Page 117 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

“Welcome, Chieftain Krogoth,” the Imperator booms, voice echoing beneath the great star mural.

His twin-sun collar aligns with the mural’s celestial disc, as if staged.

“We’ve been anxiously awaiting your presence.

I fear, in your absence, discipline has begun to.

.. wane.” He laughs, gesturing to the tree-like thrones at the far end table head.

“Please, take your seat. I’m eager to resolve this little dispute. ”

“You misspoke,” Krogoth replies smoothly, pulling out the smaller seat—for her. “I am the High Chieftain.”

Not for long, Loser Cringe-Eyes.

“Of course!” the Imperator gasps, raising both hands in mock surrender.

“Forgive me—these ancient ears. They fail me after a mere thousand years of service.” He chuckles, nodding to his smirking bootlickers.

“Why, just this morning, I misplaced my wrist console. I swear I’d be lost without my NeuroLink. ”

He sighs wistfully—then jolts upright with dramatic flair.

“Now—where was I? Ah, yes, we’re here to conduct a vote for leadership between High Chieftain Krogoth and War Chieftain Dracoth.

With I, your grateful ally, acting as independent adjudicator.

” He turns to his high-collared Smurf toad.

“How do the Klendathians typically conduct such votes? A silent ballot? Or—?”

“A roll call vote,” Krogoth says, barely listening as Bitch Brick refuses the seat like the stubborn Todd turd she is. Instead, Cringe-Eyes lifts her effortlessly onto his lap—like she’s the galaxy’s most garish ventriloquist dummy.

“So each warrior may look upon and hear his brothers’ will and resolve,” he adds, settling proudly into his throne.

“ Brother, ” Peacock Chief spits, feathers twitching.

“You dare say that word? You, who murdered my friend with nether-spawned power? Without a shred of honor or skill, you ripped the beating heart from our people. And now you inflict this desecration upon us?” He gestures at the Imperator with venom.

“I’ll not waste another second on this insult.

My vote is for War Chieftain Dracoth—the true heir of Gorexius.

Not some traitor who’ll soon taste the kiss of Scarn’s volcanoes. ”

Oh, our first vote—and such a poetic death threat! Assuming Bitch Brick gets crisped alongside him, I’ll call that a two-for-one.

“How... enlightening,” the Imperator stammers, clearly thrown. “I take it both candidates vote for themselves?” He raises a bushy white eyebrow.

“Yes,” Krogoth says without hesitation.

My Red Dragon just grunts and nods—concise as ever. All smolder, no sparkle.

“Very good.” The Imperator chuckles. “Can you imagine the alternative? Not since the betrayal of Vespera has such a moment occurred. Ah... those were interesting times.” His gaze drifts—nostalgic and eerie. Like he’s reliving Smurf reruns.

“Can we hurry this along? ” I tut, bouncing my heel off the floor like a coke-addled metal drummer. “The Divine Cherub’s up past his bedtime.” The stomach-churning impatience is about to evacuate my French toast all over their lovely, shiny fresco floor.

Not technically a lie. It’s always Todd’s bedtime. Little sleepy Chunker.

“I share your enthusiasm,” the Imperator smiles down at me like a hungry hyena trapped in Santa Claus’s body. “But these are the rare moments that echo through history. I find it best to savor them... like a fine wine. So centuries from now, the taste is all the sweeter.”

Great. Now he’s a talker.

“Alas, I’ve had my fill,” I purr, lowering my lashes like I’m flirting with a goddamn sermon. “I’ve always preferred sharper, more intense ... experiences.” I answer, speaking in ancient Papa Smurf code.

“Indeed!” he barks a laugh. “There is merit in that. The impatience of youth! But who am I to deny such earnest wishes?”

Suddenly—panels slide open.

Murder-orbs.

They pour in like overachieving Roombas, buzzing with silent menace. My breath hitches at the sight of the little shits, forcing me to clutch Dracoth’s arm. They’re not even carrying snacks , which only tightens my grip.

The little metal pricks zip into the air, forming a flawless square as if obeying some unspoken command.

Blue light projects between them, creating a vast shimmering hologram.

One side shows Krogoth’s angry, high-def mug, ringed by runes and alien symbols.

