Page 129 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

Krogoth hacks up ash again—how tragic—he doesn’t like spicy chips. Just a moment is all my Red Dragon needs to deliver a crunching boot into his midriff with a sound like a sonic boom detonating in a cathedral.

Cringe-Eyes skids across the jagged stone like a crash dummy without a seat belt.

Yes! Kill him, Dracoth! Kill him!

Dracoth obliges. Earth-shattering blow after earth-shattering blow, each more glorious than the last. Somehow Krogoth’s still alive, clinging on like a huge zit that refuses to pop. His shield is now basically decorative paper maché.

The crowd is going feral . Half are screaming for blood, the other half are gasping for Xanax. Lexie-moths swarm in my stomach, performing aerial acrobatics, kicking off the Victory Day Parade.

Then—“Lexie...”

A whisper. Familiar. Slithering down my spine like iced regret.

I turn. And there she is. Sandra.

My face wrinkles like I stepped on lemon-flavored poop.

“What do you want, Sandra? ” I spit her name like a stinky curse. “Or should I say: Double agent Red Squirrel?”

“Please, Lexie, just listen,” Sandra says, palms raised like I’m holding a Todd-shaped crossbow. “I’m not an... agent. I’m still your friend... remember?”

This nonsense again?

“Wait a minute...” I gasp dramatically, pointing. “I know what this is. You’re switching sides, huh? Because your precious Cringe-Eyes guts are about to paint the town green?” I jab a finger, “Admit it. You backed the wrong taxi.”

“I’m not on anyone’s side!” Sandra snaps, voice cracking. “I just want this madness to end before they kill each other!”

“Oh, yeah? Funny. Krogoth’s the one who’s fading faster than cheap nail polish.” I grin, seeing my Dracoth hammering Krogoth Splutter-Lungs into the ground like a condemned signpost . “And here you are, begging me—not Bitch Brick—to stop the fight? Really, Sandra? Really?”

“I did ask her!” she cries, freckles standing at full alert. “But she said Krogoth forbade her from interfering no matter what. Said it’s about Klendathian honor.”

“Sounds like a them problem,” I snort, shrugging. “Besides, you two are so obvious. If I had a mocha right now, I’d be snorting it through my nose.” I sigh, wistfully. “I mean, she’s clearly brain-slimed you into coming here to sabotage me.”

“For the last time—” Sandra groans, fingers clenching like she’s gearing up for her own death duel. “I AM. NOT. MIND. CONTROLLED.”

I grimace, unimpressed. “That’s exactly what a mind-controlled brain-puppet would say.”

I turn back to the arena, done with this conversation. Dracoth towers over Krogoth like Mount Sexy about to erupt. Krogoth looks like the last bruised banana in a school gym bag.

Then—madness.

Dracoth tosses Krogoth Battered-Banana his breathing mask thingy and spear.

My heart stops. Time freezes. My mouth is a vacuum, inhaling ash flakes like an industrial hover.

“WHAT. THE. FUCK. Are you doing?!” I scream, staring at Dracoth like he’s just peed on the Mona Lisa.

But he can’t hear me—no one can. I’m just one voice lost in a million-billion gasps, cheers, and grunts.

“Take it. I will not have it said, Krogoth Star-Eyes was undone by ash. But by Dracoth, son of Gorexius!” He roars like the God of overconfidence.

“He brings honor to us all with this act.” Peacock Big-Chief murmurs reverently, chin lifted like he’s just solved world peace with a feather boa.

Wonderful! The only guy here who hates Krogoth more than me is now all doe-eyed and proud. But honor’s not going to conquer the Lexie-verse, is it?

I glance around at the towering bone-through-the-nose masses. Every one of them peacock proud. Even the space-knights from our clan look like they just won a raffle. They’re mad. All of them. Barking. Should be locked in a moon asylum.

My Lexie-Moth Victory Parade nose-dives into a kamikaze tailspin assaulting my stomach. This reeks of stinky, month-old vegetables—the dollar store perfume of Bitch Brick. I see her and my breath catches. Barely visible from this distance... her eyes—wafting purple, hazel smog into the air.

Wait. Wait. Did she do something? Using her brain parasites on Dracoth?

Todd—as always—holds the key. I examine his sleeping, rubbery back.

The silver mirror rune pulses faintly—not the blinding nightlight when she’s screeching incantations.

And I didn’t hear her shrill voice... but still I can’t shake the sense the cheater-bitch has done something sneaky. I mean, if the Croc’s fit?

Krogoth’s eyes burn too—same color. Violet, hazel storms. And... gods, he looks bigger . Scarier. Like he just hit a second puberty but angrier and more homicidal.

He dashes forward—lightning incarnate. My eyes can’t follow. My stomach plummets to my boots.

No.

They collide—BOOM—a thunderclap of rage and steel.

“I... I,” I murmur. “Need glasses.” A pathetic giggle escapes, hollow as basic mother’s love.

They’re snarling, flailing, clanging—whirlwinds of brute violence. Dracoth’s bleeding. His shoulder—gashed. Krogoth’s relentless, spear jabbing like a rabid porcupine with personal vendettas.

