Page 163 of Scorching the Alien Empire
Drexios grins. “I wasn’t planning to invite them in.” He dashes toward a weapons terminal beside Corsark, eye gleaming as he activates the targeting systems. “Red,” he croons, voice dripping with anticipation. “Red, better make ‘em dead.”
The ship trembles violently, each shudder rolling through the walls like the tremors of an earthquake. The deafening thud of our cannon barrages fires in perfect synchrony, igniting the void in dazzling streaks of azure.
Rush burns through my chest as the twin-linked plasma lances streak across the abyss, a meteor shower of searing death.
Seeker drones dart frantically, their mechanical precision attempting to navigate the chaos, but for hundreds—thousands—it’s too late. Their oval forms disintegrate upon impact, engulfed in explosions that burn as hot as a thousand suns. Wisps of smoke and shattered remnants vanish into the endless dark, while the plasma bolts pierce through the swarming mass, carving a path of destruction through the asteroids beyond.
Drexios barks out a sharp, manic laugh. “Only one eye, make ‘em fry.”
But there is no reprieve. The chaos surges, unrelenting. The incredible velocity I must maintain propels us deeper into the swarm, the drones parting like a school of fish—only to close in again, a gleaming red mass moving in eerie synchrony.
Some slam against our shields, bursting into twisted wreckage, the sheer density of their numbers trapping them between us and the drifting rock.
The ship jolts. Once. Twice. Then a hundred rapid, jarring vibrations rattle through the hull, forcing my fingers to tighten around my throne. The obsidian of my armrest creaks under the pressure. Plasma fire rains down in torrents, shimmering blue streaks descending from every direction in relentless retaliation. The buzzing drones swarm like a horde of znats attacking a dying beast, determined to drain the last of our strength.
“Shields at eighty percent,” Corsark reports, his clipped tone barely masking his unease.
Too sharp of a drop. And we’re only halfway through the asteroid field.
A cold weight presses against my chest. The timing of the swarm’s response, the sheer intensity of their onslaught—it will beclose, too close. Should I deploy the Shorthairs? No. In this terrain, among this many enemies, it would be a slaughter. And the Elerium-enriched ships must be preserved for the true killing blow.
Princesa’s divine barriers? I glance toward her, curled behind the throne, stroking Todd like a victim of space madness muttering to herself.
Lost. Broken. Useless.
Yet, if we survive, she’ll claim victory and call me weak for not invoking Arawnoth’s flames.
There will be no miracles to save us. Not here. Not now.
Only strength, skill, and unyielding resolve will see us through.
The ship bucks beneath another impact, my hands flying over the navigational console, the constant tremors turning each adjustment into a battle of control. Despite the brutal, ceaseless barrage, hyperspeed must be maintained between each hulking asteroid. Any hesitation. Any mistake. And we die.
A lumbering moon rock flashes across the viewport, its craggy peaks filling the screen before I veer away at the last second, skimming past its surface by a hair’s breadth. The ship groans, metal straining against the force of the maneuver, but there is no time to react, no time to breathe—another rock looms ahead, another violent twist of the controls, another near-death escape.
The Seeker drones cling to us, matching our speed, weaving through the debris with unnerving precision, their assault unrelenting.
The cacophony is near deafening—the endless shuddering of impacts, the sharp bursts of plasma fire, the electric whine of shields under strain. My focus is split between minute, critical course adjustments and anticipating the Scythians’ next move.
“Shields at fifty-five percent, War Chieftain,” Corsark announces, his voice wavering under the strain.
Through the viewport, smoldering debris litters the void—shattered asteroids, melted drones, the remnants of our desperate charge through this gauntlet. Wreckage slams againstour shields as we surge forward, barreling through the floating carnage at blistering speed.
Thousands of their number have already fallen—our cannons and the Battlebarge trailing behind tearing through them in waves—but still, they come.
Fearless. Unrelenting.
They have no self-preservation. They focus their assault on theRavager’s Ruin. They seek to sever the head from the body.
They seek me.
The abyss ignites once more.
Molten blue stars burst forth from countless red-glowing lenses, saturating the darkness in streaks of plasma. The shield generators whine under the strain, a low, pitiful sound—a wounded animal bleeding out.
And worse—The Voidbanes are repositioning.
Three massive pulsing markers shift ahead, once again converging. They see it now. They understand what I’m doing.
