Page 109 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)
“Voidbringer. Gods. Crucibles,” Consul Juliara interjects, throwing her hands up with exasperation. “He spins tales meant to frighten children. Not fit for these enlightened halls.”
“That’s why the Scythians were disabled around Argon Six,” Krogoth states, shooting Vorthax and the Nebians a withering look. “We could’ve annihilated them utterly. Were it not for your hesitation and doubt.”
“We suspected a trap,” Consul Catokar mumbles, chewing the corner of his lip. “The Fallen are devious. Their strategies evolve by the second. We did strike some blows at your... aggressive insistence.”
“This news troubles me greatly,” The Imperator glares at the cringing Catokar. “Two-thirds of my imperial fleet lost, because you played it safe?” His voice thunders with anger, slamming his tiny fist in a poor imitation of strength.
“I—I—”
“Silence!” The Imperator’s voice booms, breathing heavily. “And cease that infernal racket !” He groans, thumbing his ancient temples. The strings fall quiet.
He exhales.
“Days like these make me regret Tyrxie’s healing touch.” A long pause. “This... Voidbringer you speak of—do you mean the central AI of the Fallen? Their master core? How did you disrupt it?”
He leans forward, eyes sharp. “We’ve tried to interface with their network. Every time, it floods our systems with infinite recursive code. Malicious logic. We have to purge entire nodes just to survive contact.”
“In our realm, it is a malignant machine—cold, ruthless, calculating.” I say, already bracing for their disbelief. “In the realm of the Gods, it exists as an entity of pure oblivion. A dreamless night.”
Ignixis’s words. Poetic. Fitting.
“Realm of the Gods!” The Imperator bursts into laughter—shrill, manic, disbelieving.
His officials follow suit, though theirs ring hollow, the laughter of sycophants unsure of their place in the shifting tide.
“Perhaps you’ll lead us there yourself,” he jests, wiping his eyes. “A final strike, yes?”
They wouldn’t last a breath. The Voidbringer would peel their feeble minds open like fruit, casting the remains into the abyss.
“Very well,” Bulba sniffs, still smiling.
“I’ll presume you’re correct until sharper minds can find the logic and reason buried in all this.
..” He waves dismissively at us Klendathians.
“This madness. Now, I’ll dispatch scout drones to verify the fate of Sothis Prime.
Krogoth—your forces will accompany mine through the Sirius System. We’ll purge every last Scythian nest.”
“No,” Krogoth replies, voice steady, but arcweave-forged.
The room stills. “I return to Klendathor. With what remains of my people. For too long, we’ve fought and bled—dying on alien worlds, never knowing peace, never knowing love.
” He looks down at Rocks. Their eyes meet.
And he places a gentle hand on her stomach.
New life? A child? Between a human and a Klendathian?
My hand shoots out, pressing against Princesa’s gut, searching for any movement, any vibration. Strangely excited.
“Hey!” she barks, failing to bat me away. “Okay, rude. Just because I’m a little plump doesn’t mean you get to rub me like a lucky genie lamp.”
...Nothing. Disappointing.
“But what of our alliance?” The Imperator demands through tight lips. “Do your people not crave slaughter?”
“My people are not killers!” Krogoth snaps, stiffening as if struck by a hammer blow.
“The alliance stands. But my duty is first to my people. We will send support when we are able—when children’s laughter echoes once again through the Draxxi woods.
” His gaze and voice soften to a whisper.
“I will honor your last wish, Astraxius.”
The Imperator’s jaw works behind clenched teeth.
“Return? With what fleet?” he scoffs. “Need I remind you, High Chieftain. You’re stranded on my world—Argon Six.
With what?” He glances at Consul Catokar.
“Less than a dozen functioning Scythian Battlebarges? All of them susceptible to their corruption. You command a force a million strong. How will you feed so many? House them? Transport them? I advise against this course of action. It is... unwise.”
Grumbling swells through the chamber. A storm rising in the throats of my kin.
“You dare abandon us after all we sacrificed for you?” Chieftain Aelioth roars, his bright blue eyes piercing between segmented head scarfs.
The Imperator lets out a dry bark of laughter. “ I am not abandoning you. He is.” He thrusts a squat hand toward Krogoth. “We stand at the precipice of total victory. Join us in finishing this. Come—embrace the savage blood that flows through your veins. Use your bloodlust for something noble.”
