Page 79 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

Dracoth

Boom

A sneer curls my lips as my fingers flex over the controls.

“Destroy them.” My arm swings wide in command.

Drexios grins. “I wasn’t planning to invite them in.” He dashes toward a weapons terminal beside Corsark, eye gleaming as he activates the targeting systems. “Red,” he croons, voice dripping with anticipation. “Red, better make ‘em dead.”

The ship trembles violently, each shudder rolling through the walls like the tremors of an earthquake. The deafening thud of our cannon barrages fires in perfect synchrony, igniting the void in dazzling streaks of azure.

Rush burns through my chest as the twin-linked plasma lances streak across the abyss, a meteor shower of searing death.

Seeker drones dart frantically, their mechanical precision attempting to navigate the chaos, but for hundreds— thousands —it’s too late.

Their oval forms disintegrate upon impact, engulfed in explosions that burn as hot as a thousand suns.

Wisps of smoke and shattered remnants vanish into the endless dark, while the plasma bolts pierce through the swarming mass, carving a path of destruction through the asteroids beyond.

Drexios barks out a sharp, manic laugh. “Only one eye, make ‘em fry.”

But there is no reprieve. The chaos surges, unrelenting. The incredible velocity I must maintain propels us deeper into the swarm, the drones parting like a school of fish—only to close in again, a gleaming red mass moving in eerie synchrony.

Some slam against our shields, bursting into twisted wreckage, the sheer density of their numbers trapping them between us and the drifting rock.

The ship jolts. Once. Twice. Then a hundred rapid, jarring vibrations rattle through the hull, forcing my fingers to tighten around my throne.

The obsidian of my armrest creaks under the pressure.

Plasma fire rains down in torrents, shimmering blue streaks descending from every direction in relentless retaliation.

The buzzing drones swarm like a horde of znats attacking a dying beast, determined to drain the last of our strength.

“Shields at eighty percent,” Corsark reports, his clipped tone barely masking his unease.

Too sharp of a drop. And we’re only halfway through the asteroid field.

A cold weight presses against my chest. The timing of the swarm’s response, the sheer intensity of their onslaught—it will be close , too close.

Should I deploy the Shorthairs? No. In this terrain, among this many enemies, it would be a slaughter.

And the Elerium-enriched ships must be preserved for the true killing blow.

Princesa’s divine barriers? I glance toward her, curled behind the throne, stroking Todd like a victim of space madness muttering to herself.

Lost. Broken. Useless.

Yet, if we survive, she’ll claim victory and call me weak for not invoking Arawnoth’s flames.

There will be no miracles to save us. Not here. Not now.

Only strength, skill, and unyielding resolve will see us through.

The ship bucks beneath another impact, my hands flying over the navigational console, the constant tremors turning each adjustment into a battle of control. Despite the brutal, ceaseless barrage, hyperspeed must be maintained between each hulking asteroid. Any hesitation. Any mistake. And we die.

A lumbering moon rock flashes across the viewport, its craggy peaks filling the screen before I veer away at the last second, skimming past its surface by a hair’s breadth.

The ship groans, metal straining against the force of the maneuver, but there is no time to react, no time to breathe—another rock looms ahead, another violent twist of the controls, another near-death escape.

The Seeker drones cling to us, matching our speed, weaving through the debris with unnerving precision, their assault unrelenting.

The cacophony is near deafening—the endless shuddering of impacts, the sharp bursts of plasma fire, the electric whine of shields under strain. My focus is split between minute, critical course adjustments and anticipating the Scythians’ next move.

“Shields at fifty-five percent, War Chieftain,” Corsark announces, his voice wavering under the strain.

Through the viewport, smoldering debris litters the void—shattered asteroids, melted drones, the remnants of our desperate charge through this gauntlet. Wreckage slams against our shields as we surge forward, barreling through the floating carnage at blistering speed.

Thousands of their number have already fallen—our cannons and the Battlebarge trailing behind tearing through them in waves—but still, they come.

Fearless. Unrelenting.

They have no self-preservation. They focus their assault on the Ravager’s Ruin . They seek to sever the head from the body.

They seek me.

The abyss ignites once more.

Molten blue stars burst forth from countless red-glowing lenses, saturating the darkness in streaks of plasma. The shield generators whine under the strain, a low, pitiful sound—a wounded animal bleeding out.

