Page 31 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)
“Fear,” he repeats louder, sneering at me as he strides forward.
“Oh, how the pathetic aliens soil themselves when the Ravagers’ Ruin darkens their skies.
You can practically taste it in the air, mingling with the sweet scent of plasma and death.
” He inhales deeply, a deranged smile stretching across his face as his vertical eye scar twitches with delight.
“When the War Chief descended, his Berserkers at his back, the cowards couldn’t bow fast enough.
” He speaks with purpose, his voice unusually sincere.
“That is your father’s legacy,” he says, looking up at Dracoth, his arms spreading wide. “What this represents.”
Dracoth looks down from his throne, one hand resting against his chin—the only sign he’s alive. Maybe he’s actually listening?
“Good, good.” Ignixis nods sagely, like a proud parent watching their kid use the potty for the first time. “It’s a rather simple concept, young Dracoth. I do hope you take it to heart.”
He just explained the same thing I did, only in a psycho way!
“Um...” Sandra chimes in, her soft voice laced with concern. “So, what’s this Crucible thing?”
She looks to Ignixis, but it’s Drexios who cuts in, his face twisting into a snarl. “Voiding useless scrap metal.” He whirls toward Ignixis, fixing him with a fierce, accusing finger. “You told me if I brought the ship here, it would work!”
“But it is working, Second,” Ignixis retorts, cupping a hand to his long, runic ear. “Can you not hear its whispers even now?” His voice trails off, and our collective hushed breaths hang in the tense silence.
Then the familiar eerie static crackles, like a distant laugh, tickling my ear and sending a chill down my spine. It coincides with the pulsing green energy beams streaming from the immense viewport outside.
“Ah, how convenient!” Ignixis titters, dark amusement creasing his scorched face.
“Borack shit!” Drexios stalks toward Ignixis, his head lowered like a predator studying its prey. “You’ll not play me the fool again, cultist.”
“You weren’t played—merely acted as I knew you would. A fool, if you wish to call it thus.” Ignixis shrugs nonchalantly, despite Drexios looming threateningly over him.
“Old bastard!” Drexios growls, violently yanking Ignixis toward him by his black robes, their faces inches apart.
“Drexios,” Dracoth rumbles from his throne like Zeus atop his mountain of clouds. “Release the old gas-cloud,” he orders, neutral but firm.
“Gas cloud?” Drexios scoffs, his one red eye glaring at the smirking Ignixis. “He’s a virus bomb of lies.”
Drexios’s hands tremble with rage as he holds Ignixis. I watch carefully, ready to slam my shields into him if he moves to harm my creepy teacher. After what feels like an eternity, Drexios finally releases Ignixis, the tension easing from the room.
“You know the Crucible isn’t some voiding static but a machine the War Chief used,” Drexios says, his voice unnervingly calm as he smooths out the wrinkles in Ignixis’s robes.
“Even here, among the voiding Scythians, it doesn’t work.
Now, why don’t you cut the shit and speak plainly, or I’ll carve more words into that wrinkled skin of yours? ”
Ignixis clears his throat, coughing into his hand as Drexios slowly circles him, retracting and extending his claws like an escaped lunatic.
“The Crucible is on board this very ship, but it only operates within the Scythians’ profane communication network.”
“Lies. It doesn’t work!” Drexios sneers, dragging a claw around the old Klendathian’s shoulder.
“Will you stop prancing around like a moronic venefex?” Ignixis snaps, his voice sharp as he presses his thumb to his temples, his grimace deepening. “By Arawnoth, how am I supposed to think straight with you in my face?”
Drexios halts before Ignixis, tapping his claws together with an eerie rhythm. “You’d better think quickly, you old fart.”
“It’s like a wrist console message,” Ignixis huffs, barely able to keep the annoyance from his voice.
“The Scythians just didn’t want to converse with you, Drexios.
” His smirk returns, and he notices Drexios’s gaze falter downward.
“Though I can’t imagine why they’d pass up the chance to speak with such radiant wit.
” He titters, and even I can’t help but giggle at finally seeing Drexios mocked.
“But they’ll speak to Dracoth?” Sandra interjects, her voice trembling with uncertainty. Her eyes search Ignixis’s face for an answer, but her fingers twist nervously, betraying the unease she’s trying to hide.
“Oh, yes, pleasant one. They’re quite keen to speak to Gorexius’s successor.” Ignixis turns to Sandra, giving her a genuine smile—something I’m almost certain he’s never given me.
Dracoth leans forward in his throne, the first sign of interest. “To what end?” he growls.
“Why, your glorious destiny, of course!” Ignixis responds as if it’s the most obvious thing in the cosmos.
He tilts his head forward, his green eyes glinting in the shadows of his brow.
“That is what you want, isn’t it?” He flicks a wizened hand to the countless murder-bots filtering across the viewport.
“Or perhaps your words were just empty boasts? Your courage fading as you stand at the cliff’s edge, too afraid of the plunge? ”
My eyes flick to the viewport, where the churning sea of murder-bots, the hulking, brutal black metal ships, and the dead worlds of skittering gray and black make a lump form in my throat.
To reach the top, we have to work with these machines?
A chill creeps down my spine at the thought. There must be another way. Anything would be better, right? I should speak up, encourage Dracoth to stay strong, but dread holds my tongue.
Dracoth seems to share my apprehension. His gaze falls to his hands, a rare flicker of uncertainty creasing his face.
“I will speak with them,” he rumbles at last, his eyes locking onto Ignixis’s with cold resolve.
“Excellent!” Ignixis claps his hands together, a spark of excitement in his eyes.
“Tomorrow, a new Elerium age awaits our brothers and sisters.”