Page 92 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

Above, the blazing ruby sun of this utterly boring planet creeps across the sky like it’s dying of boredom too.

The light struggles to break through the thick, black clouds and smog that sink up the air.

I’ve been standing here for hours like a neglected, gorgeous statue, enduring an unending tirade of depressing nonsense.

Thank the Gods there’s no pigeons on this world, or I’d be covered by now—a poop monument.

And now my feet throb. My back aches worse than a hangover-induced migraine. I’ve been so bored I could’ve achieved enlightenment a hundred times over—if not for all the annoying distractions.

Only the burning of the bodies breaks up the monotony, offering fleeting thrills.

The seductive flames rise skyward, echoing the distant infernos devouring the horizon.

I roll my eyes heavenward with practiced disdain, watching sleek vessels dart across the atmosphere like living sunbeams. Some move slower, dragging beams of strange energy that suspend ruined hulks and shattered debris in midair like broken toys mid-cleanup.

Really? The Nib aliens are trying to tidy up this planet? Sometimes it’s better to just toss the whole mess out—like my now favorite Barbie pink Chanel—rather than scrub desperately, hoping for the best.

Dracoth looms ahead like a brooding colossus, leading the procession of tedium, while I shift from foot to foot with the jittery grace of a dancer warming up for a break-dancing contest. Of course, he’s perfectly content with being bored to death.

I mean, when he’s not killing stuff, he radiates boredom rays like a big frowny sun.

Ugh.

Still... I miss his heat though. The way he holds me—like I’m something precious. It makes me feel all safe and fuzzy inside. Maybe if I flashed my best smile and batted my lashes, he’d scoop me up like a double scoop of raspberry ripple ice cream?

“Oh!” I squeal, a giddy little chirp escaping my lips. Only one body left. Finally . Soon, this whole funereal, snoozefest will end and I can speak the sacred words—my moment to shine, to claim my rightful place as leader.

“Corsark,” Dracoth growls, the familiar name barely registering as background noise. “Rise, and commit Arsasrk’s flesh to the flames.” He gestures solemnly to a blonde-haired corpse.

Wait, wait, wait. Arsasrk?

The name jabs at my memory, just like most of the others, tickling my mind like the whisper of a stalker ghost.

Through the swirling ash, I narrow my eyes and study the remains.

He looks pristine, almost peaceful if not for the fact his entire lower half has been blown off—a grotesque green stump.

My heart skips a beat. I recognize those frozen blue eyes staring into the void.

The shape of his unscarred face. The blessing I smeared on his forehead before battle still faintly glimmers in the soot.

Yes.

I remember now.

He was the one who spoke of his death in a dream—told me he saw it, felt it coming.

And now here he lies. As still as a forgotten champagne flute, its sparkle gone flat.

Creepy—too creepy. Talk about manifesting the wrong kind of destiny.

Too bad. He should’ve dreamed about fluffy parties, too-cute Todd, and delicious food.

Or better yet—me. The glorious, Benevolent Empress of the entire cosmos.

The Lexie-verse. I mean, that’s what I dream of when I snuggle into the cozy furs.

Well, except for the recent battle with the murder-bots.

My cheeks flush just thinking about it. Me—the Divine Daughter—at the peak of my power, crushing Void-pains, and murder-orbs, shielding the entire bone-through-the-nose fleet with my blessed barriers, even Dracoth and Drex-iot singing my praises.

.. and I fall asleep . Mid-battle! Ugh. So random.

It was probably Todd’s fault. His sleepy vibes are infectious.

Next thing I knew, we were landing on this planet. Dracoth was grunting about how the loser-bots got their asses kicked and some important Nib guy showed up at the last second. It was so embarrassing though, I just hope not many people saw my little nap.

“Those were Arsasrk’s hunts,” Corsark drones, trying and failing to keep his voice steady.

“It was my honor to fight beside him. Despite his youth, he was among the finest Ravager Berserkers I have ever served with.” He thumps his chest, bowing low.

“May you rest with the ancestors, dearest friend.”

And just like that, the final funeral ends. My cue.

I step forward, voice sharp and ringing, slicing through the smog like a blade.

“Arawnoth teaches...” I pause, letting my words tingle their imaginations with anticipation. “To shun the weak and the soft.”

Gasps. Stillness. All eyes turn to me.

I climb the treacherous dais of melted metal and slag, hands raised in divine theatrics. “Let us not rest. Let us pray that we are reborn in strength—tempered and transformed in his molten image!”

