Page 95 of Scorching the Alien Empire
Jazreal’s gaze flicks to Dracoth, mouth agape, as if waiting for a fly to land on his tongue.
“The War Chieftainess speaks the truth,” Dracoth rumbles, a mountain looming behind me. “Ignixis spoke in the Crucible. He summoned Arawnoth. He heralded the battle of the Gods.”
“The Gods walk among us,” Jazreal mutters, lowering his gaze in thought. Then, suddenly—he straightens. “I will receive the prophet’s blessing.”
His boots echo like church bells against the marble floor as he strides toward me. Others follow. The space-knights in their obsidian armor, their faces solemn, their eyes alight with reverence.
A thrill sparks in my chest. Giddy with passion, I nearly laugh.
Once, I called him a creepy Demon Egg-head. Now? A prophet in the making. It’s the least I can do, really—after all he’s done. Bringing Dracoth and me together. Teaching me the sacred words. Giving us this chance to kill the murder-bots. Even if hismethods were sometimes more questionable than a ten-dollar Prada purse.
Jazzy kneels before me, his head bowed expecting me to smear ash on his forehead.
“Scourge the weak. Embrace strength. Let the vanquished be reborn in his divine image,” I murmur, pressing a pinch of sacred ash to his lips.
His green eyes snap to mine. Surprise flickers there, but I do not waver. Instead, I push harder, my face a regal mask. “Let his spirit blaze from within.”
He hesitates—then swallows. His lips purse like he’s sucked a lemon.
“It’s... warm,” he mutters, wonder dawning on his face. “I can feel the heat burning inside me.” He barks a laugh, rising smoothly to his feet.
“He truly was a prophet!” His voice swells as he turns to the soldiers. “He foresaw this! Knew you would reject the Scythians when the time was right.”
Jazreal whips around, his hair trailing like a ridiculous toupee. “He told me—no matter your words, he knew your heart. That under your command, I would find the vengeance needed to cleanse my soul of shame. Back in Scarn, he swore me to secrecy. That is why I joined you. That is why I reclaimed my place as Death Herald.”
Oh my. Such a sneaky schemer, Ignixis was.
If I continue my training, if I delve deeper into the sacred words—will Arawnoth grant me glimpses into the future? Assuming Divine Mother doesn’t turn me into a hamster or something equally horrible for daring to seek another God’s favor.
Ah, the price of being so exquisitely special.
Dracoth’s expression barely shifts—but I see it. That infinitesimal widening of the eyes. The quiet shock at Jazreal’swords. It’s so subtle I might be the only one capable of noticing. The big block head cared deeply for Ignixis. It was so obvious! But in typical, Mr. Frowny Face fashion he didn’t realize until Arawnoth claimed him. Tragic, really. Men only appreciate what they’ve lost, not what they have.
“Another gift,” Dracoth growls, clenching his fist before his face, “that I will honor with death.”
Drexios barks a laugh—grating, supremely irritating, like the ping of a rejected credit card.
“So, the old cultist finally got himself killed.” His face twists into part sneer, part smirk—a skill unique to his stupid face. “Not so wise now, is he? A vipertail so shadowy. Leading others astray, yet he’s the one to pay.”
He erupts into manic laughter. My fists tighten around Ignixis’s ashes, heat pulsing through my palms. But before seething words ooze from my lips, Dracoth speaks.
“The scientist, Drexios?” His voice rumbles like an avalanche.
“Scholars!” Drexios’s laughter dies instantly. A frown creases the deep vertical scar down his face as he rakes his claws over it. “I know just the coward for you, young War Chief.”
He pauses for dramatic effect, fluttering his fingers like he’s casting some nausea-inducing curse.
“Razgor.”
An awkward silence lingers. Drexios stares at Dracoth, waiting—hoping for a reaction. He gets none.
“I’ll give him the good news,” he finally continues, flashing a wicked grin. “Bye. Bye, then. I’ve got scoomer to liberate.”
Not if I find the scoomer first.
He bows with absurd theatricality, shuffling backward toward the looming doorway like some insane clown no one hired or wanted.
The last thing we need is an evencrazierDrexios running loose. The image of him sweating through withdrawal like a hobo junkie actually makes me smile.
