Page 69 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

Plasma bolts surge downward, streaking toward the shielded females—only to freeze midair, suspended as if caught by unseen hands. The energy sputters, distorts, curling inward before sliding down the shimmering dome of Princesa’s barrier, pooling at her feet in bubbling puddles.

The retaliation is swift.

A storm of plasma fire erupts upward, scorching through the air, turning the darkness into a swirling maelstrom of blue.

The heat warps the very air, hazy waves of distortion rippling outward.

Dozens of drones are ripped apart in the chaos, their shields flaring white-hot before failing, their frames bursting into fragments of molten slag.

Like dying meteors, they crash into the station floor in smoking wreckage, leaving behind streaks of burning blue fire.

“Cannons! Now!” I bellow, gesturing toward the shuttles.

My berserkers abandon their shield wall, breaking into a sprint, weapons raised as they charge toward the shuttles. Drexios is at their heels, barking obscenities between shots, weaving through plasma fire.

Above, the shorthair fleet surges forward. Hundreds of smaller vessels swarm the station, their ballistic cannons rattling as they engage the enemy drones. Their missiles detonate against Seeker shields, knocking them off course, creating an opening.

A smile tugs at my lips—my loyal shorthairs. Inept, reckless, but utterly fearless.

“War Chieftain, we... we must protect the females!” Jazreal’s voice is taut with shock and indignation. He steps forward, slamming the butt of his spear against the floor, the metallic clang ringing out like a challenge. “We cannot forsake them again! I won’t allow it!”

My gaze flicks between him and Princesa. She stands just beyond the protective barriers, arms folded, gaze locked on the battlefield, yet I feel the weight of her silent judgment pressing down on me.

I force the growl past my raw throat, my words coming out like grinding stone. “Rapid withdrawal is the only option. Go.”

I tower over him, letting my presence loom, letting him feel my shadow engulfing him. He hesitates, masked face tilting up to meet mine, his stance stubborn. Then, his gaze shifts—to her.

Rage boils up, scorching hot.

“Do not look to her, Death Herald!” My voice rips through the chaos as I lash out, gripping his chest plate and lifting him effortlessly off his feet. “Question me again, and I will leave you here to suffer the folly of your inaction.”

I release him with a shove, turning my attention to Princesa instead.

Jazreal lands hard but doesn’t falter. “Understood, War Chieftain,” he says, rapping his spear against the floor in affirmation. Then, his head bows slightly toward her. “Divine Daughter.”

Divine Daughter.

So this is why he hesitates. He believes in her divinity.

The unquestionable guidance of a Goddess.

But we aren’t Gods. We are merely favored by them.

And even Gods are not infallible. I have seen that harsh truth with my own eyes—Arawnoth, the molten deity, nearly extinguishing himself against the Voidbringer. A tactical error.

Princesa stands there, outside her protective barriers, as if daring the chaos to touch her.

I narrow my eyes. “Princesa, you—”

“Oh, babes, it was awful!” she interrupts, voice high-pitched and distraught, peeking around my broad frame as if to ensure none of the warriors hear her distress.

“I mean, it was brilliant at the start, but then all these horrible murder-bots showed up, and the bone-through-the-nose—uh, space-knights—started asking me all these annoying questions I couldn’t answer. ”

Her words spill out in an anxious ramble, hands trembling, eyes darting frantically. Then, suddenly, her gaze snaps back to mine.

A radiant smile blooms across her face—a sunrise over molten lava. “But you came back to me. Yay!” She claps her hands together. “Beep, beep, let’s go already.” She raises her arms expectantly.

Everything about her is intoxicating. Her beauty. Her whimsy. Her fragility. It pulls me in, and my hands almost move toward her on instinct.

Almost.

I stop myself. No. She shamed me. Had she been more competent, Drexios and I would have emerged from that metal netherworld alone. Abandoned.

“Well?” she presses, arms still raised. “Don’t leave me hanging like a freaking zombie here.” Her lips twist into an annoyed pout. “Really, Dracoth?” Her arms drop to her sides. “You’re doing your Mr. Frowny Face routine—”

“Inside.” I cut her off, snapping the order with a sharp gesture toward the shielded area where the Klendathian females huddle. Their gazes remain vacant, downcast, untouched by the chaos surrounding them.

“To the shuttles. Now.”

“ Ugh . So rude,” she huffs, throwing her hands in the air. But she obeys.

A gap forms in her silvery barriers, a shimmering slit just large enough for her to step through before sealing behind her.

“We’ll have a talk about this later, you and I,” she threatens, the sound muffled and echoing like her head’s stuck in a bowl—a bowl moving toward the shuttles.

Above, a shorthair ship erupts into blue flames, the back portion ripping apart, spilling molten arcweave into the void. The atmosphere beyond swallows the explosion in silence, a cruel, soundless spectacle.

I watch, my jaw clenched as the unfortunate occupants are torn from the wreckage, their bodies thrashing, fighting against an enemy they cannot see. But the void does not bargain. It does not spare. Their struggles fade, their forms going still.

More Seeker drones pour in.

Thousands of them, a mechanical plague, blotting out the void.

The shuttles rumble to life, engines primed, their twin-mounted cannons whining as they acquire targets.

