Page 19 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)
Dracoth
Sirius
I clench my fists before the command bridge viewport, my muscles coil like arcweave cable, the immense strength none but I possess hums beneath my skin.
The bruises and aches from Jazreal’s grueling lessons have faded, healed by my superior Klendathian blood.
Moving without the hateful drag of the graviton belt feels almost euphoric—every motion is absurdly fast, fluid, unimpeded. But will it be enough?
The viewport bathes the dim, purple-lit room in a rippling kaleidoscope of hyperspace, a dazzling display of color.
It tears a hole through the void, as I tear through the weak, releasing jets of the immaterial from cosmic arteries.
Despite the ship’s incomprehensible speed, I will it to go faster.
But no vessel exists that could match the pace of my burning desire.
After three days at hyperspeed, we near the Sirius system, approaching the pretender Drexios.
The thought stokes the simmering fury in my chest, sharp and untamed, drawing a feral curl to my lips.
But beneath the fury lies a current of exhilaration, thrumming with the knowledge that today, I will claim what is mine—what I’ve already taken by force.
This is the day I will bring my father’s Second to heel, where he belongs.
It is I who wear the cloak of a chieftain.
I who am blessed by Arawnoth, forged together with Princesa.
Elders Ignixis and Garzum have acknowledged it, and the Gods themselves demand it.
There is no doubt: I am the rightful War Chieftain.
Soon, I will reclaim my father’s place, commanding from his flagship, Ravager’s Ruin , the pride of the Klendathian fleet .
And within its hallowed halls lies an even greater prize—the Ravager Berserkers , my father’s elite, the most fearsome warband of our people. The strongest force in the universe.
They will be mine.
With that power, with that legitimacy, the other Clan Chieftains must obey me.
Their hearts will soar with the glory of my triumph when I crush Krogoth and his pathetic whispers of peace and return us to the blazing path of conquest. It is our destiny.
Fury and excitement burn in my veins, a searing current that any true sons of Klendathor would feel.
Anything less is cowardice, draped in sophistry.
“War Chieftain, we’ve arrived in the Sirius sector. Reducing speed,” Keth announces, his monotone voice an anathema to my simmering excitement.
His crimson eyes flick to the glowing terminal, fingers darting over its surface with precision.
A low rumble vibrates through the black marble of the bridge, the colors of hyperspace fading as the ship decelerates.
The shimmering medley of hues stretches into glittering pinpricks of starlight, still and cold.
My eyes narrow as a red light emerges in the distance. It glints like a malignant star, but it grows larger with every passing heartbeat. Not a star. A vessel.
“Keth, shields at full strength,” I command, my voice steady despite unease gnawing at me.
This is the enigmatic Scythian’s territory. How will they respond to a ragtag fleet at their border?
“War Chieftain, many more objects approaching. Hundreds of thousands... Correction. Millions,” Nexarn reports, his voice flat despite the sheer weight of the words.
Millions?
My eyes snap to the glowing navigational console. The display staggers belief—blue neon dots coalescing from every direction, merging into a solid, blinding mass of motion. Against the sea of azure, our fleet’s icons are minuscule specks, insignificant, nearly lost.
To muster such overwhelming force so quickly... What unfathomable numbers must lie at the heart of their empire?
A loathsome flicker of doubt tugs my gaze downward to my hands. Entering this place—this domain—means certain death should they turn hostile.
Should I take such a powerless position? No clever stratagem, no brutal resolve could overcome such odds. Only a fool or the desperate would throw themselves into the maw of the abyss like a timid snarlbroc led to slaughter.
Suddenly, a burst of mangled static explodes through the comms, deafening and shrill. The sound jolts me back to the present, my eyes snapping to the viewport.
Outside, a nightmarish spectacle unfolds: countless drones writhe and undulate, a sea of gleaming red that shifts with unnerving synchronicity. Their movements ripple like waves on a dark ocean, an eerie and impossible choreography in the void of space.
“War Chieftain, they demand we lower shields or face termination,” Nexarn says, somehow translating that surge of nonsensical noise.
My fists clench. This bears all the hallmarks of a trap, one I’ve already sprung. The noose is firmly around my neck, tightening with every passing second.
Could we outrun them? The thought dies as quickly as it forms. Their quick, nimble darting motions speak of speed we could not outrun.
There is no other option.
“Keth, do as they request. Nexarn, pass the order to Balsar,” I command, though the words feel hollow—a capitulation rather than an assertion of will.