“We are skilled hunters, nothing more. You would twist us into weapons!” Krogoth snarls, his fangs bared, eyes spilling violet Rush into the sterile air—an avatar of war about to unleash his fury.
“First the Scythians. Now you. You don’t want allies.
You want beasts. I won’t let you turn us into monsters.
I won’t let you corrupt our noble blood! ”
Amusing. Na?ve.
I step forward, my voice a volcanic eruption.
“You are wrong, Krogoth.”
He turns, expression unreadable. The weight of the room and our people’s future presses down on me like the Peaks of Scarn.
“We are born of war. Within every Klendathian heart surges Arawnoth’s molten fury.
He gave you the Rush spilling from your eyes.
You feel it now, as I do too. Claws itching for release.
That fire in your chest. The thrill of battle.
A brutal contest with worthy foes. The warmth of their blood oozing between fingers. ”
My fingers close around the Hemo-Tok at my hip. They jingle, singing pleasantly—my brothers of bone.
“That’s it, my Red Dragon,” Princesa purrs, voice husky with heat as her body melts against mine like molten lava. “Show them who you are.”
Krogoth stands wreathed in fury—power radiating off him in trembling waves.
A manic, sardonic laugh bursts from my flaming lungs. “Look at you! A titan of war. A demi-God. I feel your strength. You want to break me. To rip me apart, a thousand pieces scattered at your feet.”
I stalk toward him, letting my Rush flare bright, each step a pounding war drum, inviting battle.
“Arawnoth whispers in your ear,” I growl. “He demands sacrifice. A contest of muscle, sinew, and soul. To deny this... is to deny yourself .”
I tower over him. The only one worthy of facing me at my peak. No half-measures. No holds barred.
“Oh, isn’t this a historic marvel?” the Imperator croons from above, eyes glittering with delight. “Why not settle this matter in a glorious cultural showcase? A trial of champions!”
“No,” Rocks pleads, clinging to Krogoth’s arm. “Please... not again, my Mortakin-Kai.” Her voice trembles. “I can’t bear to lose you. Not like that. Not after everything we’ve built together.”
Krogoth stands frozen, fury burning through every line of his body. His jet-black hair cascades down his back like a battle-banner—a testament to his prowess. His eyes, blazing violet suns, never leave mine. But he resists . He stands at the edge and doesn’t leap.
So I push him.
“You shamed me once, Krogoth. A victory claimed, but not earned.” I reach up and slap the horned crown from his head. It clatters across the floor, snapping its gilded horns against the stone.
“Face me—the Shorthair Chieftain. As you faced my father. In honorable combat. Earn that ridiculous crown.”
Krogoth cranks his head back, fangs fully bared, every breath a storm barely contained.
Yes. That’s it.
“Hasn’t there been enough blood spilled?
” Chieftain Borrthak, the old fool cries out, his voice heavy with grief.
He shuffles forward, scooping the broken, garish crown as if it were a dying child.
“Haven’t we had our fill of misery and death?
Must we bury every tradition beneath the bones of our brothers? ”
Krogoth closes his eyes. Inhales deeply.
“No,” he says at last, voice rough with restraint. “Borrthak... Rocks... they speak the truth.” he sighs, eyes dimming, shoulders loosening. The moment, his fury slipping away.
“We are not monsters,” he says, stepping past me, leaving another kind of defeat blooming in my chest. Cold. Hollow. “Not anymore.”
“Coward,” I call after him, my voice molten and desperate.
Princesa steps forward with a calm grace, stroking Todd’s glowing plumpness.
“Well, since Krogoth Cringe-Eyes is too scared and weak to fight my husband...” Her voice is mock-sweet, eyes mercury pools. “Why not something more civilized?”
She gestures to the other Chieftains. “A Big Chief vote. Democracy. The good ol’ Earth way. Since Krogoth’s totally not a dictator.”
Her smile widens. “A tie, Krogoth wins. Our majority, we win.”
She shrugs, glaring silver daggers at Rocks. “Can’t say fairer than that, right?”
Rocks smiles back—polite, practiced, but doesn’t touch her glistening eyes. “What a wonderful idea,” she says sweetly, a hint of a smirk passing between the two females, despite the murderous tension crackling in the air.
“Very well,” the Imperator claps, the sound sharp, final. “Tomorrow, I’ll have my answer.” He shoots me a knowing look. An Elerium promise of retribution—or glory.
“And by the twin suns,” he says. “I’ll have my vengeance.”