Page 25 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

“You’re just like Krogoth, aren’t you?” he spits, sucking his scorched palms. “You and those alien bitches, using sorcery instead of fighting like true warriors.” His voice drips with venom as he fumbles at his belt.

When he rises, he holds a plasma grenade aloft.

The sight of it sends a jolt through me, chilling the molten blood in my veins.

“Gotta fight fire with fire,” he barks, thumb poised over the detonator. With a wicked grin, he hurls the grenade toward us.

The device arcs through the air, its deadly glow intensifying with each second. A plasma grenade could obliterate everyone in this throne room, and using Arawnoth’s gift may only hasten its detonation.

The gray, spherical device halts mid-air, frozen in place by the almost invisible barriers summoned by my Princesa. The plasma grenade blinks neon blue, its tempo quickening—a warning of imminent detonation.

A blinding flash erupts, blue-white and searing.

I shield my eyes instinctively, the intense light forcing me to blink away spots.

Behind me, Princesa grunts with effort, holding her invisible prison firm.

Then, just as suddenly, the light extinguishes, leaving behind only dim, blue radiance and a faint trail of vapor curling through the crisp air.

“What’s the matter, Drex-iot?” Princesa’s heated voice cuts through the tension, brimming with mockery. “Your fire turned out to be just a limp little spark.”

Drexios’s organic eye widens, darting between the dissipating vapors and Princesa, a look of genuine shock wiping the smirk from his face.

Before he can recover, my hand shoots out and clamps under his jaw, lifting him effortlessly from the floor.

“I submit,” he gurgles, the words barely audible. His red eyes meet mine, a flicker of desperation swimming in their depths. “I submit,” he repeats, louder this time, his hands raised in surrender.

“Good,” I rumble, releasing my grip. His feet slam onto the floor with a heavy thud.

He doubles over, coughing and gasping for air. But just as relief flickers in the air, I hear it—a faint snap. Instincts honed by countless battles kick in, and I leap backward as Drexios lunges with two vicious sweeps of his natural claws, narrowly missing my eyes.

“Oops, I lied!” He erupts into laughter, his gaze sweeping over the throne room. “See? We’re all liars and traitors now. One big, happy, dysfunctional family.”

Straightening, he tilts his head forward, the predatory gleam in his eye daring me. “Fight like a true warrior if you have the balls. Let uncle Drexios teach you a lesson.”

Excitement surges in my chest, my warrior’s soul roaring to life. A faint smirk tugs at my lips as I step forward. Burning him to ash with a mere thought would be dishonorable, too easy. No, we warriors deserve more. A proper battle. My strength and skill tested against the best.

“Let us bathe in blood,” I declare, my voice booming through the chamber as I drop into a fighting stance.

Drexios laughs, crimson Rush leaking from his eye in curling wisps. He lunges with a flurry of sharp, clawed strikes, each one aimed at my face. His claws whistle through the dim, purple glow, their ferocity punctuated by the bated breaths of the onlookers.

I step back, shifting my body and swatting his assaults away with ease. Holding back my own retaliation, content to see what power and skill my father’s former Second possesses.

I find little.

Compared to Jazreal, or my grueling training with the graviton belt, Drexios’s attacks are pitiful. His strikes, though fierce, are like falling snowflakes—slow, clumsy, and predictable.

His frustration grows, evident in his grunts and the wildness of his swipes. His eyes flick to my legs, and I see his intent before he moves. Claws come from his left side, sweeping wide and low, aiming for the vulnerable gap behind my knee where the armor is weakest.

I react faster than he expects, leaping forward instead of back. My knee drives into his chest plate with the force of a Battlebarge at hyperspeed.

An ear-piercing shriek and a burst of sparks herald the success of my strike. The sheer force sends Drexios hurtling backward, tumbling through the air. His face twists in pain and shock as he slams into the marble floor, sliding before scrambling to regain his footing.

I could end him now, as effortlessly as Arawnoth’s gift would allow. But this one served my father. And he will serve me.

Groaning, Drexios pushes to his feet, clawed fingers tracing the deep, oval dent my knee has cratered into his chest plate.

“Oh, so big, oh, so ugly,” he laughs, spitting a glob of green blood onto the floor. “Fight, bastard!” he roars, his voice ricocheting off the towering walls.

Leisurely, I stalk toward him, my eyes blazing crimson and silver. Fury roars through my veins and sings in my ears.

Drexios stomps his foot, and his plasma blade leaps from the floor like a living thing, spinning high into the air. With the swiftness of a swooping arrohawk, he snatches it mid-flight and hurls it toward me.

The blade flashes toward me in a searing, blue haze, too fast to avoid entirely. I lower my head just in time, the spinning cyclone of death almost claiming my skull. Searing heat blooms across my temple, and the acrid scent of scorched flesh fills the air.

“End this, Dracoth!” Princesa commands from behind me, concern and irritation warring in her voice. “Or I will.”

My fingers brush the wound at my temple, finding no blood—just the puckered, cauterized flesh left behind by the plasma’s heat.

“He cannot win,” I assure her, my gaze locked onto Drexios’s smirking face.

Drexios chuckles, his laughter carrying a manic edge. “So smug and so certain, our wayward son. But strip away the flesh, just a cub come undone.” He taps a claw against his mechanical eye, his grin spreading wider. “That move? Learned it from the War Chief himself. Shame I didn’t take your eye.”

With a stomp, his second plasma blade leaps into the air. “Second time’s the charm!” he roars, catching it mid-flight and flinging it with blinding speed.

