Page 191 of Scorching the Alien Empire
The green, bloodied war-banner flutters in the breeze as Karznok’s body vanishes into the abyss below.
“May he be reborn in strength!” Dracoth bellows.
“MAY HE BE REBORN IN STRENGTH!” The space-knights howl back, my voice adding to the clamor.
Fire erupts, a conflagration so violent and stunning it seems to claw at the sky. The lovely heat slams into me like a wall, but I don’t flinch. I drink it in, arms outstretched, laughter cracking from my throat. The scent of charring flesh is beautiful. A part ofme aches to leap into the fire—be torn apart, remade, reborn in divine agony. Something new. Something better.
Karznok’s remains are consumed in the flames—swallowing cloth, flesh, and bone, sending plumes of embers spiraling into the smog. The molten river churns hungrily, devouring the remnants, the body sinks deeper, vanishing into the planet’s burning heart.
Silence falls, save for the lashing, greedy flames, and the steady thrum of war-drums.
Then Zarkath speaks again.
“Karznok... Karznok fought like a venefex for three centuries,” he says, voice growing more forceful as he steps onto the dais near us. “With his beloved warband—the Molten Fangs—he slew two Nebian—”
I tune out the tiresome eulogy. No doubt, a cradle-to-grave overly dramatic and definitely not exaggerated rendition of typical bone-through-the-nose activities. A saga full of headbutting, chest-thumping, womanizing—you know, typical high-school jock stuff. So much so, I scan the area looking for a trophy. Surely there’s an award for most hyperbolic story?
Sadly, no. Just rows upon rows of laid-out bodies waiting for their own dramatic plunge into the fire. My stomach drops into my booties, forcing me to suppress a groan.
We’re doing a hundred of these funerals?
Please. Just kill me now and throw me in after Karznok before I die of boredom.
I glance down at my pet, a black-red ball of napping. Of course, Todd’s asleep—the little traitor bug. Maybe if I feed him more jelly sticks, he’ll grow big enough for me to nap on his rubbery, segmented back?
Above, the blazing ruby sun of this utterly boring planet creeps across the sky like it’s dying of boredom too. The light struggles to break through the thick, black clouds and smog that sinkup the air. I’ve been standing here for hours like a neglected, gorgeous statue, enduring an unending tirade of depressing nonsense. Thank the Gods there’s no pigeons on this world, or I’d be covered by now—a poop monument.
And now my feet throb. My back aches worse than a hangover-induced migraine. I’ve been so bored I could’ve achieved enlightenment a hundred times over—if not for all the annoying distractions.
Only the burning of the bodies breaks up the monotony, offering fleeting thrills. The seductive flames rise skyward, echoing the distant infernos devouring the horizon. I roll my eyes heavenward with practiced disdain, watching sleek vessels dart across the atmosphere like living sunbeams. Some move slower, dragging beams of strange energy that suspend ruined hulks and shattered debris in midair like broken toys mid-cleanup.
Really? The Nib aliens are trying to tidy up this planet? Sometimes it’s better to just toss the whole mess out—like my now favorite Barbie pink Chanel—rather than scrub desperately, hoping for the best.
Dracoth looms ahead like a brooding colossus, leading the procession of tedium, while I shift from foot to foot with the jittery grace of a dancer warming up for a break-dancing contest. Of course,he’sperfectly content with being bored to death. I mean, when he’s not killing stuff, he radiates boredom rays like a big frowny sun.
Ugh.
Still... I miss his heat though. The way he holds me—like I’m something precious. It makes me feel all safe and fuzzy inside. Maybe if I flashed my best smile and batted my lashes, he’d scoop me up like a double scoop of raspberry ripple ice cream?
“Oh!” I squeal, a giddy little chirp escaping my lips. Only one body left.Finally. Soon, this whole funereal, snoozefest will endand I can speak the sacred words—my moment to shine, to claim my rightful place as leader.
“Corsark,” Dracoth growls, the familiar name barely registering as background noise. “Rise, and commit Arsasrk’s flesh to the flames.” He gestures solemnly to a blonde-haired corpse.
Wait, wait, wait. Arsasrk?
The name jabs at my memory,just like most of the others, tickling my mind like the whisper of a stalker ghost.
Through the swirling ash, I narrow my eyes and study the remains. He looks pristine, almost peaceful if not for the fact his entire lower half has been blown off—a grotesque green stump. My heart skips a beat. I recognize those frozen blue eyes staring into the void. The shape of his unscarred face. The blessing I smeared on his forehead before battle still faintly glimmers in the soot.
Yes.
I remember now.
He was the one who spoke of his death in a dream—told me he saw it, felt it coming. And now here he lies. As still as a forgotten champagne flute, its sparkle gone flat. Creepy—too creepy. Talk about manifesting the wrong kind of destiny. Too bad. He should’ve dreamed about fluffy parties, too-cute Todd, and delicious food. Or better yet—me. The glorious, Benevolent Empress of the entire cosmos. The Lexie-verse. I mean, that’s what I dream of when I snuggle into the cozy furs.
Well, except for the recent battle with the murder-bots. My cheeks flush just thinking about it. Me—the Divine Daughter—at the peak of my power, crushing Void-pains, and murder-orbs, shielding the entire bone-through-the-nose fleet with my blessed barriers, even Dracoth and Drex-iot singing my praises... and Ifall asleep. Mid-battle! Ugh. So random. It was probably Todd’s fault. His sleepy vibes are infectious.
Next thing I knew, we were landing on this planet. Dracoth was grunting about how the loser-bots got their asses kicked and some important Nib guy showed up at the last second. It wassoembarrassing though, I just hope not many people saw my little nap.
