Page 222 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“You’re no son—you’re a Shorthair. A clone,” he snarls, jabbing a clawed finger. “Your head stuffed with lies. A Scythian puppet, sent to divide us in our hour of victory.”
He turns to the others, gaze landing last and longest on Krogoth.
“A final, desperate gambit by the enemies of Klendathor. I do not recognize his right to stand among us.”
I stroke the rubbery night-light that is Todd—who is still humming with divine glow—and raise my chin.
“You’re very certain for someone wrapped like a mummy,” I purr. “I’m Alexandra from Earth. The Divine Daughter.”
I lean forward from Dracoth’s arm, fingers gliding along the glowing runes seared into my chest and neck.
“Perhaps you’ve heard of me? After all, I’m the one who shielded your sorry asses when you all started bashing each other over the head.”
Their faces tighten as I roll my eyes, letting my words sink in, savoring the shock and surprise before the mic-dropping moment comes. “And together, as Mortakin-Kis and Mortakin-Kai, we now deliver salvation.” With dramatic flair, I reach up and pull back the hood of Mama Dracoth’s robe.
The effect is immediate and explosive.
Perfect.
She stands serene and statuesque—beautiful, glowing, divine, albeit a vacant Goddess amidst the chaos. Still humming her eerie tune like some holy oracle from another world.
The Big Chiefserupt.
“By the Gods—” one whispers, staggering back.
Peacock Big Chief’s eyes widen with awe. “You spoke the truth,” he breathes, staring at Dracoth. “Before us stands the rightful heir of Gorexius!”
Around the table, awe shivers through the others like wind across tall grass.
“So...” Big Belly Chief murmurs, pale green eyes downcast, “the rumors were true. But I dared not believe them.” He raises tattooed hands, his snow-white braided hair and forked beard jangling with inlaid fangs. “For centuries we prayed... and at last, the Gods have answered. Praise Aenarael. Praise her mercy!”
Wait—he reveres Divine Mother too? This is perfect!
“Is this... a trick?” A young, cocky Big Chief squints. He’s draped in blue-tinted armor embedded with glowing bioluminescent coral and smugness. He shrugs off the two scantily clad, spike-headed aliens clinging to his shoulders like fashion accessories.
“I’ve seen better holograms at the cheapest junker pleasure gardens,” he mutters, swaggering up to Mama Dracoth like she’sa shop mannequin. Eyes crawling over her like he’s evaluating her for resale.
Then he reaches to touch her.
Oh, no.
Dracoth moves like murder given form—red lightning made flesh. His massive hand clamps down on the young Big Chief’s flimsy blue-armored wrist. Bratwurst-thick fingers engulf the man’s entire forearm.
“Don’t touch...” Dracoth growls, voice low and vibrating with fury.
He tightens his grip. Bones creak. The Big Chief drops to one knee, face twisted in pain.
“My mother!” Dracoth snarls, then shoves him backward with a grunt that sends him sprawling across the polished stone floor.
“Peace! Peace!” the blue-haired Big Chief splutters, throwing up both hands as he scrambles to his feet. “I think I’ll just stick with my lovely Elera and Umi.”
He quickly wraps his arms around the two squealing alien women at his sides, their expressions somewhere between shocked and thrilled. His ridiculous coral-studded topknot sways like a sail caught in a breeze.
Ugh. Who let the surfer bro into the summit?
Krogoth steps forward. He’s huge, second only to my Dracoth. His massive form cuts a regal figure beneath the shimmering overhead Elerium and sapphire lights.
“How can this be...” he mutters, turning to Bitch Brick. “Xandor never spoke of this.”
