Page 24 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)
Dracoth
Second the Best
H e lounges in the throne’s red leather upholstery with a smirk. A scaled crimson cloak drapes his shoulders; the sight of it makes me tighten my fists. His long green hair cascades to his waist, flanked between his shaved temples.
Physically, he’s unremarkable—average, at best. Though, I know little of my father’s former Second, beyond his reputation for brutality and unpredictability. He appears bored, his head resting lazily on his fist.
“Well, well, we don’t get many visitors here,” Drexios drawls, barely sparing me a glance before shifting his gaze to the endless space beyond the viewport.
“It’s the voiding Scythians. That voice, it never stops.
Always whispering, but never answering.” His voice has an unsettling edge—part monotony, part challenge.
Abruptly, his head snaps back toward me, one crimson eye gleaming with malice, the other a glowing mechanical implant.
His hand shoots to his belt, his fingers trembling at a leather pouch. “You hear it too, don’t you, son of Gorexius?” he sneers, twisting the vertical scar over his robotic, glowing red eye. “Yes, of course you do, the song that never stops... the song of death.”
He laughs insanely, before taking a deep draw from a scoomer inhaler, exhaling the crimson cloud that hangs like a haze around his twisted smile.
Pathetic addict.
“Let’s get a look at you!” he suddenly exclaims, vaulting from the throne like a swooping arrohawk. “Spooky,” he adds with an exaggerated shudder as he approaches, his eyes drinking in the sheer power I exude. “Behold! Gorexius has returned from the netherworld!”
He claps his hands with theatrical glee, making Sandra recoil behind me. Then his head dips, his crimson eyes glinting with malice. His voice drops to a venomous whisper. “Or is it a clone I see before me?”
His words strike like a vipertail’s stinger.
My gaze falters, his accusation digging too close to what Elder Harkus had implied.
The faded memories of my childhood—fragments like dreams within a dream.
Are they real? Or am I nothing more than an altered clone created by machines? A twisted mockery that shouldn’t exist?
Drexios erupts into cruel laughter, savoring my hesitation as he begins to jog in tight circles, his boots echoing against the gleaming floor.
“Are you in there, War Chief? Blink twice if you can hear me!” He raps his knuckles against my armor, until I swat his annoying hand away.
Even the Ravager Berserkers lining the walls joy in his jest, their laughter rolling through the chamber like thunder.
Drexios’ gaze sweeps over them, a twisted grin plastered across his face.
“Terrible what happened to the ugly big bastard,” he shakes his head, absently taking another deep draw from his scoomer inhaler.
“No offense, clone ,” he sneers, blowing ruby fumes into my face, the sickly-sweet scent not nearly as rage-inducing as his words.
“He had the traitor Krogoth in the palm of his hand.” Drexios lifts his hand, staring at it with unsettling intensity before fluttering his fingers.
“Then—poof! Gone. Just like that. Sucked into something... piece by piece. You should’ve seen it, clone—something so big, squeezing into something so small. ”
He barks a sharp, derisive laugh, his attention snapping to Princesa.
“But you’re no stranger to squeezing into tight holes, are you?” he sneers, his words dripping with mockery.
The warriors erupt into laughter, their jeers echoing like a cacophony of hydraliths circling prey.
“Oh, please,” Princesa interjects, tutting with boredom. “You’re just a little puppy, high on his own supply.” She waves a dismissive hand at his inhaler.
Drexios doesn’t miss a beat, holding out the black polymer inhaler with a mocking grin. “Want a drag?” he offers. “Then later, we can do some squeezing and barking together.”
Before he can laugh again, I snatch the inhaler from his pathetic grasp, cutting him off mid-taunt. The chamber falls silent as my roar fills the void.
“She is mine, Drexios!” I lean down, my molten fist trembling with barely restrained fury as I sneer into his face. “Touch her, and I’ll squeeze the marrow from your shattered bones and drink it from your skull.”
With a sharp crunch, I crush the contemptible inhaler, letting its broken polymer shards slip through my fingers to shower his head like tears of shame.
“It speaks!” Drexios mocks, as his hands dart out to grab my wrist. He snarls, baring his fangs, his face darkening with effort as he tries to shove my arm away. All his meagre strength manages is a faint nudge. The black shards in his long green hair glitter faintly under the dim purple glow.
“Aww, you’re all dirty,” Princesa coos mockingly, feigning sympathy as she leans forward in my other arm. “You’re being a very naughty dog.”
