Page 67 of Scorching the Alien Empire
Her monstrous limbs spread wide, huge claws gleaming with menace as she prepares to meet our charge head-on. There’s a smirking glint in her draconic face that fills me with rage—the smug certainty I yearn to smear from her face using her own blood.
Closer now, her claws rise in anticipation, poised to strike. The wind whips through my hair, my heart thundering with life as I reach through my bond, feeling Dracoth’s flame blazing fierce and strong. I surge toward his fire, toward his protection. Arawnoth’s warmth burns hot within me, igniting the brand scorched into my chest, molten like the sun beaming above.
My eyes mist brilliant crimson and silver as I will my divine barriers into existence before Aenarael’s massive claws strike.
“Tear out her throat, Dracoth!” I roar.
A sickening force crashes through my mind—Aenarael’s strikes are the force of mountains, her immense claws screeching against my impenetrable shield. But I hold firm, fortifying my barriers with unbreakable, murderous desire.
A flicker of surprise widens her silvery, slitted eyes. But there’s no time to savor her shock. Dracoth slams into her, a snarling mass of titanic claws and fangs.
The impact nearly sends me toppling forward off his enormous neck, but I cling to his spine ridges with all my might. Aenarael, unable to break through my shimmering shields, is helpless against my red dragon’s brutal assault.
“Yes!” I exclaim as Dracoth sinks his massive jaws into her scaled neck. “Kill her!” I shriek as white-silvery blood steams and oozes between his fangs.
“Ouch,” Aenarael yelps, as if she merely pricked her finger on a pin—despite her neck now being a bloody ruin of exposed flesh and shattered scales.
Then, in a blink, everything changes.
The world of dragons is no more.
I’m plunged into cool water, the sudden shift both jarring and terrifying. Frantically, I twist and turn, clawing desperately toward the hazy white light above.
My head breaks the surface, and I greedily gulp in air, eyes darting anxiously, bracing for Aenarael’s next horrible trick. But I’m not in water—I’m in a sea of silver that stretches endlessly in every direction. The surface is perfectly still, a pristine mirror reflecting a huge, flaring white sun looming above.
I gasp as Aenarael materializes before the sun in her Klendathian form once again. She floats in the air, her hands raised, pristine robes cascading in waves, the white sun framing her like a divine halo. My stomach sinks at the sight of her—unbelievably beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.
She descends slowly through the cool air like the goddess she is, stopping when a single toe touches the mercury water, sending the tiniest ripple across its immaculate surface, expanding forever.
“I won!” I shout, my voice echoing strangely in this surreal space. “You cheated!”
An odd acceptance washes over me—I know she’s relentless, inescapable.
“Look!” she shrieks, turning her cheek to the side, showcasing a tiny green wound marring her cheek. “Look at what you’ve done to my perfect face, you little witch.” Her voice splinters into a hundred displeased, haughty echoes.
“Perfect is boring,” I quip, adrenaline still roaring in my ears.
She doesn’t find it funny. Quite the opposite, actually—her sneer sharpens. She advances, each step graceful, practically floating, leaving only the faintest ripples in her wake.
Typical. She’s walking on water like evil Jesus, and here I am, up to my neck, paddling just to stay afloat.
With no other option, I summon divine barriers, hoping to halt her ominous approach. They materialize before her, glistening with reflections of silver and white across their glassy surfaces—my only hope.
Aenarael lifts her chin, a wicked smirk tugging at her full lips. Then she simply steps through my shields as if they were nothing but light from a cruel sun, illuminating her elegant catwalk.
Panic flutters in my chest. I thrash, desperate to escape the inescapable, but it’s useless—I’m barely able to wade through the viscous silver.
“You seek to use my own gifts against me?” she asks, amusement threading her tones. “Ungrateful, spiteful child. What you wield is but a drop in the endless ocean that is my power.” Her multitude of voices boom as she spreads her arms wide.
A lump forms in my throat as she looms over me, her blazing glare as vast and deep as the ocean surrounding us.
Then, with blinding speed, she reaches down, yanking me from the water as if I weigh nothing. Droplets stream from my black robes like liquid mercury as she sneers down at me.
“Perfection is divine, and you have tarnished my perfection—you have tarnished my divinity,” she hisses, tilting her head to showcase the tiny scratch on her cheek.
“Um... nothing a little foundation can’t—”
“It stings!” Aenarael cuts me off with a roar, her face mere inches from mine.
