Page 42 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

The words vibrate in my mind, fuzzy and distant, as if echoing from the end of time. My flames, my fury—all being erased, piece by piece. I lash out, but I am weightless, untethered, unable to break free. Helpless.

“ANNIHILATION.”

The void devours everything—my hatred, my memories, my very soul. I blaze hotter, igniting the abyss itself with my fire, but the more I burn, the faster it feasts.

“OBLITERATION.”

A terrible cold grips my core. My fire sputters, my light dims to a dying ember.

Then—I feel something.

A fragile hand. Distant. Not in this void, but somewhere beyond. A gentle touch that blazes with fire more intense than anything I have ever known.

“Flip a coin with enough precision,” a voice murmurs—a ghost in my mind, hazy and distant. Ignixis. “And it will land on its edge.”

Through his touch, through me, an eruption bursts forth. Molten power surges from within, searing, blinding—a flood of liquid fire so immense, so impossibly hot that even I cannot look upon it.

Rivers of magma spill from my form, consuming the void, drowning it in an ocean of molten fury. The void strains, recoiling, unable to hold back the burning flood.

“The edge of hope, a cycle of rebirth,” Ignixis whispers, his voice both near and far. “This is your fate, Dracoth. Your glorious destiny. The one I foretold—the eternal death of the dreamless night.”

“Ignixis?” I roar, my voice lost in the hissing tides of magma.

Finally, the eruption ceases, and I rise from the churning inferno. Around me, the void is no more—only fire remains.

The endless abyss burns like Arawnoth’s realm—a world of unrelenting heat and rage, stretching as far as the eye can see. And from the flames, a behemoth emerges.

Arawnoth.

His molten form looms impossibly vast, wings of fire unfurling, tongues of flame cascading like falling stars. His presence ignites the air itself, bathing the entire space in a roaring symphony of orange and crimson light.

All except the entity.

It remains a speck of darkness against the flames, a blemish upon his divine light.

Adoration blazes in my molten heart. This is my God. This is Arawnoth. The one who chose me, who burns within my soul. He is rage, he is strength—his passion cannot be denied, his fire cannot be extinguished.

“SPARK OF CREATION.” The ancient voice booms, a whisper against the raging storm.

“Now is our chance to kill that voiding bastard!” Ignixis’s voice echoes in my mind, raw with pain and fury.

“For what it’s done to us, for what it’s taken from me—from all of us!

Let it burn in Arawnoth’s divine wrath! Let it die a million agonizing deaths for every child, sister, mother, daughter, Mortakin-Kis!

For all our suffering, all our pain—Arawnoth, we beseech you! ”

Arawnoth gazes upon the abyss. His molten eyes blaze like twin suns, the raw power of creation itself burning within them.

Then, he reaches down.

His colossal hand descends, a falling continent of fire and hatred. The space around him buckles, flames cascading in waves. Heat beyond comprehension howls through the void.

He seizes the entity.

A mere pebble in his grasp.

Arawnoth’s hands slam together with a force beyond imagining. A clap of pure obliteration shatters through the air, a nebula of destruction colliding at hyperspeed.

Revenge!

Exultation floods me—blazing, overwhelming. For all its manipulations, for all its so-called power, the entity is snuffed out like a mere znat. A fate too quick, too kind.

Then—my blood freezes.

A slight tremble in Arawnoth’s clasped hands.

Barely noticeable at first, but now it is shaking.

“Absorption,” the ancient voice whispers—a murmur, almost lost in the hissing steam.

Dread coils in my molten core. That word—that accursed word—an ominous harbinger of what is to come.

Smokey tendrils coil from Arawnoth’s fingers like fiery wraiths, drawn toward the abyss. Faint at first, but growing stronger with each flicker of dying light. His molten hands dim, tongues of flame unraveling into red threads, twisting and vanishing into the nauseating blackness.

A wrongness permeates the air—profound, incomprehensible. It grips my soul, shaking me to my core. Even Arawnoth is powerless before this twisted entity.

“ERADICATION.”

The ancient voice booms, cold and vast, as more of the void seeps between Arawnoth’s failing fingers.

What was a mere trickle becomes countless rivers of molten light, threading through the void like pulsing golden veins. The flames die, the light dims, the void grows.

It feeds.

Desperation propels me forward. I press my hand against Arawnoth’s immense foot, pouring my heat and fury into him, willing him to burn brighter. But I am mere embers before a colossal sun that heats the universe.

Arawnoth still burns, but the heat flickers, unsteady, like a fire gasping for breath in a vacuum. The entity is leeching him, thread by thread, stealing his divine essence as though drinking a star dry.

Still, Arawnoth fights. He lifts the entity toward his mouth, his immense form trembling under a weight even he was never meant to bear. The air itself warps around him, boiling away, the surrounding void collapsing inward as though the universe is suffocating.

He draws breath.

