Page 56 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea,” Princesa squeals, clapping her hands with unhinged glee. “No one interfere in our little doggie pissing contest.” Her tone is sweet. Her expression is poison—venom directed solely at Drexios.

Drexios snorts. “Maybe I’ll cut his cock off for you, Pinkie ,” He twirls his blades in a lazy crisscross blur, leaving streaking blue afterimages in the dim light. “You can use it to occupy that yapping tongue of yours.”

“Shove it up your ass!” Princesa snaps.

The clone lunges.

Drexios smirks, setting his stance, plasma blades layered defensively, preparing for the oncoming attack.

But at the last moment, the clone suddenly halts just beyond his opponent’s range, feigning a clawed slash.

My Second overreacts, pivoting to block an attack that doesn’t come.

Instead, a massive leg lashes out, hooking behind his calf—nearly toppling him.

The hulking clone surges forward, seizing the opening with terrifying speed, arms spread wide making his opponent appear tiny in comparison.

Drexios barely keeps his footing, armor absorbing the impact, but he’s forced to stagger back.

His blades hiss through the air in frantic, blinding azure slashes—hitting nothing .

The clone is fast. Too fast.

Clever. Despite his fury, he fights with cunning and skill.

“Oh, he nearly got you, Drex-iot!” Princesa croons, leaning so far forward in my arm she nearly tumbles off.

“You’re smarter than you look, aren’t you, clone?” Drexios spits, dropping into a crouched stance, inching closer. “Yeah. Just. Like. The. Young War Chief!”

With a sudden burst of speed, he lunges—a flurry of slashes and cuts, hoping to overwhelm and surprise.

The clone dodges, leaping back with fluid grace, weaving through the air-distorting slices. His gaze flicks between the blades, analyzing them, understanding their danger.

Drexios presses his advantage, snarling with each strike, pushing the giant backward, forcing him into a corner.

We watch with hushed breaths. The only sounds are grunts, snarls, and the humming whine of searing plasma.

Drexios grins as the clone’s back slaps against cold metal. “I have you!” A blade thrusts forward and upward, straight for the clones beating heart. But the clone moves. A single, massive hand snaps up, grasping Drexios’ wrist.

A choked snarl rips from Drexios’ throat as his wrist is wrenched back at a sickening angle. His plasma blade clatters to the floor.

The clone raises his other hand, claws poised for the kill—aiming straight for Drexios’ exposed face.

Princesa gasps, nearly falling from my grip in anticipation.

Despite Drexios twisting with suffering under the overpowering clone. With a snarl of pain, he batters his remaining plasma blade against the clone’s crushing grip. The blade sears into the meat of his forearm, carving a deep, sizzling gash.

A furious roar splits the air. The familiar acrid stench of burning flesh and scorched blood floods my lungs.

The opponents break apart, both heaving, sweat glistening on their brows.

Drexios flexes his wrist, rotating it with a grimace. The clone watches him like a predator, crimson eyes burning, nostrils flaring. He raises his wounded arm to his mouth and sucks the cauterized wound, his gaze never leaving his opponent.

“You know,” Princesa muses, inspecting her bonding rings and nails with mock boredom, “if you apologize and beg, I might give you a little puppy treat— my divine grace .”

“Enough.” My growl rumbles like distant thunder as I lower her to the ground.

She clings to me with surprising tenacity. “ What the hell, babes?” she huffs, her fingers tightening around my armor. I pry her off, untangling each absurdly delicate digit.

If this continues Drexios will die. A pointless, needless death.

And worse— I fear Princesa. Not for her safety, but for what she might do.

I see the venom in her gaze, the seething hatred laced with cruel amusement.

She wants Drexios to suffer. She may move against him.

I cannot allow it. I will not allow her to spiral into the darkness.

I am the fire. And it falls to me to light our path.

“This is my burden.” My voice rolls through the chamber like an avalanche, my stride slow and deliberate as I step forward, forcing Drexios back with a sweep of my arm.