Keth and Nexarn move with grim efficiency, their hands a blur over shimmering blue consoles. A distant discharging sound reverberates through the ship, followed by a faint diminishment in the engine’s hum as the shields drop.
“Ah, we’ve arrived,” Ignixis’s voice cuts through the tension, amazingly glib. The command bridge doors swish open, and he strides into the expanse as if nothing were amiss.
He’s not alone.
My Princesa follows at his side, her gait confident, almost casual. A knowing smile plays on their lips—almost smug. It irks me, their shared indifference to the situation spiraling beyond my control.
“Hey, babes,” Princesa greets, her voice light, utterly incongruous with the storm outside.
She still wears that strange attire she’s recently adopted: black robes that drink in the room’s dim purple and blue light, with faintly gleaming gold symbols dotted throughout.
The neckline plunges, revealing her intricate runic blessing scorched into her skin, while the upper portion clings to her form, accentuating her beautiful curves.
“Oh dear,” Ignixis mutters, coming to an abrupt halt as his feeble eyes finally dart to the viewport. The smugness on his runic, wrinkled face melts into an expression of genuine surprise. “That is... quite a horde of Seeker drones.”
His gaze flicks to mine, and his smirk quickly resurfaces. “A procession fit for a War Chieftain, wouldn’t you agree?” He cackles, the sound thin and wheezing.
Useless old gas-cloud.
“They’re on our side, right?” Princesa interjects, her voice tinged with uncertainty. Her silver eyes remain locked on the viewport, her full lips pressed into a tight line of thought. “I mean, I hope so—because that is freaking terrifying .”
She flicks a delicate hand, gesturing behind me. “And we don’t want to be eaten by a giant space face, do we, Todd?” she coos, absently stroking the plump cyloillar nestled on her shoulder.
Space face?
Confused, I turn back to the viewport—and my molten blood chills.
The countless surging mass of drones has coalesced into a colossal sneering face.
It flows and writhes with eerie fluidity, mimicking life far too well.
Its eyelids blink, its features subtly shift with expressions.
S gray metal god of endless red eyes, staring down at us with an unsettling, patient intensity.
It watches. And waits.
The sight is wrong —a grotesque parody of life on an unfathomable scale. This is not born of strength or valor but of cold, lifeless metal and relentless systems.
These are meant to be our allies? To herald my glorious destiny?
A repugnant, icy chill spears through me at the abhorrent notion.
“My Red Dragon,” Princesa purrs, her voice soft and soothing. Her arm wraps around my waist, her warmth and softness at odds with the monstrosity looming outside. She tugs gently at my armor, tiptoeing—an unspoken request for me to bend closer.
I lower my head, and her lips brush my ear. “Keep it together,” she whispers, her tone a mix of sternness and intimacy.
Her mercurial eyes meet mine, her gaze unwavering. Through the bond that links us, I feel her disappointment flaring, mirroring the look she gives me now—a beautiful rebuke.
And once again, my bond betrays me, laying bare that which shames.
Slowly, I nod, letting her words sink in. They shame me, as they should. I shame myself. I will not allow the Scythians nor anyone else to unnerve me or disrupt my plans.
Did my father ever balk before them? Never. And the same noble blood surges through my veins. I will emulate his greatness. I am the War Chieftain, and glory is my destiny.
A mist of my Rush wafts from my crimson eyes, dissipating into the cool air as resolve and fury ignite within me once more. My Princesa watches me closely, her silver eyes as sharp as an arrohawk’s. Her thin smile curves into an alluring grin tinged with wickedness.
“That’s more like it,” she purrs, her voice silk laced with arcweave. Rising on her toes, she plants a human kiss on my cheek. Her lips are soft, delicate—deceptively so, for within the heart of my female, my goddess of death lies with unbreakable ambition.
Another sudden blast of garbled audio screeches through the comms, a shrill, deranged cacophony that tears through the tense air. My gaze snaps to the viewport, where the massive face of writhing drones moves its jagged mouth in perfect sync with the sound.
“Fucking hell!” Princesa exclaims, her voice laced with pain and irritation as she covers her ears. “That noise is almost as bad as my mother’s nagging.”
A smile curls my lips, and I squeeze her supple shoulder, seeking to ground her as she grounds me.
“War Chieftain, they demand to know our objective,” Nexarn says, his green eyes fixed on the glowing communication terminal.
My ascension.