Page 32 of Scorching the Alien Empire
The fears still clawing at my mind are reduced to fragile ash as I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and step through the indistinct entrance with a defiant smirk twisting my lips.
Inside, Ignixis sits cross-legged on the black marble floor, eyes closed, his runic hands resting on his knees. The steady rise and fall of his chest match the hypnotic rhythm of his breathing. Around him, faint jade smoke curls lazily through the air, like witches’ fingers beckoning me toward shared madness.
The bitter, moldy scent of bloodroot assaults my senses, but I can’t help myself. I inhale deeply, craving more of the intoxicating fire that blazes through my lungs and spreads into my mind like a whisper of Arawnoth’s love. My heart hammers against my chest, in time with the frantic drumbeat blaring from a nearby shimmering blue holographic terminal.
Green haze filters my vision, and a manic laugh threatens to escape my lips, remembering Vexius’s words—now they seem almost poetic.
“What are you doing, Ignixis?” I sneer, staring down at the absurd contradiction before me: a nightmarish goth monk posed in serene meditation, surrounded by glowing blue terminals, oval medical pods, and a jumble of alien machinery I can’t begin to name.
“Trying to astral project into the women’s bathroom?”
“Mura-Tok,” Ignixis replies, his ancient voice heavy with irritation. His eyes remain closed, and the disdain in his tone is as disappointing as a rejected credit card. “You interrupt me to spurt inane nonsense? I assumed even your kind could recall that my people’s females are gone.”
Such a rude prick!
His words sting like a slap on the ass from Dracoth. My teeth and hands clench, the psychotic murder drugs fueling a dangerous, animalistic urge to lunge at him.
“I remember,” I growl, struggling to leash my temper. “Haven’t you heard of a joke—”
“What brings you here?” he interrupts, slicing through my words like a blade. “If you’re looking for the kitchens, I’m afraid your sense of smell is as feeble as your restraint.”
“Listen, you fucking—”
His eyes snap open, blazing like molten emeralds, and the air shifts. The mist spilling from his gaze mingles with the green smoke curling up from the golden brazier before him, painting the room in surreal, otherworldly hues.
“Fucking,” he echoes sharply. The teasing tone he sometimes displays now a faded memory. “Your human Englandish slang for mating, if I recall?”
His gaze narrows, twisting his runic face into a canvas of barely contained menace. My skin crawls with what feels like the legs of a thousand skittering mini-Todds.
“Well, kind of—”
“Vulgar and disgusting, that’s what it is!” Ignixis roars with sudden fury.
He jabs a wizened, rune-marked finger toward me, his bony hand trembling with disdain. “Your pathetic lust oozes from your every pore. I can smell it—taste it. It’s vile, lingering in the air, tainting Arawnoth’s divine blood with its foulness.”
“Wh... what?” I stammer, instinctively clamping my legs together, feeling utterly exposed and violated by his words. A flush of shame rises, threatening to turn my face as red as Dracoth’s.
“I don’t have to stand here and take this crap from some creepy old dickhead!”
A smirk, twisted and smug, spreads across his lined face as he tilts his head, watching me like a raven studying a wriggling worm.
I whirl around, fury bubbling beneath the surface, and storm toward the exit. Only Dracoth’s muted bond holds me back, preventing me from turning Ignixis into a moldy, bloodroot-scented sandwich with my godlike powers.
Each step I take away from him feels heavier, my teeth grinding as his shrill, half-mad laughter echoes behind me, haunting my every footfall. The sound cuts deeper than I expect, dredging up memories of cruel jeers and whispered taunts from boarding school. It twists my stomach, a sickening knot forming as long-buried emotions resurface.
The swirling green mist grows thicker, and the heat of Arawnoth’s brand seared into my chest flares. My pace slows as an oppressive wave of humiliation crashes over me.
“No,” I whisper, almost inaudibly, my fingers brushing against the intricate, burning runes etched along my neck and upper body.
The word gains strength as it escapes my lips. I stop, and with a sudden surge of fury, I spin around. The mist parts as my voice cuts through the air. “No! I’m not leaving until you teach me the sacred words of Arawnoth!”
Ignixis’s laughter dies abruptly, like a cellphone with its battery ripped out. His smirk vanishes as he rises from the floor with surprising fluidity, his black robes billowing like the ashes of the dead caught in a howling gale.
“Is this another one of your humanjokes?”he snarls, his voice resonating with raw power. “Do you think our sacred knowledge is the plaything of children!”
My breath catches, my body trembling as dread creeps into my chest. He looms over me like a monstrous black-red vulture sizing up a meal, his form fragile yet terrifyingly immense.
But I force myself to meet his blazing emerald stare, not with rage, but with unwavering courage.
