Page 219 of Scorching the Alien Empire
I groan. Sandra bursts into laughter.
“What’s so funny,Fire-on-Head?” Drexios purrs. “You wanna see it too? Give it a tug and we’ll see what powers you can make it shoot out.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively.
Sandra’s laughter fades into a freckled scrunch face of disgust and regret.
“Must you behave so... savagely?” Catokar mutters, massaging his temple like he’s regretting every life choice that led to this moment.
I know the feeling.
“Yes, we understand the blood’s been rerouted from your tiny brain,” the Consul continues, raising a hand. “Now kindly remove the weapon, so we can end this farce.”
Drexios smirks, hand shooting down his pants, wiggling back and forth like he’s shark fishing. “Oops. Wouldn’t you know.” He pulls out yet another blade. “Missed one.”
He tosses it at a Nib soldier’s feet. It sticks into the stone with acrack. The guard leaps back.
“I want that back,” Drexios says, deadly calm. “Washed.”
Catokar shakes his head like a disappointed headmaster. “Truly uncouth.” He straightens his robes. “All are cleared. You may proceed.”
We continue through the opulent corridor, the architectural bling now larger and more intricate. Walls glitter with inset gemstones—suns, stars, even eyes. Columns twist upward with gold-scribed battle scenes that practically shout, “We conquered, and it was fabulous.”
Ahead, a small crowd of bone-through-the-noses waits near the grand double doors. They stand in silence like nobles waiting for their cue in a play none of them understand.
“Who’s that?” Sandra leans in, a hint of awe in her voice.
We follow her gaze. Two space-knights in boring grey armor. One a blond youth glancing at the floor like an emo kid whose parents forgot his birthday. The other is a brute—almost as broad as my Dracoth but nowhere near as tall, with a face that looks like it’s been used as an ancient sumo wrestling ring.
“Eww,” I grimace, side-eyeing Sandra like she’s lost her mind. “I thought you had better taste than that!”
Her face flushes like the nearby crimson sun. “No! The blonde one...” her voice drifts off, probably already dreaming of little goth kids and knee-high socks. “He looks... sad.”
Of course she wants a fixer-upper. Poor. Simple. Sandra.
“Oh, look at this big cunt,” Drexios croons, turning all dreams into nightmares as always. “Muscles for days.”
He stomps up to long red-haired Sumo Face. “Yo, squish face. What the void happened tothatmug?” Drexios leers into his personal space like me shopping for new coat.
Before he can poke the poor guy, Catokar flicks a hand like he’s chasing off flies at Drexios, Sandra and Mama Dracoth.
“Attendees are to remain here,” he says, halting us before the immense, glimmering doors. They shimmer with deep wood polish and engraved gold patterns, flanked by statues of suspiciously oversized Nib heroes.
Definitelyovercompensating.
“These are,” I start, straining to hold Sandra and Mama Dracoth while cradled in Mr. Frowny’s Face arm, “my... gingers-in-waiting. Very important in my culture.”
I flash Sandra a wicked grin. She shoots me one back, made of pure sapphire murder. It only makes it funnier.
“Fine. I will allow it,” Catokar drawls, barely sparing the two a single glance. “I allowed the other Chieftain to bring his... what did he call them?Assistants?” He shrugs his tiny shoulders. “You may proceed.”
And with that, the great doors begin to creak open—like the galaxy itself is holding its breath.
My heart pounds.
This is it.
Krogoth Cringe-Eyes.
Bitch Brick.
