Page 65 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)
My divine barriers shimmer around me and the Revered Mothers. Their silver-edged barriers deflecting stray blasts and debris, divine protection for those who follow me faithfully.
An army of murder-bots stands between me and the space-knights. Hundreds of their towering frames form a shimmering wall of pulsing blue.
Ear-shrieking zaps and thrums exchange across the expanse. The machines skitter closer, pressing in, a tidal wave of thousands splashing against a cliff of meathead-ary.
Jazreal’s voice booms over the carnage, raw and unhinged.
“Where are the real Scythians?! So I can tear out their throats, rip out their guts. There’s nothing but machines—empty husks, lifeless, soulless phantoms mocking nature!
” His long black-gray hair whips wildly as he dances between the grasping prongs of a murder-bot, an eight-foot bodybuilding gymnast. His searing spear carves a path through their ranks, the molten weapon sweeping through metal and circuitry like a hurricane of fire.
“Forward, Berserkers!” Sarkoth bellows.
Despite their fewer numbers, the space-knights surge ahead, methodical, dangerous. Only a few have fallen, but they are quickly dragged from the fray, their gaps swiftly filled, shield wall reforging. It bristles with retaliatory fire—an unstoppable hedgehog of delicious murder.
Oh, my.
My fingers trace the runic blessing on my chest, its warmth pulsing against my skin, mirroring the fire stirring deep in my core.
So much so, I nearly forget myself.
But then, some murder-bots notice us behind their backs. They pivot, servos whirring, their red lenses locking onto my group, processing, recalculating.
But it’s too late. It always was.
I raise my arms, a theatrical touch, my heart hammering in my chest, the power of my Gods burning within.
Two of my barriers materialize, shimmering walls of divine force severing through the ranks of machines like celestial guillotines. The dumb machines lurch, their programming struggling to comprehend the impossible.
This is just the beginning.
A smirk twists my lips. I sweep my arms wide, dramatically, like a conductor about to bring the orchestra to its crescendo. My barriers part. Slowly. Inexorably. Driving the horde toward the shimmering blue force field encapsulating this entire haunted mansion turned warzone.
The murder-bots shudder, pressed tighter and tighter together, their movements growing erratic, frantic.
Servo-gears whine, skittering legs clawing at the floor, scraping over their own fallen.
Some topple, a writhing heap of limbs blasting wildly into the void.
Others trace the edges of my shields, seeking an escape that doesn’t exist.
Their doom is inevitable.
Their scurrying huddled mass reaches the edge of the open hangar. With nothing but the vastness of space beyond them. I frown slightly, tilting my head. Will they be crushed between my barriers and the station’s shields?
Or—
The first bodies breach the edge. Then the next. And suddenly, they float. Like pathetic little toys in deranged spacesuits.
A sharp, automatic laugh bursts from my throat.
Look at them. Writhing uselessly, limbs gasping at nothing, their metal shells frosting over in the cold void.
One by one, the horde spills into space, their frames weightless, drifting like bottle caps on water.
Lost. Alone. In their thousands. Utterly hilarious.
“Farewell, loser-bots!” I call out, laughter ringing out.
But for some reason, I’m the only one having fun. My laughter trails off followed by an eerie silence. My brow furrows, glancing down to check if my boobs are showing.
Jazreal emerges from the crowd of still space-knights, tearing his scary mask free, revealing the wide-eyed, trembling awe on his face. On the unscarred side, at least.
“Females... our females.” His spear slips from his grasp, clanging against the floor. His legs buckle, collapsing him to his knees. “We thought you were lost... We—” His voice chokes, barely above a whisper. “We betrayed you. Please... forgive us for our sins.”
Oh, right. The women.
I lift my chin, throwing out my arms, letting the gold-inlaid black robes flow dramatically around me. “Behold, the Revered Mothers!” My voice soars, carried by the adoration flooding my heart.
“Elder Ignixis’s sacrifice enraged Arawnoth into action! He sought retribution, a vengeance most divine.” I trail my fingers along the burning runes on my chest, feeling the heat pulse beneath my touch.
“Through me—his Blessed Daughter—we achieved the impossible. Our redemption!” The words come easily, naturally, an inferno of passion lifting me on its thermal winds.
The space-knights lower their weapons, battered and scorched, their expressions raw with disbelief., approaching the women as if they were angels sent from the heavens.