A soundless howl echoes across the abyss—a void-wind so powerful that it shreds reality itself. The pressure crushes my chest, as if invisible claws are pressing me into the fabric of existence itself. My ears ring with a high-pitched whine, my vision swimming in molten haze.

Arawnoth exhales.

Not fire—an explosion of pure annihilation.

A tidal wave of molten storms surges forward, but the instant it touches the entity, something shifts.

“PURGE!” the entity howls, and the molten storm implodes.

“Destroy it, Arawnoth!” I plead, my voice a desperate prayer.

The flames do not engulf the void. The void devours the flames.

It happens in an instant—the brilliant fire of a dying god sucked inward, consumed. The world around me bends and distorts, my body dragged forward by an unseen force, as though the void itself has opened a great wound in reality.

Then—the light dims.

Arawnoth stands before me, no longer an inferno, but smoldering coals. His molten glory diminished, stolen.

And the entity...

A sphere of blackest black. A thick ring of flame circles it, spinning like water circling a drain, feeding its endless hunger.

Sickness churns in my core. The unnaturalness of it all—an affront to the Gods, to nature itself.

A weariness spreads through me, a malaise of the soul. With every ember the entity devours, I weaken. My sight blurs. My thoughts unravel. The fury that once burned so fiercely fades.

But deep within the void, I see it—a single spark. A speck of light, fluttering inside the abyss.

What does it mean?

Before I can understand, Arawnoth draws breath again. The last of his fire, the final embers, swirl toward his lips.

His final attack. The death of a God.

“No, Arawnoth!” I roar, forcing every ounce of strength into my voice.

“ELIMINATION OF CREATION!”

The entity’s voice rises in triumph. The void trembles in anticipation, the feast of my God nearly complete.

Then—a whisper.

A soft caress brushes my cheek. A voice both distant and near.

“Babes, I’m here.”

The words echo through the blackness, breaking like dawn on the horizon.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got this.”

My breath catches.

Princesa?

Is this my delusion? My final, dying thought—a comforting lie?

No.

A brilliant light flares above the abyss.

Not Arawnoth’s flames. Not the void’s stolen glow.

A silvery sun.

Framing a breathtaking figure—a Klendathian Goddess.

She descends, arms raised, chin lifted, flowing robes cascading in waves like liquid starlight. Her golden hair ripples in the infernal winds, untouched by the chaos around her. She is perfection incarnate.

“DISRUPTION OF CHAOS!”

The void shrieks in warning.

“Greetings once again, my sweet oblivion.”

Her voice is sweetened arcweave, smooth yet commanding, a choir of countless tones layered in perfect harmony. She glances downward, eyes dancing with amusement.

“Stop, you hothead.” She sighs, turning to Arawnoth as if he were an undisciplined Prospect. “You’re only feeding it.”

A pause. Her golden hair flutters in the dying gales, and her tone softens, almost regretful. “Foolish Arawnoth. When will you learn?”

With a flourish of her wrist, the silvery sun behind her dissolves into a pristine puddle of mercury, floating under her feet. “You cannot seed life into that which is barren, nor spark creation into that which is void of existence.”

The mercury streaks across the void, reflecting the smoldering flames of Arawnoth in dazzling streams of liquid silver. They twist and spiral, defying gravity, until the Goddess raises her hand.

“Only cut it off!” she commands, her voice a crescendo of echoing power.

The streams converge, forming a spherical cage of rippling mercury around the entity. The last section merges with a resonant click , sealing the prison.

“INEVITABLE OBLIVION!” the ancient voice booms, shaking the void.

“No, Voidbringer,” the Goddess snaps, her fingers weaving elegant patterns in the abyss. Shining runes materialize, intricate and interlocking, orbiting the prison like celestial chains. “The cycle continues.”

She raises two fingers, and the runes ignite with silver fire. The mercury cage spins endlessly through the void, a shimmering monument to her power.

“For now, at least.” Her multitude of shifting beautiful faces frown as she takes in the smoldering sight of Arawnoth and me.

“Am I not divine? Am I not glorious? Am I not beautiful? Sadly, the same cannot be said of you two...” Her gaze lingers on my flickering flames, her expression twisting with disdain.

“Poor little splutters. Diminished. Spent. Tragic, really. If it weren’t so utterly ill-advised! ”

She jabs a finger toward me, her voice sharp as a blade. “You! Know this—the Voidbringer will soon escape. It will seek retribution.”

With a dismissive wave of her hand, my vision begins to fade. The heat, the sounds, the chaos—all dissolving into darkness.

“Act quickly. Go now, back to my beloved daughter. Back to tragedy. Back to folly. Cherish her. Worship her. Protect her.” Her voice grows distant, but her warning rings clear. “Though you are a weakened brute, I will rend your mind asunder should you fail her.”

All fades to black, and a scent of charred flesh grows stronger.