Page 120 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

I want to scream. Want to weep. I need to do something! I can’t just stay on the defensive. I raise a trembling hand—Todd clacking above like a tiny war drum.

Shields snap forward—divine chains slamming into Krogoth like an angry bear trap.

“Yes!” I shriek, triumphant. “Got you!”

He snarls. Gray armor creaks beneath the strain. Then—he lifts a single finger. One. Giant. Finger. It traces the edge of my divine shield like a toddler smearing finger paint made of cosmic rage .

My shields slough apart. Then shatter. Like my pride. Like the dream that maybe—for once—I wouldn’t lose.

Why? Why do the Gods always abandon me?

I scramble backward, breath hitching in ragged gasps. I nearly trip over some whirring murder-machine. Krogoth’s sneer splits his face, his fangs glinting like goddamn guillotines, eyes burning stars of hatred.

He stomps forward—each step a thunderclap. A titan on the warpath.

I throw up more shields—frantic, trembling. But they’re weak. Hollow. Just like me. Almost all my power went into stopping that first attack. One. That’s what my divinity amounts to—a one-hit wonder before obscurity.

He smashes through my fresh barriers like wet tissue. A flick of his wrist sends swirling lattice orbs slicing through divine light like hot knives through cake.

Then he’s on me.

Shadow looming. I can hardly breathe. The intensity of his swirling purple-hazel gaze forcing me to avert my eyes.

He yanks me to my feet—rough, brutal. I gasp at the pressure on my shoulder.

“You DARE harm my PEBBLES? OUR UNBORN CHILDREN? ” He spits the words in my face. I twist in his grip, straining—but he might as well be carved from two-week-old brioche.

His arms move. The world spins. Fast. Sickening.

“No!” Sandra shrieks. That’s nice of her.

I think I’m flying. Like a Lexie-moth. A beautiful, sad Lexie-moth. It’s hard to tell, everything’s so fuzzy. Then reality strikes with brutal clarity. Pain erupts through my spine. My neck whips back like a ten-car pileup. Everything blurs.

He threw me. Like garbage. Like a bag of leftover chow mein and broken dreams.

“Rude... prick.” The words scrape out with the metallic tang of blood on my tongue. Metal clangs around me like an earthquake as Krogoth’s massive clown shoes stomp closer.

“Go Todd...” I croak, tears stinging my eyes. “Mummy messed up. Go find some jelly sticks, okay?” I reach weakly for him, but Todd clings tighter, vibrating like a plump rage grenade.

Then I’m hauled up again. His wind-tunnel breath assaults my blood-swooshing ears. Face-to-face with cosmic rage.

“I should END you!” he bellows, showering me in spittle.

“Eww...”

He shakes me. Like a rag doll stuck in a turbo spin cycle. Bones creak. Teeth rattle. Limbs flailing like I’ve been turned into a jelly stick.

Maybe Todd can eat me after?

Then the ground rushes to meet me. It crashes into me with brutal force that knocks the wind from my aching lungs.

“You tried to kill her,” he growls, voice cracking under the weight of fury and grief. “The mother of my children. ”

I lie there, broken. Dizzy. Done. The guillotine of shame and failure falling fast. It’s okay. I just wish... I could feel Dracoth’s heat. One last time.

My eyes flutter shut.

Then— BOOM!

A thunderous CRASH tears through the world. My Red Dragon erupts through the door like an avenging god.

Krogoth looks up—but it’s too late. Dracoth slams into him like a meteor wrapped in fury.

Krogoth flies— an ugly bird —a screaming blur crashing into the far wall, denting it with his body like a wrecking ball made of pain.

“Coward!” Dracoth booms, voice erupting like a volcano. “You refuse my challenge—but assault my Princesa? ”

By the Gods. This is hot.

He stalks forward, every footfall reverberating through the wreckage. The ground trembles with fury and raw cosmic intent.

Krogoth groans, shaking his head, green blood trickling from his nose as he rises from the crater his ass just made.

Delicious.

“Honor demands you answer for this sacrilege ,” Dracoth snarls, fangs bared. “I challenge you. To Krak-Tok. ” His words fall like a divine surprise birthday cake—frosted in redemption and cosmic reckoning.

Is this it? My redemption arc? Are my prayers being answered?

My heart slams against my aching ribs. My breathing, erratic.

Silence.

Krogoth climbs fully upright, glaring up at my towering murder-husband. Even he is dwarfed by Dracoth’s sheer mass and divine wrath.

Say it, Cringe-Eyes. Just say it.

“I could kill you where you stand,” Krogoth rumbles, low and seething. He flicks a glance toward Bitch Brick as if searching for Plain Jane answers—collapsed, cradled now by a softly whispering Sandra.

“With a mere thought!” A cosmic orb flickers above his clenched fist—there and gone again. Murder potential in one breath.

Dracoth doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Supreme Mr. Frowny Face, carved in volcanic stone. “Honor demands you face me,” he growls. “Warrior against warrior, Chieftain against Chieftain.”

Krogoth’s face contorts with disgust. “The same honor your father showed?” he spits. “That corrupted machine who tore our people apart?”

“I AM NOT MY FATHER!” Dracoth roars. Sudden. Brutal. Deafening. Thrilling. Even Todd croaks with awe.

Krogoth’s eyes flicker once more to Bitch Brick. Sandra—brainwashed—whispering comfort to the limp and rasping Plain Jane .

Come on, just say it already!

He exhales. Long. Heavy. Like a dying star. “So be it.” His voice is low now. Icy. “If it’s death you seek—I shall be its deliverer,” he intones, a judge passing a divine sentence.

He whirls around to scoop up the noodlized Bitch Brick like she’s made of shattered porcelain. Surprisingly gentle. Gross.

“Tomorrow, Argon-Six, Sector Sixty-Six.”

The traitor marches away, cloak and hair whipping behind him like some melodramatic explosion-ignoring villain.

My heart surges. Buoyed like a sugar-addicted schoolgirl, I can’t help myself. “May you be reborn in strength, ” I call sweetly after him, voice dripping honey and razor blades.

Then the world tilts —Dracoth lifts me into his strong arms. I groan, melting against him like a blonde marshmallow pressed to flat irons. But even as my cheek hits his armor, I hear it—buzzing. Whirring.

Murder-orbs. Dozens of them, hovering above, surveying the devastation like we’ve just played our parts in some cosmic space opera. Filing the moment under: Goddess Catfight / Deadly Waffle Fries / Pending Blood Trial .

Whatever.

I close my eyes, a crooked smile playing on my lips.

As long as I get my happy ending... They can watch all they want.