Page 146 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“Must be,” he adds, stepping onto the plinth of my throne, staring into the void with unbothered amusement. “We still have our balls attached.”
He barks a laugh, the sound sharp against the hum of the ship.
“Ain’t that right, boys?” he calls out, grinning over his shoulder at the warriors stationed along the walls, red eye gleaming with mischief. “The War Chief has a knack for handling our delicate matters.” With a crude flourish, he thrusts hiships and cups his crotch, earning a round of laughter from the distracted warriors.
Fool.
And yet, despite myself, a ghost of a smirk tugs at the corner of my lips.
I shift my focus back to the battle beyond the viewport, the shimmering azure glow of our shields mixing with the multicolored streaks of plasma fire and streaking stars, casting dazzling hues across the bridge.
“The others?” I ask, my voice level, masking the exhaustion pressing at the edges of my mind.
Drexios barks a laugh. “Pinkie and Fire-on-Head? They’re hoarding the females to themselves, organizing their accommodations.” His grin widens, fangs flashing like a predator scenting blood. “Your little vipertail is going to have her hands full—real full. Half the voiding warband is over there sniffing for blessings. Or so they say. More like a pack of horny Prospects on their first visit to a pleasure house, if you ask me.”
He pauses, glancing over his shoulder as if to make sure no one else is listening. Then, lowering his voice, he leans in conspiratorially.
“Some of the berserkers are saying this is a prophecy. That the end times are here.” He snorts, rolling his shoulders. “The voiding fools have started calling Pinkie a goddess. One who’ll lead us to salvation or damnation, depending on which imbecile you ask.”
Then, with a sudden flourish, he whirls around, spinning in lazy circles as his voice rises theatrically. “Got to hand it to her. She’s shoved so much ash up their asses, even old Ignixis is sneezing dust in the void.” He lets out a hoot before his expression darkens. The humor in his scarred eye twists into something sharper, something bitter.
“It’s a voiding liability,” he sneers.
A pang of unease twists in my gut. His words mirror my own unspoken thoughts. A liability. A wildfire with no control.
“I’ll handle Princesa,” I growl, forcing the doubt from my mind, crushing it beneath sheer will.
Drexios lets out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Will you?” He tilts his head, the glint in his eye shifting from amusement to something more pointed. “Take it from Uncle Drexios. A warrior’s greatest test isn’t a blade, isn’t plasma, isn’t even a voiding ten-foot Klendathian giant. It’s—” He flutters his fingers like he’s casting a spell. “Females!”
He announces dramatically. “Oh yes. Squishy, wet, juicy females. They turn the hardest warrior into a confused pile of Snarlbroc jelly. Heads all up their own asses, full of concern, doubt, and whatever else voiding nonsense. I’ve seen it a hundred times. Your father and I both.” He smirks, shaking his head, the long green strands of his hair swaying with the motion. “That’s why we never voided with them—well, except for the occasional bump in the night, hah. They distract from what’s important—strength, victory.”
For a moment, his expression sobers, something flickering behind his eyes. Then he lets out a dramatic sigh, running a hand through his hair.
“At least, that’s what I thought. Seems old Gorexius was out here polishing his cock raw the whole time.”
His smirk twists into something darker, something edged with mockery and disgust. “Ah, you think you know someone... until you uncover their sex slave dungeon.”
The words land like a dull blow to the chest, and I hate that they do. Another stain. Another brand of shame seared into my father’s honor.
Was he always corrupt, or did the Voidbringer twist him?
I will never know.
I shouldn’t care, but the question gnaws at the back of my mind like a tunneling wyrm. My fangs dig into my lip, the sharp pain grounding me before I let the anger fester further. With a slow inhale, I release the tension, shifting my focus back to the battle outside.
The Seeker drone swarm continues its relentless assault, hammering our shields with shimmering bursts of plasma, though their numbers are dwindling under the rhythmic, thunderous fire of our glorious cannons. The navigational console confirms the Voidbanes are falling further behind, their lumbering forms unable to match our speed.
The bright white cluster of blinking dots—the Seeker drones trailing in our wake—remains vast, but it does not grow closer. They are losing ground.
Good.
“Shields are back up to sixty percent, War Chieftain,” Corsark announces, his voice steady, though there’s a hint of relief beneath the calm. He reveals what I already know. The barriers flare to life brighter than before, a brilliant burst of blue radiating outward like an exploding star.
Drexios whoops, throwing his hands into the air. “Up and away, nothing left to pay!” he cheers, reveling in the small victory.
I ignore him, my focus sharpening. “The clones?” I ask, unwilling to celebrate, keeping my attention locked on the battle outside and the flickering display of our retreat.
Drexios lets out a sharp bark of laughter, his expression twisting with theatrical dread. “The clones? Oh, you mean those spooky voiders?” He shudders exaggeratedly. “They just stand there. Thousands of them. Blank faces, staring into nothing. I asked Razgor to cut one open—you know, just to be sure they aren’t reskinned droids.” He grins, his claws flexing. “But the sniveling shit refused. Said it was obvious they weren’t droids.”He leans in slightly, his grin widening. “You know what I think? He’s afraid of getting his hands dirty.”
