Page 36 of Scorching the Alien Empire
The sacred words will soon be mine.
Chapter 8
Dracoth
Sirius
Iclenchmyfistsbeforethe command bridge viewport, my muscles coil like arcweave cable, the immense strength none but I possess hums beneath my skin. The bruises and aches from Jazreal’s grueling lessons have faded, healed by my superior Klendathian blood. Moving without the hateful drag of the graviton belt feels almost euphoric—every motion is absurdly fast, fluid, unimpeded. But will it be enough?
The viewport bathes the dim, purple-lit room in a rippling kaleidoscope of hyperspace, a dazzling display of color. It tears a hole through the void, as I tear through the weak, releasing jets of the immaterial from cosmic arteries. Despite the ship’s incomprehensible speed, I will it to go faster. But no vessel exists that could match the pace of my burning desire.
After three days at hyperspeed, we near the Sirius system, approaching the pretender Drexios. The thought stokes the simmering fury in my chest, sharp and untamed, drawing a feral curl to my lips. But beneath the fury lies a current of exhilaration, thrumming with the knowledge that today, I will claim what is mine—what I’ve already taken by force.
This is the day I will bring my father’s Second to heel, where he belongs.
It is I who wear the cloak of a chieftain. I who am blessed by Arawnoth, forged together with Princesa. Elders Ignixis and Garzum have acknowledged it, and the Gods themselves demand it. There is no doubt: I am the rightful War Chieftain. Soon, I will reclaim my father’s place, commanding from his flagship,Ravager’s Ruin, the pride of the Klendathian fleet.
And within its hallowed halls lies an even greater prize—theRavager Berserkers, my father’s elite, the most fearsome warband of our people. The strongest force in the universe.
They will be mine.
With that power, with that legitimacy, the other Clan Chieftains must obey me. Their hearts will soar with the glory of my triumph when I crush Krogoth and his pathetic whispers of peace and return us to the blazing path of conquest. It is our destiny. Fury and excitement burn in my veins, a searing current that any true sons of Klendathor would feel. Anything less is cowardice, draped in sophistry.
“War Chieftain, we’ve arrived in the Sirius sector. Reducing speed,” Keth announces, his monotone voice an anathema to my simmering excitement.
His crimson eyes flick to the glowing terminal, fingers darting over its surface with precision. A low rumble vibrates through the black marble of the bridge, the colors of hyperspace fading as the ship decelerates. The shimmering medley of hues stretches into glittering pinpricks of starlight, still and cold.
My eyes narrow as a red light emerges in the distance. It glints like a malignant star, but it grows larger with every passing heartbeat. Not a star. A vessel.
“Keth, shields at full strength,” I command, my voice steady despite unease gnawing at me.
This is the enigmatic Scythian’s territory. How will they respond to a ragtag fleet at their border?
“War Chieftain, many more objects approaching. Hundreds of thousands... Correction. Millions,” Nexarn reports, his voice flat despite the sheer weight of the words.
Millions?
My eyes snap to the glowing navigational console. The display staggers belief—blue neon dots coalescing from every direction, merging into a solid, blinding mass of motion. Against the sea of azure, our fleet’s icons are minuscule specks, insignificant, nearly lost.
To muster such overwhelming force so quickly...What unfathomable numbers must lie at the heart of their empire?
A loathsome flicker of doubt tugs my gaze downward to my hands. Entering this place—this domain—means certain death should they turn hostile.
Should I take such a powerless position?No clever stratagem, no brutal resolve could overcome such odds.Only a fool or the desperate would throw themselves into the maw of the abyss like a timid snarlbroc led to slaughter.
Suddenly, a burst of mangled static explodes through the comms, deafening and shrill. The sound jolts me back to the present, my eyes snapping to the viewport.
Outside, a nightmarish spectacle unfolds: countless drones writhe and undulate, a sea of gleaming red that shifts with unnerving synchronicity. Their movements ripple like waves on a dark ocean, an eerie and impossible choreography in the void of space.
“War Chieftain, they demand we lower shields or face termination,” Nexarn says, somehow translating that surge of nonsensical noise.
My fists clench. This bears all the hallmarks of a trap, one I’ve already sprung. The noose is firmly around my neck, tightening with every passing second.
Could we outrun them?The thought dies as quickly as it forms. Their quick, nimble darting motions speak of speed we could not outrun.
There is no other option.
“Keth, do as they request. Nexarn, pass the order to Balsar,” I command, though the words feel hollow—a capitulation rather than an assertion of will.