A sea of hardened faces stares up at me, rapt and reverent, and my heart thrums with wild joy. I love it! This— this is what I was born for. They see me. Not just as a pretty face or a holy mouthpiece. They see me—as the goddess I am. The one they’ll follow.

Arawnoth’s blessing sears my skin in radiant proof, a blaze upon my chest and throat. I trace the raised runes with reverent fingers, my eyes gleaming—silver and crimson, smoking with divine mist.

“Sons of Scarn, your brothers did not fall for mere glory, and you did not endure for mere conquest,” I call out, voice sharp as a three-piece suit pressed with righteous fury.

“But for a future worth burning for. A dream of hope. Once fragile and fading, now blazing all around us. Ripped into reality by your strength, your resolve.” I turn, sweeping a hand toward the lava below.

“This accursed planet borne witness. It has tasted that power, choked on your blood, and spat out that which can never surrender, never die!”

I end with my arms raised to the ash-streaked heavens, Sock-Chair cloak billowing, robes flaring behind me like liquid shadow and glory. The words spill automatically, coming from some deep part of me.

Breathless. Heart pounding. I squeeze my eyes shut, ready—no, expecting—the cheers. The roar. The worship I’m owed.

Nothing.

Just silence.

The kind of silence that screams louder than a nuclear blast.

Did they disappear? Teleport away out of embarrassment or awe? My eyes snap open. Nope. Still there. Standing like statues, their masked faces blank and maddeningly unreadable.

What the actual fuck is happening?

A storm of Lexie-moths flutters in my gut. My foot slides back. I scan the crowd like it’s a pop quiz I didn’t study for. Looking for the joke. The trick. The betrayal.

No boogers. No nip slip. No blasphemous stickers.

Dracoth side-eyes me like I’m a known shoplifter in a high-end boutique. All folded arms and Mr. Frowny Face on full frown mode. Of course, he offers no help. No lifeline. Just watching me die, live on stage, like I dropped a sex joke at the Vatican talent show.

And then it hits me. Like a stiletto heel to the shins.

He did this.

He did something. Something sneaky and weird. Something so not Dracoth it makes my head spin.

I feel like I’m sinking, boots melting into the slag. A sick déjà vu crawls up my spine. Like I’m fading out of reality. Here, but not here. Seen, but invisible. A horrible curse I thought I’d never suffer again.

I have to fix this. Win them back. Be adored again.

“Co... come,” I stammer, fumbling for the hefty pouch of recently acquired crispy remains. My fingers betray me. The treacherous pouch slips— plop —onto the ground.

“Oh... butter fingers.” I giggle, the sound of a mouse squeak to my ears. I snatch up the ashes, force a smile. Straighten with all the divine dignity I can scrape together—a manicured nail’s worth.

“Come, sons of Scarn. Receive the Herald’s sanctified ashes. Let Elder Ignixis and Arawnoth burn away your weakness. Let their spirits infuse your soul, bolster your might!” I offer, holding aloft the pouch, its faint warmth pulsing against my hand.

More silence.

I feel myself shrinking. Curling inward. Like that time Divine Mother Aenarael turned me into a Lexie-moth during the Mura-Tok.

Then—movement.

A flicker of hope. Some space-knights step forward. My heart soars— I’m not invisible! —only for it to plummet a breath later.

Their bone-through-the-nose comrades stop them. Just a simple gesture—a hand to the chest, a shake of their scary, perv masks—and it’s over. Something unspoken passing between them.

A chill runs down my spine.

I know this feeling.

This cold.

This betrayal.

It’s Stacey all over again. When she turned the whole class against me after I ‘stole’ her boyfriend. As if he wasn’t the one sneaking around. Just like now. I’m the villain. The outsider. No matter what I do.

Why didn’t I bring the Revered Mothers? One glimpse of them, and these stubborn bone-through-the-noses would be drooling at my feet!

Stupid. Stupid, Lexie!

Typical. I should’ve known. Should’ve expected it. I’m always the bad guy, no matter what I do, or how I act. And worst of all, I know Dracoth’s behind this. He’s orchestrated this whole thing like some big sneaky red radiator.

I see the glances. The hushed whispers. All aimed at him. Fury ignites in my chest, my nails digging into my palms, sharp enough to draw blood. I hate them. All of them. After everything I’ve done—saved them from the Voidbringer. Saved their precious hobo ships—they dare do this to me?

I could crush them. Turn them into jelly. Strawberry-flavored justice.

Why shouldn’t I?

I am a Goddess, after all.