WHY DID HE GIVE HIM BACK THE MASK.

AND WHY THE SPEAR?! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, DRACOTH?!

Metal screams. My teeth ache. My brain vibrates like a migraine made of chainsaws.

Krogoth’s spear is a streak of death, Dracoth’s shield dancing like it’s alive, batting away attacks from every direction.

It’s like watching him play galactic ping-pong on nightmare mode with his own intestines on the line.

Then—Pain. White-hot and sudden.

My thigh spasms in agony. I look down, expecting to see a bloody stomp—my own little Lexie-stomper.

Nothing.

It’s Dracoth’s. His wound—mirrored through our bond. I gasp, hand clutching my leg, staring as green blood oozes down his .

Icy dread slides over my skin like a funeral shroud.

Krogoth—the rude prick—won’t give Dracoth a break. He circles. Rabid. Starving. Vicious. Like a pack of hyenas in one body. His spear whistles like machine-gun fire. Dracoth’s shield flashes, the resulting clang of metal-on-metal rings out like boulder-sized hailstones pelting a tank.

“Quick, Lexie!” Sandra yells, voice barely slicing through the whirlwind in my head. “Before it’s too late!”

“No... Dracoth’s got this...” I whisper. But the tremble in my voice betrays the truth.

Maybe... maybe Sandra’s, right? No... that’s hobo talk.

Then I feel it—heat. Coals lighting behind my ribs. My fingers trace the seared runes along my throat, my chest. Arawnoth’s touch. Molten. Glorious.

Arawnoth—Divine Father. Hear your daughter. Dracoth’s wears your sacred ashes. Bless him with your molten strength. Let his pain scourge his weakness. Let his suffering be reborn in strength. Let Krogoth’s body burn so your name is sung across the sacred lands of Scarn.

My gaze lifts to the crimson sun, ash raining on my forehead like fluffy, fury flakes.

“Lexie... please !” Sandra buzzes like a firefly in my ear. “He might die.”

“Shut the hell up!” I snap, sneering at her. “This is your fault!”

She flinches.

“If you had helped me in the vote, instead of playing double-agent with your brain-slug girlfriend, none of this would be happening.” I jab a finger so hard it nearly spears her freckled nose.

“I’m still your friend, Lexie.” Sandra’s voice is a whisper, blue eyes sparkling with understanding. “I’m Greg. You’re Big Foot. We promised to look after each other, remember? Now it’s my turn to look after you, okay?” She takes my hand, her pleading expression shattering my heart.

“Sandra...” My throat tightens. My eyes glisten with traitor emotions . They stink of weakness and manipulation. An abuse of the Sacred Words— Ignixis entrusted them to me. I am their keeper. I must be strong. Stronger than Dracoth. Stronger than anyone. Because I am the Divine Daughter.

I rip my hand away.

“Prove it,” I sneer, voice hardening like hairspray. “I know. Take Todd.”

Sandra blinks. “What?”

“Bitch Brick’s psychic powers won’t work with his Royal Chunkiness nearby. He’s like a too-cute anti-cheat rune.” A grin spreads across my face—brilliant, obviously. Shame I didn’t think of it sooner.

I try to pry Todd off, but the naughty chug bug has opinions. His spindly booties grip me like a barrage of suction cups. His big eye blinks open, darting between us, wee clackers clacking in crystalline joy.

“Come... on... mister,” I hiss, tugging at him with both hands. But he croaks boldly in protest, clinging on like a stubborn wine stain.

“Look what I’ve got, you wee haggis,” Sandra coos, flashing a jelly stick under Todd’s head segment.

She might as well have flashed a kilo of crack in front of a junkie.

Todd lunges like a sentient, overstuffed burrito, crash-landing on her head with the grace of a bowling ball taped to a coconut.

“Uff!” Sandra grunts as the Divine Cherub unfolds across her head like a fleshy, snoring hat. He seizes the jelly stick with chubby precision only he can manage—legs locking, mandibles snapping, croaks vibrating. The jelly stick shrinking with alarming speed.

“See?” Sandra huffs, balancing Todd on her head like he’s a giant urn of water. “You happy now?”

I squint. The silver mirror rune on Todd’s back pulses faintly. Not bright. Not flaring. Not enough to suggest Bitch Brick’s been up to her cheater-ways.

“You look ridiculous,” I snort. “And now it’s worse. This means you betrayed me for no good reason.” I shake my head.

Sandra gapes. “No good reason? You mean like this stupid blood feud you started?”

The crowd shifts—cheers morphing into a collective breath-hold. The whole planet waits.

I look up.

Dracoth is surging forward again, wounded but delivering brutal axe chops like he’s felling an entire forest himself. Krogoth stumbles backward—his feet skating across smashed obsidian, his shattered shield little more than confetti taped to his wrist.

My heart soars .

“Seems, Arawnoth’s answered my prayers.” I whisper, a husky laugh spilling from my lips, savoring the thrill of this power and control coursing through me.