Page 262 of Scorching the Alien Empire
I bolt upright—crack—my head slams into the cursed low Nebian ceiling, denting it again. “Size and strength are but one aspect,” I growl, rubbing the ache from my skull.
“You heard how they spoke of him. How he moved like lightning—against myfather. This battle will be unlike any other.” My fists tighten, bones creaking.
I cannot wait to face him.
Princesa rises, bare and glorious in the amber-blue glow. Her breathtaking silhouette—full breasts, cascading hair, those ample curves—a beautiful sight searing itself into my memory for perhaps the last time.
“You really are playing hard to get,” she teases, bending to grab one of her many variations of black-gold-inscribed robes. “Such a waste of a mighty, meaty meat stick.” She sighs theatrically, shimmying into the fabric—a star disappearing behind a horizon.
“They talk about him like that because he’sblessed. The Gods made him faster, stronger,” she says, offhandedly, as thoughdiscussing how best to gut an enemy. “Your father wasn’t.Youare. You’re more than he ever was. The greatest fighter the universe has ever seen—isn’t that right, my little Chug Bug?” Her voice shifts into a maddening coo as she lifts the useless creature and drapes it over her shoulders. “Daddy’s gonna kick Krogoth’s ass, oh yes he is.”
Her conviction surges through our bond, blazing as bright as my desire. Shebelievesin my strength. Believes I am invincible in combat. That belief honors me. But still—I recall the Krak-Tok with Jazreal. Smaller. Quicker. More experienced. My arrogance nearly doomed me, if not for a single misstep—one stone, one instant, one twist of fate.
Victory is never certain. To forget that is to invite death.
I tap my wrist console. Time flickers in luminous blue.
“Do we need to go?” Princesa asks, perked, her eyes following the display.
“Two hours,” I murmur, a spark of anticipation rising as I begin the task of donning my father’s obsidian armor. A difficult task in this confined space. The thick plates bear down on me with a weight only I can bear.
“Oooh, exciting!” Princesa exclaims, clapping. “Soon we’ll be Boss Babe and Babette.” She sighs dreamily. “Ah... the look on Bitch Brick’s face is going to bedelicious. And I’ll finally get my ginger-in-waiting back.” She glances around, tapping her pinched chin. “Do you think afterward...” She pauses. I’m already bracing. “We could, I don’t know, beat up the Smurfs and take theImperator’s Manicure...I mean, it’s almost my birthday.”
“Imperator’s Fist,” I correct.
“Whatever,” she snorts.
“No,” I growl, not surprised—but always amazed by the scale of her ambition. “Is Sandra no longer your war sister?” I ask,curious, trying not to dent the walls while stepping into my greaves.
She shrugs. “More like brunch-munch sisters,” she snorts, smile fading, tone dropping. “No... I thought she was my Ginga Ninja. But turns out she was just a double-agent disguised as a red squirrel.”
As always, her nonsense hides the truth. “Regrettable,” I say, solemn. I admired the pleasant female. The grounding effect she had on Princesa will be missed.
“Yeah,” Princesa murmurs, absentmindedly twisting her diamond and Elerium bonding rings. “It wasthat fucking Bitch Brick. She’s mind-controlling Sandra. That’s why we need to stop them. Well...” Her silver eyes meet mine—hungry, imploring. “That’s one reason.”
“Unlikely,” I mutter, frowning as I recall a few of my Berserkers drinking themselves senseless alongside some drunken Draxxus warriors after the battle. “They claim her powers only last a few minutes.”
I expect a flicker of relief. Maybe even a smile. Instead, her face twists into a sneer, eyes narrowing. “No way. That’s just another load of crap she’s spreading.” She waves a dismissive hand, like swatting away an annoying znat. “Or maybe Bitch Brick’s been pumping her full of commands like some creepy force feeder. Hmm?”
Then, with a sudden shift, her expression softens into a mischievous smile. “Speaking of ginger, that reminds me—I have a gift for you.” She lets out a giggle and spins around to rummage through a polymer drawer.
A gift? For me?She’s never given me anything before. Curiosity stirs inside me—warm, eager.
“Ah-ha! Found it!” she cries triumphantly, whirling back around, nearly vanishing behind a massive swath of fabric. “Taa-daa!” she sings, her voice playful as she lets the material unfurl. “So, what do you think?”
The banner comes to life in a wave of crimson and gold. A fierce, red-scaled beast rains fire across a battlefield, its majestic wings stretched wide against a storm-wracked sky. Claws the size of siege weapons tear through ranks of armored foes. Along the top and bottom, flaming runes burn like brands into the cloth. They read:“The cycle burns eternal.”
“Impressive,” I murmur, stunned by the gesture. Something warm unfurls in my chest. “That you made this for me... you have my thanks.”
“Well, I can’t take all the credit,” she replies, her voice muffled beneath the folds. “It was my design, but Sandra actually created it. I didn’t think she’d deliver it after, well... everything. Of course, she still couldn’t resist messing with it.” She exhales, loud and theatrical. “I saw how many banners you bone-through-the-noses hang in our ship, so I figured you needed one of your own.”
Each banner marks a warband. A champion. A legend. And now—mine. A legacy written in fire, still beginning.
“You honor me,” I say, running a hand over the embroidered flame. “Soon, I’ll wash it in Krogoth’s blood.”
“Eww. Don’t ruin it,” she shoots back, wrinkling her nose. “Hey—do you recognize anyone on it?”
I squint, noting vague figures in the chaos. And one odd blotch. “No. But there’s an unfinished section, above the creature?”