Many remove their masks, as if only their own eyes can be trusted. Some fall to their knees, their bodies shaking with sobs. Others let out deep, guttural cries, a wound centuries-old, finally beginning to close.
And it’s all thanks to me.
The Revered Mothers, though frail, haunted by trauma, stand tall. Their presence is a shining beacon of hope amidst the carnage. Some press a hand against my barrier, their expressions vacant yet peaceful, their gazes sweeping over the ocean of reverent faces before them.
Sarkoth steps forward, his movements slow, almost groveling. A green-haired woman approaches the barrier, her trembling hand rising. Sarkoth lifts his own, mirroring her.
Tears glide down his scarred cheeks. “I can’t... believe this is real.”
How romantic. Though these horned-up bone-through-the-noses might need a cold shower before long.
Jazreal stares at me now, unblinking. His green eyes glisten, raw and exposed, like he’s just cut a hundred onions at once.
“You. Prince—Blessed Daughter,” He swallows, his voice faltering in a way it never has before. “You swept aside an army like it was nothing... and delivered us the most precious treasure in the universe.”
His fingers curl against the floor. His breath shudders. His voice drops, reverence bleeding into something almost... fearful.
“Who are you, truly?”
A swarm of Lexie-moths somersault in my stomach as all eyes snap to my glorious self, expecting an answer, hanging on my every word.
I let them wait a moment longer, savoring it. Let them see me. Let them bask in my glory. I create a gap in my dome of shields and step through it.
“Am I not magnificent? Beloved and feared? Delicate and powerful?”
The words spill from my lips unbidden, surprising myself at my boldness.
It should make my cheeks burn, this raw, naked desire to be worshipped.
But it does not. It feels right. My heart soars, my skin thrums with exhilaration.
This is perfect. Who I was always meant to be. My moment. No more hiding.
“Am I not divine?”
I stride forward, each step measured, deliberate, dripping with elegance and certainty. Regal. Alluring. Unshakable. Jazreal— a towering titan of muscle and blood—stares down at me, his green eyes burning with reverence, hesitation, awe.
He searches my face, my blazing silver-crimson gaze. I do not balk. I stand tall, unyielding.
Then, as it should be. Pleasing and natural. He kneels before me. His head bows low.
“You can only be divine,” he breathes. “The chosen of the Gods themselves. Divine Daughter.”
Divine Daughter. Oh, I love it!
My smile deepens as hundreds of space-knights echo Jazzy in unison, their knees striking the metal floor, heads bent in absolute submission.
“Divine Daughter!”
A beautiful cacophony. The best-selling Lexie smash hit to my ears. My breath comes fast, frantic, my chest rising and falling in dizzying gulps. This is it. The moment I’ve craved my entire life. Hundreds of soldiers, tears in their eyes, love in their hearts—all for me!
Me.
I could die now the happiest woman alive. Just a young, breathtaking corpse, lips frozen in joy for all eternity.
But I want more. Not hundreds. Thousands. No—millions. As many souls as exist in this universe, all kneeling in my name.
Are you watching, Divine Mother, Aenarael? Are you proud of me? Do you see the adoration I bring to your mercurial domain? It is because of you that I have awakened. Because of you, I now see myself clearly.
The bold, impossible dreams are now a searing reality.
I love her. I love this.
“Protect the Revered Mothers!” Sarkoth’s roar slams into me like a hundred parking tickets, shattering my warm, fuzzy glow of triumph. “If we must all die for one to live, then that, my brothers, is a bargain!”
The space-knights move like a single living entity, shields snapping into place, forming a bristling wall of shimmering blue energy around me and the women. But my mind lags behind. Protect them from what? My eyes sweep the open expansive hangar, searching, hunting.
And then, I see it.
The void above pulses with movement. A swarm of murder-orbs churns in the darkness, their red lenses gleaming like malevolent stars.
They dart through space, moving with frantic, erratic speed, blurring at the edges.
Some break away from the battle raging above, hurtling toward us through the shimmering blue barrier like meteors of destruction.
Hundreds of blazing bolts tear through the darkness, sizzling, whizzing, filling the air with heat and fury. The sheer power of it presses against my skin, delicious, reminiscent of Dracoth’s attentions.
Some bolts miss, streaking into the void. Many hit. The murder-orbs’ shields flicker to life, absorbing a hit or two, only to wink out of existence as more shots slam into them, overwhelming their defenses, turning their forms into blueberry Slushy.
Delicious!