My clone understands. Whatever intelligence festers behind his endless rage, it grasps what is happening. He turns to face me—a warped reflection of fury and suffering. His claws spread wide, his lips curling into a snarl.

Drexios exhales sharply. “We should’ve brought zelatos dumplings for this,” he mutters, glancing at the warband, eager for mirth that does not come.

“Come, brother,” A fire erupts inside me. My blood surges, rivers of lava coursing through my veins.

Yes.

Let him come. Let him face me. An opponent like no other. Equal in size and strength. I relish the challenge—this gift.

The clone approaches cautiously now, wary, realizing he cannot overwhelm me as he did Drexios. I extend my natural claws with a resounding snap. No technology. No blades. Only strength.

If I could, I would strip myself bare, fight him without armor, test our bodies, our wills, without interference. Instead, I will fight as if I possessed none—trading no blows, accepting only those my flesh can bear.

I throw out testing strikes. My claws whistle through the air, forcing him to react. Princesa gasps, her breath quickening with anticipation. The clone moves as expected, weaving, pivoting, dodging with speed and skill.

But this is just a faction of my power, the faintest ember that’s blazing hotter with every heartbeat. How much can he take?

Or am I the imposter—the one who will burn in his divine fury? Revenge for the destiny I stole from him?

The clone snarls, surging forward with his own swipes, his claws cleave the air like a plunging arrohawk, slashing, seeking flesh.

Strong. Stronger than I anticipated.

I have to push harder to swat them aside. A realization creases my lips into a smirk. This is what my opponents have faced. The overwhelming presence. The crushing, irresistible power.

Good.

Let us temper our wills in each other’s blood. Let us forge ourselves anew.

I lash out—a sweeping kick aimed for his overextended knee. But he lifts his leg, blocking the strike at the last moment, protecting the joint, absorbing some of the impact. Still, pain ripples across his face, the muscle of his thigh darkening from the impact.

He retaliates. Claws rain down in a blistering flurry—fast, but not fast enough. Almost slow to my senses now, my Rush burning hotter, pouring liquid metal into my veins, pushing me to heights untapped.

I weave through the onslaught. Then my hands shoot out. Fingers entwine. Claws lock like the twisted cords of arcweave. Our muscles bulge, veins perturbing, teeth clenched. His strength—his power—I have never felt anything like it. It is intoxicating. Far surpassing my previous, weak opponents.

Yet—it is not enough.

A growl rumbles deep in my chest as I squeeze harder. The twitch of pain, the flicker of realization in his eyes—I savor it. My breath comes slow, measured, the mist of my Rush bleeding into the dark, silvery-red, calling to him, daring him to push harder.

Overcome me.

Give me the fight I long for.

His eyes blaze like a roaring furnace, fangs sinking into his lip, drawing blood. His body tenses. He clamps down, summoning every ounce of his strength. He pushes with all his might and yet—

He cannot move me.

Disappointment washes over me, like a river of ice snuffing out my molten joy. This is his limit; he can go no further. But how? Is he not me? Am I not him? And yet—between us stretches an abyss too vast to cross.

A gulf that should not exist.

“There can be only one, babes!” Princesa’s laughter rings behind me, wild and unhinged, her fervor blazing through our bond like a fever. “Rip out his throat!” Her voice rises in a crescendo of madness. “Show me you’ve still got it! Show me my Red Dragon!”

The realization strikes like a hammer blow. So obvious now. So simple . It’s Princesa. Our bond. The gift from the Gods. Through them, I’m chosen—ascendent. No mere genetic material, no simple clone. Something more. Much more. Close to divine.

These echoes, these perversions—they are mere flickers compared to the blazing inferno of my soul.

Impatient now, my strength surges. The clone snarls and thrashes, but his fingers bend further beneath my crushing grip, creaking under the pressure. He twists, desperate to escape the agony, to escape the inescapable.

I will put him out of his misery.

