Page 9 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

Alexandra

Cradle to the Grave

“ S ilence, Dracoth’s Shorthairs!” Balsar snaps, his voice slicing through the commotion like a knife through cinnamon rolls.

Beady eyes dart between the rabble, daring them to defy him.

“Forgive us, great War Chieftain.” He drops to his knees, looking absurdly small beneath the shadow of my towering red taxi.

The others lining the corridor follow suit—a beautiful union of delicious obedience. Balsar lowers his snout, anger wrinkling his face as he risks a glance toward Dracoth.

“We only sought to prove our worth,” he growls, then spits out, “I’ll personally deal with Duriel—”

“No.” Dracoth’s gravelly voice rumbles, vibrating the graffiti-stained walls.

“Rise.” He gestures broadly at the kneeling figures.

“All of you. You have fought and died in my name.” His gaze shifts to the lifeless bodies sprawled across the corridor.

“You honored me. Now, I repay your sacrifice—with death.”

“War Chieftain!” The aliens rise, their voices erupting in fervent cries as fists pump the air, their fevered eyes gleaming like they’ve tasted Arawnoth’s blood.

I chuckle, watching them and their silly antics—Dracoth’s little toy soldiers.

Makes sense. They’re dressed in colorful plastic, after all.

We could slaughter them easily, and I almost wish we would.

Bunch of creeps, pretending to be loyal to save their pathetic lives.

But still, as Dracoth slides his mask back over his brooding face, his pride blazes through our bond like an inferno.

Well, if it makes him happy.

Jazreal steps forward, leaning in to be heard over the clamor. “Hundreds beyond this door, War Chieftain,” he says smoothly. “Also, droids and drones, by the looks of it.” His spear appears in a fluid motion, the ends sizzling hazy blue as he readies to strike the black metal barrier.

“Stand back,” Dracoth commands, stopping him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

My heart thunders in my chest, and my breath becomes erratic. This anticipation of the coming massacre is almost too much to hold back.

“Princesa,” Dracoth rumbles, wisps of color leaking from his masked eye slits. “Let us kill.”

“Yes,” I sneer, my own eyes swirling with silver, red, and green energy.

“All of you, back!” he roars, raising a clawed hand. His scaled cloak whips through the stale air as he steps forward, radiating power. Heat pulses from him in waves, our bond igniting in crimson and silver flames—a beautiful, consuming inferno.

An orb like a miniature sun forms before the sturdy door, radiating brilliance and heat that sends gasps rippling through the mob. They shrink back, shielding themselves from the scorching air, while I lean toward it, savoring the sweat beading on my skin and the searing thrill coursing through me.

Molten metal drips in orange streams as the orb consumes the black barrier, carving a gaping maw into its surface. Then, with a flick of his hand, Dracoth hurls the blazing sphere through the gap. Agonized screams erupt on the other side, their terror echoing through the corridor.

Dracoth wastes no time, striding through the molten gap, waves of pulsing heat rolling off the liquefied metal—heat only we can endure.

Beyond the threshold lies a cavernous expanse littered with mismatched crates, tools, and battered spaceships.

Hundreds of aliens cower in the shadows, some shrinking behind their makeshift cover, others frozen in terror as they glance between us and the partially melted shipwreck where Dracoth’s murderous sun still burns, consuming its victims. Their fear ignites a thrilling heat beneath my skin, the kind that makes my breath quicken and my heart race.

“Fire!” comes the shrill command of a bloated, insect-like monstrosity near the back of the room, shattering the scorching silence.

Dracoth’s blue shield flickers to life, shimmering protectively before me—but he needn’t have bothered. I’m already ahead of him, conjuring divine barriers that shine around us from every angle.

Bullets, rockets, and streaks of green and blue energy scream through the air, only to halt mid-flight against my heavenly power. The cacophony of bangs and zaps is deafening, and the air thickens with smoke, metallic tang, and the acrid scent of scorched fuel.

It’s beautiful how my barriers ripple like liquid glass, the halted projectiles flashing brilliantly in the air like a frozen fireworks display, framed by the wide-eyed terror of those who will soon paint these walls with their charred remains.

“What are they?” a spiky-headed alien cries, its scaly face twisting in abject horror.

Dracoth answers with Arawnoth’s flames, conjuring waves of them amongst the densest clusters of enemies.

The effect is immediate. Screams erupt, filling the cavern with a symphony of agony as the fires consume them: skin, scales, fur, and armor alike.