And worse—The Voidbanes are repositioning.

Three massive pulsing markers shift ahead, once again converging. They see it now. They understand what I’m doing.

My strategy, bold and reckless, is now obvious to the machines.

Their wide net converges, solidifying into an unbreakable wall barring our desperate charge. The dozen Voidbanes behind move as well, swinging around the asteroid field, bypassing it—while the million-strong Seeker swarm weaves through the rocks in pursuit.

The battle is a blazing dance of blue, red, and brown, a symphony of destruction that rages across the void. My heart pounds, hammering against my ribs, each beat like a war drum threatening to burst from my chest.

I ache to lash out, my Rush flaring, my claws flexing at my sides, every fiber of my being calling for carnage.

But I cannot.

Here, in the vastness of space, I am nothing more than the extension of the Ravager’s Ruin. My will—my wrath—bound to its controls.

We’re nearly three-quarters through the asteroid field. The void remains thick with glowing debris and darting Seeker drones, their sheer numbers smothering us like a plague of parasites.

Some cling to the hull, their serrated limbs digging deep, scraping against the barrier like rusted daggers. Sparks fly in bursts of white-hot light as they hack at the shields, their bodies writhing in violent, unnatural spasms.

Clever.

We risk blasting ourselves apart to remove them.

Unless...

A glorious idea takes root in my mind, dangerous vines bearing either sweet or poisonous fruit.

Ahead, a mountainous asteroid looms into view, jagged peaks glinting in the dazzling plasma. But beneath those peaks—an uneven ridge, a sheer drop. A battlefield of rock. The ship groans under my command as I bank hard to avoid it.

A smirk twists my lips.

Just a little closer.

“By Arawnoth, by Aenarael— get me off this fucking rollercoaster from hell! ” Princesa shrieks, picking the worst possible moment to peek from behind the throne.

There is no escape, only victory.

A deep, guttural laugh rumbles from my chest as I ease the controls.

The ship tilts, groaning in protest as it veers closer to the massive, passing asteroid.

Proximity alerts explode across the display, flashing red and blaring in frantic warning, their rhythm pulsing in sync with my heartbeat—not from fear, but from raw, unfiltered exhilaration.

It takes every ounce of my concentration: Blurring speed. Rotating drift of the asteroids. Constant tremors from plasma barrages slamming against our shields. The razor-thin margin between survival and obliteration.

A jagged spire of rock kisses our shields like a blade shaving across bare skin, close enough to feel its edge. But I do not falter. My Rush burns hotter, sending scarlet plumes leaking from my eyes, drifting through the air. Every movement is perfect. Every thought, laser-sharp.

Time slows to fluttering ash.

The drones clinging to our hull do not react.

Their violent, spasmodic attacks continue, oblivious to their doom.

The moment of impact is sudden, brutal. The ship’s shields flare, a searing blue as the asteroid crushes them against our hull, their metallic bodies screeching in protest before shattering like brittle bone.

A muffled series of pops and grinds reverberates through the walls as their wreckage is pulverized into nothing.

My fingers fly over the controls, adjusting, compensating, seizing the moment.

I push the Ravager’s Ruin to its limits, commanding it to rotate at maximum speed.

Megatons of arcweave groan under the strain, the engines wailing in defiance.

Still, my father’s flagship obeys. It spins like a colossal beast, dragging its armored bulk across the asteroid’s surface as if scraping parasites from its hide.

The viewport becomes a kaleidoscope of shifting iridescent hues, light twisting and refracting off the chaos outside.

Within the bridge, the world becomes an unstable swirl of motion.

Princesa’s retching intensifies. But I cannot be distracted.

My fingers maintain their relentless pace, making split-second adjustments, keeping us precisely within the razor’s edge of disaster.

A single miscalculation, a fraction of hesitation, and we will be the ones reduced to scrap.

After what feels like an eternity, the asteroid falls behind, replaced instantly by new ones looming in our path, demanding my attention.

“Oh, would you look at that,” Drexios drawls, amusement thick in his voice. “Looks like the Ruin just shat out a scrapyard.”

His laughter is contagious. Corsark and the Berserkers lining the walls join in, the walls ringing with the relief of a stayed execution.