“Shut your fat whore mouth!” Drexios roars, ruby mist billowing from his organic eye. He releases my wrist and activates his arc claws. The five plasma prongs ignite with a hiss, scorching the air and casting flickering blue glows across the dim, cavernous throne room.
He lunges at Princesa like a hydralith poised to strike, fangs bared.
Instinct takes over—I lash out, my hand a blur as it clamps around his wrist with molten force. His charge dies, crashing against my unyielding strength, my unshakable will. My grip tightens, fingers coiling like a ship breaker crushing megatons of arcweave.
Drexios drops to one knee, his pain obvious, though he tries to mask it behind a defiant sneer.
“Kill them!” he snarls, his voice sharp with agony.
“Stay your weapons, brothers!” Jazreal commands, his voice booming somewhere behind me.
No one moves. The only sounds are the static whispers of the Scythian comms and Drexios’s strained, rasping breaths.
“No one is coming to save you,” I growl, twisting his wrist further. His organic eye widens, yet the fanged smirk remains. “Submit!”
“Kill him, Dracoth! Burn him alive!” Princesa shrieks, delirious with excitement.
“I will never submit to a voiding shorthair clone,” Drexios hisses through clenched teeth. With a sharp snap, the natural claws of his left hand extend, sweeping wide toward my throat. With Princesa nestled in my other arm, I’m forced to launch him backward with a brutal kick to his chest.
Sparks erupt as metal grates against stone. Drexios skids across the polished floor before flipping into a controlled tumble, landing on his feet. He spits a glob of green blood, flexing his wrist as if shaking off the pain.
“Betrayers, just like the Scythians,” he growls, his Rush-fueled glare snapping to Sarkoth.
“We betray no one,” Sarkoth replies firmly, his voice steady. “There stands the son of our War Chief.” From the corner of my eye, I see him gesture toward me. “His claim is stronger than yours.”
His words ignite a surge of pride in my chest.
“Claim?” Drexios spits, wiping his sneering face with the back of his hand. “I take !”
“Then prove the strength of your words, Drexios,” Ignixis interjects, his tone dripping with dark amusement. “Seize your glorious destiny by defeating Dracoth.”
“You!” Drexios’ murderous glare snaps to Ignixis. “You spineless coward, I’ll rip out your lying tongue! Bringing this walking corpse here to challenge me!”
He gestures furiously behind him at the pulsing green light, the endless fleet of Scythian ships zipping and lumbering through the void.
“You swore they’d give me power, but the machine doesn’t work! It doesn’t answer—just those voiding whispers that never cease!” His voice cracks into a shout as he clutches his head, his eyes wild with desperation.
“You are not the one, Drexios. Dracoth is.” Ignixis titters, his soft boots scraping off the polished floor as he steps closer.
His voice sharpens, dripping with mockery.
“You’re nothing more than a loyal hydralith that’s lost its master.
And now, another stands before you.” His tone crescendos, becoming reverent.
“Bow your head before Arawnoth’s chosen! ”
“Void Arawnoth!” Drexios sneers, flicking his right wrist, the unmistakable sign he’s activating his arc blaster.
Without hesitation, I lower Princesa to the floor and charge forward like a streak of crimson lightning.
My plasma shield hums to life, a radiant barrier of blue that catches the searing bolts meant for Ignixis.
The air warps and shimmers under the blistering heat, loud zaps ricocheting through the cavernous throne room.
Fury boils in my veins, crimson Rush leaking from my eyes in swirling wisps.
Through the bond, Princesa’s rage burns just as hot.
Her anger merging with mine. Our flames roar in unison, blood-red and molten silver, entwining in a beautiful, violent dance—a shared testament to our ambitions and anger.
I summon miniature molten suns against his vambraces. His wrist armor glows white-hot before dripping and sloughing off in rivulets of liquid metal and melted circuits.
His arm remains raised, failing to realize his weapon and shield are steaming puddles at his feet.
“What the void!” Drexios curses, his eyes flicking to where his wrist plates should be. He jerks his arm as if it might summon more bolts. It doesn’t.
I advance, slow and deliberate, letting his helplessness claw at his mind.
“Submit,” I growl, my shadow stretching over him.
“Make me!” he snarls, dropping into a low crouch.
He reaches behind his back, and twin plasma blades flash in his hands, their blue energy buzzing as he twirls them in an intricate flourish.
The air ripples with heat as he sneers, “Come closer, so I can carve a big smile into that bloated face of yours.”
Amused, I halt my approach, instead, channeling molten heat into the hilts of his weapons. The effect is instantaneous—Drexios howls, recoiling as the burning metal sears his hands. The blades clatter to the floor, ringing against the polished black marble.