Frenzied, those ablaze stumble and flail, setting their comrades alight in a chain of fiery destruction.

Panic overtakes them—some turn their weapons on their flaming allies, desperate to end the carnage before it spreads.

It’s total chaos, and I love it!

Manic laughter bubbles up unbidden from my chest, shaking my entire body. “Yes, Dracoth!” I cry, running my fingers over the burning brand on my chest, feeling the power and adoration coursing through me. “Burn them with Arawnoth’s love! Send their souls to his blazing domain!”

Some survivors, disappointingly, throw down their weapons and scatter like rats fleeing a sinking ship.

“How dare you run from his love!” I shriek, slamming shimmering barriers into place, blocking their escape. “Join your friends! Burn with them!”

A fresh volley of green blasts streaks against my shields, distracting me from the beauty of the carnage. Annoying white discs hover erratically in the air, firing from twin emerald barrels. Their sudden jerky movements make them maddeningly difficult to track.

I snarl and summon barriers around them, locking the mechanical shits in shimmering cages. Dracoth wastes no time, conjuring miniature suns within the traps, reducing the machines to molten slag in a heartbeat.

“Gods!” Jazreal’s voice cuts through the symphony of crackling flames and groans of dying enemies. “You’ve left me nothing,” he remarks with dry amusement, his masked gaze sweeping over the smoldering massacre.

“Their leader remains,” Dracoth declares, visage tilting toward a door at the far end of the room, partially obscured by a pile of junked spaceships.

The metal portal, adorned with a garish image of a bare-chested alien woman, slides closed as the disgusting swollen insect creature retreats behind it. “He dies. But spare those who submit.”

I can hardly catch my breath from all the excitement, while Dracoth charges forward with unstoppable momentum—like I’m a dazzling football he’s determined to touchdown.

Everything around us blurs in a dizzying haze of cozy, warm fires, though the scent of burning flesh tickles my nose instead of roasted marshmallows.

“There’s a battle droid inside,” Jazreal announces, keeping pace beside us. “It’s mine.”

Dracoth slows, granting him the lead. Jazreal enters the wide, circular chamber with his long spear poised for the kill.

The room erupts in searing blue light as crackling bolts hiss through the air. Jazreal moves like liquid lightning, his spear a whirling haze of sizzling energy, deflecting each shot with impeccable precision.

“Burn in plasma, you voiding monsters!” the insectoid leader shrieks, his jowls quivering with each syllable. Spindly, multi-jointed limbs flail in our direction, pointing as though he could stop us—Arawnoth’s chosen.

“You’re the monster, you barf cockroach!” I shout back, raising my arm to crush the guts out of his corpulent body in my shimmering shields.

But Dracoth beats me to it. A firestorm bursts into existence around the grotesque alien, flames swallowing him whole in an instant.

His agonized screams cut off quickly, leaving only a charred skeleton slumped atop his makeshift throne—a throne of scrap metal and shattered spaceship parts that’s a fitting scorched grave for the loser.

Jazreal, unfazed, dances through the chaos, weaving past the droid’s relentless barrage.

The humanoid machine jerks and pivots on spindly, spider-like legs, its mounted gun arms tracking him with awkward sluggishness.

Close now, Jazreal strikes—a sweeping blow with his spear aimed at its midsection.

Blue sparks explode as a shimmering shield flickers to life around the droid, absorbing the impact.

Jazreal doesn’t hesitate. He spins, bringing the opposite end of his spear down in a blur of precision.

This time, the shield collapses with a faint hum, and the spear cleaves cleanly through the droid’s bulky torso, severing it in two.

The top half crashes to the ground, sputtering pitifully, while the twitching, multi-legged lower half stumbles into a corner, collapsing with a series of dull clangs.

“Well fought,” Dracoth rumbles, removing his mask and securing it to his grisly belt of bone.

Jazreal gives an exaggerated twirl of his spear, a cyclone of movement, before holstering it on his back. “Hardly a warm-up,” he tuts, running a hand through his silvery-black hair with Classy-Jazzy elegance.

“Well, I’m warm,” I purr, my gaze sliding to Dracoth as a different heat pools deep within me. “Very fucking warm, actually.” My laugh comes low and husky as my eyes flick to the chamber, finally noting the massive red hologram hovering above a wide central table.

“So...” I drawl, biting my lip and sucking on my teeth for emphasis. “Where’s the booty?”

“Here,” Dracoth grunts. Without warning, a miniature star manifests beside a door near the melted throne. The fiery orb lingers for only a moment before reducing the door to molten slag.