With a roar, I slam my warvisor into the bridge of his nose.

CRACK.

Bone shatters with a sickening crunch. Blood explodes over my visor. He reels back, stumbling, wheeling from pain and momentum. I seize my advantage, my claws gleaming in the dim light as I strike.

The razor tips spear his chest. His tough skin parts. My claws breach flesh, cutting through the breastplate of muscle— piercing his beating heart.

A wet squelch.

Warm blood oozes over my fingers as he collapses into my arms.

I hold him.

“You fought well, brother,” I whisper into his long ear, supporting his weight as his life wanes. “Know this—I will carry your strength with me. Every step I take will echo with your fury and power.” I promise with a solemn nod. His last warmth bleeds from his body.

“How touching. I think I shred a single tear,” Drexios barks a short laugh, bending to retrieve his fallen plasma blade. “You really are a voiding monster, War Chieftain.” He exhales, shaking his head, lips curling into a smirk.

I lower the clone gently to the ground, turning him onto his front.

“You’re just jealous you’re not half the man, my Dracoth is,” Princesa retorts, her breath husky as she brushes her fingers against the nape of my neck. But then—her tone shifts. “Wait... what are you doing?”

I begin my grisly work. A promise made to a brother. A promise kept.

My claws cut deep, slicing clean strips along the contours of his spine. My fingers dig in, parting muscle, veins, and tendons.

“What the hell, Dracoth? Stop!” Princesa’s voice shrieks behind me. Her tiny hands slap uselessly against my armor. “We talked about this! You promised, you wouldn’t collect any more spine bits!”

“No,” I growl, my grip tightening around the exposed bone.

She lies.

There was no promise, only complaints—complaints I chose to ignore. This is my people’s ancient rite. Hemo-Tok. I honor Arawnoth. I honor the vanquished. Let their rattles herald my coming. Let them strike fear into the hearts of my enemies.

“But... but it’s your own spine—kind of.” She presses, voice edged with pure disgust. “It’s weird and creepy!”

I twist my hands. The bone snaps with a deafening crunch.

“SO FUCKING GROSS!” She shrieks, retreating into the corner of the room, followed by dry retching. “I think I’m going to throw up!”

She will grow to accept it... in time.

I wipe away the worst of the gore, threading my belt through the vertebrae. The fresh bone jangles pleasantly as it slides into place, joining its brothers of bone. A piece of my clone—a part of myself. I will cherish it always.

A reminder of who I truly am.

“What’s the matter, Pinkie ?” Drexios sneers, his tone laced with mockery. “Never seen a little Hemo-Toking before?”

He flicks a hand toward my belt, grinning. “Just a couple’a bones, jingling and jangling. No good to the poor voiding bastard now, is it? Hey—what say me and the boys make you one? Assuming there’s any bones left in that steaming pile of glop we left back there.” He flicks a hand behind him.

Princesa’s retching intensifies.

“It would be an honor, blessed daughter,” the warrior Tharok chimes in earnestly, clearly unaware of human fragility.

Princesa whirls, jabbing a finger toward them. “I swear on both Arawnoth and Aenarael—if any of you come near me with one of those... things!” She waves a hand over my belt like it’s a nest of vipertails. “I will lock you in my divine barriers and launch you all into space!”

The warriors exchange glances—then erupt into booming laughter.

“Fine, whatever, ” she groans, hands raised toward me. “Beep beep, Red Taxi. And tilt the bloody bits away, that’d be just lovely . ”

I do as she asks. Sweeping her into my arms, tilting the belt slightly. Accommodating her — until she grows stronger.

My eyes flick to Razgor, busily scanning the terminals, the tanks, the remains of the clones.

Yet, it is not the corpses or data that compel me forward. It is the door at the far end of the room. Some fragment at the back of my mind lingers, some knowing, as if I’ve been here before. A memory—buried deep and suppressed. Remnants of the Voidbringers torments?

“Come. Answers await.”