The other: my Mr. Frowny Face’s stoic death-glare and a different set of glowy squiggles—hopefully meaning two .

“The score currently stands two-to-one in favor of War Chieftain Dracoth,” the Imperator announces, a hint of smug joy that does nothing to calm my twitchy stomach. “Who wishes to vote next.” He sweeps his stubby arm over the table like a celestial game show host.

“I, Aelioth of Clan Sanaxus, will,” Mummy Big Chief stands—quiet, confident—just like Todd. His voice is soft, but it carries. “Two hundred years ago, my clan fought beside Clan Draxxus to protect our females from the Scythians’ clutches.” He spits. Literally. Spits.

I recoil, making a note to avoid that part of the floor.

His segmented robes and shawls flutter as he sweeps a hand over the others. “Honor demanded it. Time revealed the truth. For do any here still doubt the folly of that day?”

His glowing blue eyes scan the room like searchlights. No one dares interrupt.

“Once again, we stand at a precipice. Son of Gorexius—none doubts your strength. The great honor earned in retrieving the Revered Mothers thought lost.” He inclines his head in respect, tussling his long sun-bleached hair.

“But you would lead us to more wars our people cannot bear. Krogoth Star-Eyes walks with the Gods. He crushed the hated Scythians.”

He stops to cough up another phlegmy spit of barfness. Lovely.

“The Gods choose him to lead us. I, Aelioth of Clan Sanaxus, honor our ancient bonds. I vote for Krogoth Star-Eyes. And I urge my brothers: seek wisdom.”

He sits.

“Could’ve just said that from the start,” I sigh, glancing at Dracoth, who still seems maddeningly volcano-Zen about this whole thing. “Might’ve saved the floor at least.”

“Thank you, brother,” Krogoth says, standing to clasp Mummy Chief’s wrist like the conspiring cheaters they obviously are.

“Very good,” the Imperator nods sagely, that same amused smile carved across his weirdly ancient face. “Two-to-two. Exciting , is it not?” He turns, spreading his arms like a ringmaster. “Now—who’s next?”

Above, the drone hologram flashes. Krogoth’s runes blink in sync with Dracoth’s—dead even.

My eye twitches despite myself. Relax, Lexie . Mummy Big Chief’s vote went as expected. Things are going perfectly to plan. You’ve got Surfer Bro. You’ve got Big Belly. Your two faithful, if slightly problematic, admirers.

“I will speak,” Big Belly rumbles, a Buddha statue coming to life. He unfolds his massive legs and rises, the polished floor shuddering with his weight. “Aelioth spoke well.”

My heart crashes.

“Krogoth does walk with the Gods, he’s won us a freedom I had long given up hope for,” he rumbles, an avalanche crushing my dreams beneath a mountain of demonic snow. He exhales slowly. His sad, weary eyes snap to Krogoth.

“But...”

There it is. My heart slingshots into my throat like it’s riding the ‘But ’ rollercoaster straight into cardiac arrest.

“He preaches radical peace. He forsakes alliance when total victory remains elusive.” Big Belly looks down at his hands, runes etched across them like the Gods are playing Scrabble—probably spelling VICTORY.

“We are warriors, not farmers. The Rush flows through our veins—it speaks of divine intent.” He glances at Dracoth and me.

“We Virennix are children of Mother Aenarael the frozen-hearted.”

Okay. Rude.

Then he gestures to us, prompting me to flash my most innocent, definitely didn’t influence anyone smile.

“But now,” he says, “the great Goddess Aenarael speaks through them. So I will follow. I vote for War Chieftain Dracoth.”

YES.

I nod gracefully at Big Belly, but my eyes drill into Bitch Brick. She flicks a glance our way, her features wrinkled even more with concern.

Are you reading my mind now, Rocks? Do you feel it slipping away? The power? The throne? Me rising where you fall?

I smirk. The slightest curl of my lips. Just for her. A punctuation mark on her downfall. She notices, but doesn’t flinch. Worse—she’s not afraid. Not a bit. Instead, she turns to Krogoth, whispering more witchcraft into his long ear.

He nods, slow and solemn. Like they’re about to pull off the heist of the century.

No.