This time, prepared, I activate my plasma shield.

The weapon collides with it in a cascade of blinding, blue sparks, plasma meeting plasma, distorting the air in a blurring haze.

The impact steals the oxygen from the room, each breath growing heavier.

With a quick flick of my shield, I send the spinning blade clattering harmlessly across the marble floor.

Fury erupts in my chest, and I charge him, my fangs bared in unrestrained aggression. Amusement dies in my molten veins, replaced by the raw, unrelenting need to end this farce.

“That’s it, shorthair! Show me what you’re made of,” Drexios taunts, leaping backward onto the raised dais of his throne.

I’m on him in an instant, closing the distance in a blur.

My fists strike with relentless speed, each blow a blur of molten energy.

Drexios, desperate, uses the height of the dais to his advantage, raining clawed strikes toward my face.

But his movements are slow, clumsy—no match for the strength and speed surging through me.

I swat away his strikes with ease, my molten Rush boiling in my veins, surging higher and higher, far beyond what he could ever hope to match. Each punch I land jolts him further back, driving him higher up the throne. His retreat is frantic.

He teeters atop the armrest, sneering down at me. “Just die, you big bastard!” Drexios snarls, awkwardly bending to strike.

My hand darts out, clamping tightly around his leg. With a mighty yank, I send him crashing onto the throne, his back bowing violently against the armrest with a sickening crack .

Groggily, he tries to reorient himself, but I give him no chance. My hands seize the front of his armor, and with a roar of raw power, I hurl him over my shoulder. His body slams into the marble floor with the force of a falling meteorite, the ground splitting beneath him in a deafening boom .

A wheezing grunt escapes his lips as he crawls away on hands and knees, dragging himself from the shadow that looms over him. Each rasp of breath is a painful struggle.

I extend a claw, stalking him like a venefex savoring a meal to come. My hand shoots down, gripping his so-called Chieftain’s cloak draped over his shoulders. The red-scaled material gleams dully in the purple light as I hold it up, a mockery of its former glory.

“You wear the cloak of a Second,” I growl, venom lacing my words as I lean close to his ear. With a grunt, I tear into the tough material, splitting it apart with a sound like frayed sinew. One half is wrenched free from his armor and tossed over his head like a veil of disgrace.

“ Submit! ” I bellow, punctuating the command with a savage kick to his midsection. The force sends him sprawling onto his back, his breath escaping in sharp gasps.

Even now, he wears that same maddening smirk, though it’s smeared with green blood and twisted with pain. “Gorexius... is that you?” he mutters, each syllable a note of agony.

“No,” I snarl, fury shaking my entire body. “His son, Dracoth! ”

His lips curl into a faint, mocking sneer. “There’s...” he sputters, coughing blood. “No... mothers.”

He swipes weakly at me, but I stomp down on his clawed hand like a shipbreaker. The sickening crunch of bone shatters the air, mingling with his manic, cackling laughter.

“ Submit, damn you! ” I roar, disgust twisting my face as I glare down at the wretch beneath me.

Drexios chuckles, blood trailing down his chin. “Gorexius’s... Berserkers,” he whispers, raising his trembling claws in defiance. Their sharp edges gleam faintly in the light as they quiver with his fading strength. “Never surrender... never die.”

“ Never surrender, never die! ” The Ravager Berserkers, led by Jazreal, echo his defiant words in unison, pounding their fists against their chests. The sound reverberates like a war drum through the expansive hall.

I kick aside Drexios’s feeble hand, shaking my head with disdain. This rabid hydralith refuses to yield. His resilience earns him much honor, but I have no use for a broken lunatic.

My eyes snap to Ignixis, seeking the old gas-cloud’s solicited advice for once.

He glides forward, his black robes flowing like liquid shadow in the flickering purple and green light. His emerald eyes trace the length of Drexios’s pathetic form. A soft tsk escapes his lips as he clicks his tongue in distaste.

“You bear the taint of sin, the profane! Remove them lest they corrupt your very soul.” Ignixis intones.

His gaze sweeps the warriors lining the walls, lingering with judgment.

“All of you! ” he thunders, extending a clawed finger to encompass them.

“Remove any mechanical filth that defiles your blessed flesh. Spread the word to your war brothers—the time of change is upon us.”

His glowing green eyes snap to mine, their molten depths swirling with misty Rush. “Soon, we will reclaim our glorious destiny, united.”

A sharp, manic cackle erupts beneath my boot, jolting me. To my horror, Drexios digs his claws into the edges of his mechanical eye, rending it from its socket with a sickening tear. Blue sparks and hissing hydraulics spit from the exposed wiring, mingling with the reek of scorched metal and flesh.

With trembling hands, he raises the still-sputtering eye toward me. Its crimson lens whirs and twists, attempting to focus despite its disconnection.

“My gift to you, War Chieftain,” Drexios rasps, his voice a fractured whisper.

War Chieftain.

The title ignites a fire in my chest, pride surging through me like molten flame.

I reach out, seizing the abominable device in my grasp.

It disgusts me. The eye writhes as though alive, its artificial movements a grotesque mockery of life—a profane contrast to the vitality coursing through us, earned through pain, blood, and unyielding resolve.

With a grimace, I tighten my grip, crushing the eye into a fistful of broken metal and shattered circuitry.

“Rise, Drexios,” I command, my voice booming with authority. “Stand proud as my Second, for the suffering you’ve endured this day.”

I reach down, clasping his wrist in a warrior’s grip, and hoist him to his feet. His battered form sways, but his head bows before me.

As all will bow .