs at my lips. “Impressive,” I admit, eyes flicking down to her.
She steps onto the metal ramp, her lingering gaze laced with challenge. “Divine,” she corrects.
Overhead, the void erupts like an inferno.
The Battlebarge-class plasma cannons open fire, their blistering salvo tearing through the darkness. Twin-mounted turrets unload in relentless succession, bolts slicing through entire clusters of Seeker drones, erasing them from existence.
Powerful blasts catch dozens at a time, the void so thick with the swarm that it becomes a massacre.
This is it. Our moment.
I slam my gauntleted hand against the hull of a shuttle, my voice booming over the battlefield.
“ONWARD!”
Faces inside turn toward me—the rescued females, the surviving clones.