The cracking zaps echo out, blasts shimmering as they breach the atmospheric barrier, catching some drones, narrowly missing others.

Shields detonate in bright flashes, bursting apart before molten slop erupts from shattered drone cores.

“Quickly!” I bellow, my voice a storm above the chaos.

I catch movement in the distance. Shadows, massive and looming, blotting out the stars.

Voidbanes. Dozens of them.

Their dark, angular forms close the distance, inexorable as the abyss itself.

My arc blaster spits molten death into the swarm above, joining the warriors in a blazing defiance against the inevitable.

Shorthair ships dart and weave, supporting each other, but even they are being overwhelmed. The drones hunt like hydraliths—one distracts while the others flank, striking from the sides in coordinated, calculated patterns.

Already, dozens of our vessels are bleeding molten arcweave, their thick armor barely withstanding the onslaught.

Then, the void erupts with blinding light.

I turn away, shielding my vision as the dazzling explosion forces every warrior to momentarily falter.

When the flare fades, the Voidbane above us is nothing more than shattered slabs of blackened metal, drifting like an obsidian tombstone. A miniature supernova where its Elerium engines once burned.

A triumphant cheer rises through my warriors, the sound rippling across the battlefield. But victory is short-lived. A Seeker swarm retaliates, a relentless barrage of plasma screaming toward us.

“Shields!” I roar, raising my own, though my arm aches, muscles trembling as my shield locks into place. We brace as the oncoming salvo streaks toward us. Our backs press against the shuttles—our only means of escape.

Princesa and the females are nearly there, their hurried steps carrying them closer to salvation. But my focus remains ahead, locked on the incoming barrage of blistering blue plasma.

The first wave slams into us, a thunderous impact like an aurodon stampede. Sparks cascade in a blinding spray, shields flaring under the force. The kinetic shock sends some warriors sprawling.

“On your voiding feet!” Drexios snarls, spitting blood and laughter behind his own shield. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint the ladies now, would we?”

Laughter ripples through the chaos, mingling with the whining zap of plasma streaking overhead. A few masked warriors steal glances toward Princesa and the females as they approach, their attention lingering a fraction longer.

“Tharok, swap with Andoth—his shield’s spent!” Jazreal commands from a shuttle ramp.

The two warriors smoothly swap places—a precision honed from countless drills and battles.

My chest swells. These warriors—my warriors—the finest in existence. None but they could hold here, do what is necessary, endure what is to come.

The shadows of the Voidbanes grow larger, swallowing starlight. Time is running out.

The Voidbringer seeks revenge, and it will not stop. It will hurl everything it has against us, because we carry something precious. Something it stole from us.

Hope.

“Corsark,” I command through the warvisor, voice taut with urgency. “Have the Ravager’s Ruin and Battlebarge support the shorthairs. Kill these drones.”

Plasma streaks back and forth in an unrelenting storm.

Molten husks of drones crash all around us, burning wreckage littering the open hangar.

The heat rises, thick and suffocating, each blast adding to the scalding haze.

The stench of charred metal, discharged ozone, and burning polysynth chokes the air.

Above, a shorthair vessel spirals out of control, its hull cored, flames licking at the breach before the void snuffs them out. The wound tears wider, venting its contents into space—bodies, debris, remnants of lives cut short.

“Finally, we made it,” Princesa announces behind me, her words the sweetest music to my ears. I turn to see her standing at the base of an open shuttle, the females huddled behind her.

“Hmm,” she ponders, a finger to her lips, frowning as she considers the carnage above. “Yeah, so, you’re not actually planning for us to fly through that horde of murder-bots, are you?”

I nod.

Her expression drops into theatrical disappointment. “Honestly, babes,” she tuts, shaking her head, blonde hair swaying. “That’s your plan? Might as well charge naked and screaming through a minefield.” Her hand flicks toward the sky. “Except these mines have minds of their own.”

Amusing. Because this is the result of her inaction.

She waves a dismissive hand before her frown softens into something more playful. “At least we’re not naked anymore,” she murmurs with a smirk, silver-crimson eyes peering up through thick lashes. “Such a shame, though.”

For a moment, I don’t follow her meaning. Then, I see it.

Barely visible silver edges shimmer in the chaotic blue light, catching like molten sunrises bursting overhead.

Her shields.

Each shuttle is encased in a protective barrier, translucent and impenetrable. A divine safeguard, heightening our odds of survival.

A smirk tugs at my lips. “Impressive,” I admit, eyes flicking down to her.

She steps onto the metal ramp, her lingering gaze laced with challenge. “Divine,” she corrects.

Overhead, the void erupts like an inferno.

The Battlebarge-class plasma cannons open fire, their blistering salvo tearing through the darkness. Twin-mounted turrets unload in relentless succession, bolts slicing through entire clusters of Seeker drones, erasing them from existence.

Powerful blasts catch dozens at a time, the void so thick with the swarm that it becomes a massacre.

This is it. Our moment.

I slam my gauntleted hand against the hull of a shuttle, my voice booming over the battlefield.

“ONWARD!”

Faces inside turn toward me—the rescued females, the surviving clones.

“TO THE DAWN OF A NEW AGE!”