Page 87 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)
“Krogoth, Cringe Eyes, more like,” Princesa snaps, suddenly leaping from my lap. Her black robes and chieftainess cloak swirl in her wake as she strides forward, her glare ablaze with defiance. “He’s not as powerful as me.”
She lifts her chin, eyes flashing with divine arrogance.
“I am blessed by Divine Mother and Father. I could cage suns.”
Her gaze locks onto mine, pupils dilating, silver and crimson swirling like molten metal.
“Watch.”
Her hands raise toward the towering viewport. Through the thermal spectrum of my warvisor, I sense it—a shuddering ripple in the abyss. The four pursuing Voidbanes and their Seeker drone escorts... halt.
Without hesitation, I tilt the Ravager’s Ruin , pivoting toward the chaos. The vast bulk of Scythian forces flee toward Argon-Six, but those closest to us—Voidbanes and Seeker drones—slam helplessly against a silvery barrier stretching across the void.
A prison. A cage of divine will.
Her barriers form an unbreakable box, encapsulating the enemy—a construct larger than anything I have ever seen her summon.
Her arms drop. The cage constricts. The shimmering walls crush inward, slamming into the Voidbanes and Seeker drones. Manic laughter rips from her throat. Her body shakes with the effort, sweat beading across her flushed skin.
Megatons of arcweave tremble under the pressure. Thousands of Seeker drones compress against the Voidbanes, their oval frames warping and shattering. The hulking Voidbanes resist like floating mountains of obsidian, their plasma barrages dissipating harmlessly against the barrier.
Princesa’s laughter transforms into grunts of effort, her trembling intensifying. Concern gnaws at my core as I leap from my throne, hand outstretched to steady her.
“No!” The word hisses through her clenched teeth. “I can do this!”
I freeze as she unleashes an ear-piercing scream. The cage’s glow reflects in her dilated pupils—a sheen of pain flickering behind the arrogance.
My gaze darts between her and the viewport. The barriers quiver, struggling against such immense mass across such vast space. But just before Princesa’s strength fails, the Voidbanes’ armor yields.
Hairline fractures web across their hulls, merging into devastating fissures until the arcweave collapses. The implosion is swift—once breached, the ships and drones compress into an unrecognizable mass under the relentless pressure.
All that remains of the deadly force is a solid cube of twisted gray-black metal—a monument to Princesa’s power.
“See?” Princesa says breathlessly, a grin of pure self-satisfaction curling her lips. “So long, loser-bots.” She flicks a dismissive hand over her shoulder and turns away from the viewport, her steps light with triumph.
I incline my head slightly, acknowledging her power. “Impressive.”
She passes me, but I don’t miss the way her legs quiver or the subtle roll of her eyes—signs of exhaustion creeping in. Before she can take another step, her knees buckle. She stumbles, but I catch her in an instant, scooping her into the crook of my arm with a blur of motion.
A drowsy squeal slips from her lips as she weakly protests. But I ignore them. Instead, I brush loose strands of golden hair from her beautiful face. She smiles faintly up at me, silver-crimson gaze locks on mine, her fingers brushing the contours of my jaw.
Princesa.
“Dracoth,” she murmurs, her voice soft, her exhaustion evident.
“Not bad at all, Pinkie ,” Drexios hoots from the glowing blue weapons console, his tone dripping with amusement. “Though you never squeezed little ol’ me so tight. And all this time I thought I was your favorite.” He cackles.
Thankfully, Princesa doesn’t respond. She only blinks up at me through heavy, dazed lids, her expression... different. Not arrogance. Not condescension.
Something softer. Something almost... submissive and tender.
A vulnerability I’ve never witnessed.
A strange sensation surges through my chest—hot, protective, ferocious in its intensity. It’s unfamiliar, unlike anything I’ve ever known. A longing to shield her, to cherish her, crashes over me like a tidal wave.
This is my female, my Mortakin-Kis. The goodness that lies buried in her heart, beneath the conceit, beneath her ruthless ambitions, beneath her scathing challenges and cutting manipulations.
We will win this battle. And I will bring you back to me.
I ascend my throne, the bone-infused rock creaking under our weight. Tearing my gaze from the beauty of Princesa’s lingering stare, I return my focus to the battle beyond the viewport.
The Nebians rally.
Their battered forces surge forward like venefexes scenting blood. No more hit-and-run tactics. No more retreat. They strike with vengeful hatred, lasers cutting through the disorder spreading in the Scythian ranks.
My Klendathian kin advance.
The Battlebarges roar in unison, plasma cannons unleashing a coordinated barrage. Krogoth summons more vortexes, their cosmic maws devouring the fleeing Scythians.
For the first time, the mercenaries commit, their motley fleet diving into the fray like scavengers turned hunters, closing in for the kill.
And the Voidbringer?
It falters.