“Excellent!” the Imperator booms, snapping me from the dread creeping in.

“Three to two, in favor of the War Chieftain. Now... Voryx of Clan Aquaxus, you hold the deciding vote. ” He chuckles—but his Elerium-lit eyes pulse like they’re watching the world burn.

“Such a burden,” he adds. “I do hope you choose wisely. For everyone’s sake. ”

All eyes turn to Surfer Bro.

He swallows a mouthful of imaginary sand. “I—I, yes, of course. I understand and accept this heavy—um—great honor.”

“We believe in you, Voryx.” The blue pineapple-head hussy giggles into his ear like a siren leading a ship to cliffs.

“Yes, you’re the bestest ,” the green-scaled hussy drapes over him like a flea-ridden blanket.

Surfer Bro’s top-knot trembles. His coral strands shimmer like nervous sequins. “I—I am actually the... the—”

I can’t take this pressure! Wee Todd’s head’s going to explode. Just spit it out already!

“By the Gods!” Big Belly crushes his stammering like a striking meteorite. “This is a farce . This fool’s vote should count for less than—”

“Just fucking vote for fuck’s sake!” I shriek, full banshee, beautiful and pissed. Stunned silence follows. I think even the murder-orbs blink. “I swear on Divine Mother and Father,” I snarl, “if I have to wait another second, I’m going to start squishing heads. ”

Surfer Bro blinks like he just rejoined reality.

Then—Bitch Brick smothers a laugh that boils my blood. Eyes locked on me, leaning into Krogoth’s ear, whispering more poison. Their eyes flash purple-hazel, eerie mist spilling into the cold, sterile air—for a blink. No longer.

Did I imagine that?

Todd’s rune pulses lightly. Not a full glow. Not enough to scream mind control . But my stomach does a backflip. My lungs forget how to breathe.

She did something. I know she did.

“Hurry up!” I growl, finger jabbing toward Surfer Bro, who now stares into space like he’s been lobotomized by sea breeze.

Dracoth gives me a look. Big, red, frowny: Breathe. But I’m so over it. I can’t. I won’t until—

“I... vote for High Chieftain Krogoth,” Surfer Bro says.

No...

A tidal wave hits me. Fifty stories of betrayal crashing down in one breathless second.

My chest locks. My vision blurs. The world shudders. I can’t breathe.

“Alexandra the War Chieftainess came to me this morning,” he adds. A coral, shark-infested tsunami slams into my chest. “She offered me her... fleshy body,” he continues, voice dull as dead mollusks. “Said she’d mate me like a living star wrapped in a female’s skin.”

This can’t be happening. This is a nightmare. One of Aenarael’s weird visions. Haha. Very funny, Mother. You got me. You can wake me up now.

I slip from my chair. Knees hit the cold floor with a sickening thud. At least... I think it’s me. It doesn’t feel like me. It feels like I’m watching someone else—some loser who really screwed up. Someone who can’t possibly be me.

“She said I’d taste her divinity if I cast my vote for Dracoth.” Surfer Bro drones on, his monotone voice somehow making it even worse, scraping against my skull like rusted metal.

Did I really say that? Yes— but not like that. Not like that.

Laughter erupts. Rich. Cruel. Splintering the chamber’s silence into jagged, bloody shards.

It’s her. Bitch Brick. Twisting the knife deeper. Heartless and ruthless. Just like those bitches who bullied me in boarding school. I hate her, and the traitorous bastard Surfer Bro...

My breath hitches.

Strong arms wrap around me. Warmth floods my bones. Just enough to hold back the black tide.

“I—I...” I gasp. “Can’t... breathe.”

The world tilts. Suddenly I’m in the air. Carried like a doll in the arms of a mountain.

“Rest,” Dracoth murmurs. A voice like thunder. Distant. Comforting. Terrifying.

“Three-to-three.” The Imperator—I think—voice is warped, hazy, like it’s underwater. “A tie. But given the generous conditions set by the War Chieftain’s side... High Chieftain Krogoth remains leader. We’ll need time to... digest this outcome and... revise the terms for our alliance.”

It’s over.

“Todd?” I whisper, eyes fluttering. “Is Todd okay?”

No one answers. The light fades. And then—

Darkness.