The vortexes multiply, ripping through its forces like wildfire. The Scythian swarm, once a monolithic tide, now fractures. Voidbanes scramble to regroup, but the divine storm is relentless. Inch by inch the tide turns against them, forcing a desperate escape back to Argon-Six.
I grip the controls, fingers flying over the ship’s command systems. The viewport tilts as I bring the Ravager’s Ruin into formation with the Klendathian Battlebarges.
A strange pride swells in my chest, catching me off guard. I recognize these vessels. The Clan emblems emblazoned across their ancient hulls. Some are the personal warbands of Clan Chieftains.
Even Magaxus warbands are here. Now mine to command: Arawnoth’s Wrath. The Arrohawks of Scarn. The Molten Fangs. All twenty of my warbands fall into position around us.
I bare my fangs.
“Kill,” I snarl, my arm sweeping wide. “Kill the Scythians.”
Drexios howls with glee, his fingers dancing across the weapon consoles. “Kill, kill, kill. Get your fill.”
The Ravager’s Ruin shudders, a deafening barrage thundering through the hull. Blinding blue plasma and crimson laser streaks ignite the void, each impact tearing into the fleeing Scythians. Their once flawless formation collapses into chaos.
Melted. Sliced. Swallowed.
They die in their millions.
The void becomes a graveyard, littered with their shattered wreckage—a monument to our triumph.
A strange sensation washes over me, something unnatural yet invigorating. Not Rush. Not bloodlust. Something else. It surges through me like fire in my veins, cascading over my body, banishing all doubt, all hesitation. Confidence crystallizes into absolute certainty.
What is this energizing feeling?
Princesa stiffens in my lap.
“Wow, wow, what the hell’s happening to your back?” she gasps, twisting in my arms to glare at her pet cyloillar.
The bloated, useless creature is oblivious, its large gleaming black eye blinking lazily, mandibles parting slowly as Princesa fusses at the strange rune on its back segment. The Klendathian symbol for mirror flares bright silver, blazing with an unnatural luminescence.
“Don’t explode my little Chug Bug. I love you!” she shrieks, hugging Todd like a detonating plasma grenade.
“What the void’s your problem?” Drexios barks, barely sparing her a glance.
“I feel voiding great. Like the longest drag of Scoomer. Ahh!” He tilts his head back, inhaling deeply before snapping his attention to the warriors lining the walls.
“You feel it too, don’t you boys? All tingly and fuzzy inside. ”
The warriors break their solemn vigilance, nodding and muttering in agreement.
Princesa squints at them, then at Todd, then at me.
“It’s stopped?” she mutters, brows furrowed in confusion.
The rune no longer glows. The strange energy vanishes.
She exhales sharply, lifting the bloated creature with a grunt.
Todd squirms in protest, his numerous needle-like legs skittering in the air as she turns him over for inspection.
“That was so random.” She shifts toward Drexios. “I didn’t feel anything.”
“Oh, you missed out on the good stuff, Pinkie . I feel voiding amazing!” Drexios laughs, raking his extended claws over his warvisor.
“Okay psycho.” She drags the word mockingly, then peers up at me. “You too, babes?”
“Yes,” I growl, eyes locked on the battle as the Scythians fall back under our relentless assault.
Princesa strokes the cyloillar’s rubbery skin, her tone playful.
“Did you do this, my little Toddster? Did your divine grandmother make you all-powerful as well as super-cute? Oh yes, she did.” She pouts dramatically.
“But of course, I’m the one left out.” With a sigh, she settles Todd back onto her shoulder.
But I barely hear her. My focus remains on the battlefield, my jaw clenched tight.
This battle boon... where did it come from? A gift from the Gods? The ancestors urging us onward, demanding vengeance?
Whatever its source, the effect is immediate. The fleet surges forward with newfound fury, slicing through the darting Scythian ranks in streaks of molten fire.
They scatter like a swarm of znats recoiling from an inferno that seeks to burn them from existence. Even the mercenary ships grow emboldened, weaving between the chaos, their pulsar cannons spitting green light into the collapsing enemy formation.
A deep, burning elation courses through me, and I bare my fangs in righteous fury.
The Magaxus ships press forward, driving into the withering heart of the enemy.
This is justice. This is vengeance long overdue.
The buried hatred of entire peoples erupts in an unstoppable tide, a force of pure retribution.
Every blast, every slicing beam, carries with it centuries of suffering and defiance.
Our hope. Their extinction. The impossible dream ignites before our very eyes, flashing red and blue across the void. Victory—so close I can taste it. The unstoppable beast lies dying, its throat bared, its claws shattered, oozing blood, drawing its last breaths.
We all feel it. We all see it. The precipice of salvation. A triumph that will echo through eternity, heralding our glorious rebirth.
Then, the comms crackle with a shrill burst of static—an eerie, disjointed shriek, like the death cry of something that should not exist. A single word emerges from the discord, a curse that slithers down my spine like ice.
“ CONTROL .”