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Dracoth

Too soft

T wo days have passed since we left Earth—a waste of time that makes my blood boil.

I should have trusted my instincts and headed to Argon Six to assume control over my Magaxus warriors, not pursue this farce.

But I let that old fool Ignixis pour poison into my ear.

Stupid to trust the words of a coward, even if he was once an Elder.

In hindsight, it’s obvious; he sought the coward’s path, away from battle, away from glorious war against the Nebians.

I stand simmering with rage in the command center, staring out at the twinkling stars roaring past in a blur.

Colorful nebulas dance, and sparkling space dust catches the glare of multi-hued stars.

It’s beautiful—the vast, endless possibilities the universe holds.

Icy cold, it freezes and rejects the weak, but I burn molten, like a supernova.

“Keth. Switch hyperspeed course to Argon Six,” I command, my tone hard as my homeland Scarn, glaring out the viewport.

The black-haired warrior obeys without question, his hands darting over the blue glowing navigational controls.

Another advantage of the strange mental illness that affects the other young warriors—they do not question.

My Scythian Battlebarge movement is almost imperceivable as the ship tilts toward the new trajectory.

Ignixis will learn of my plans soon enough.

I can already picture his sneering face and endless rants.

The old gas-cloud has wasted too much of my time.

I should abandon him on Klendathor to face rightful punishment for his cowardice, only that would delay me further.

I clench my fists in an effort to contain my rage.

We’d only be a week away from Argon Six if not for this foolish detour—now I must wait nearly three weeks.

So much could change in that time. The thought stokes my Rush as crimson fury leaks from my eyes.

Traitor Krogoth could arrive and bend the warriors to his will, or another may rise to assume control of my Clan Magaxus in my absence.

But here I am, stuck on the other end of the galaxy, chasing lies.

And what do I have to show for it? Four human females—three as dainty and feeble as newly hatched puffrios , the other a rabid, spitting hydralith .

Nothing but endless tears and sneers. It’s maddening.

If I could drop them off at a nearby planet, I would do it in a blazing heartbeat.

Their weakness sickens me. I feel infected by it.

Infested with feelings of regret and concern that threaten to invade my mind, shattering my resolve.

I won’t allow it.

I stride to the viewport, watching the universe streak by in blazing trails of light—a brilliant, shifting mosaic that does little to distract me from my irritation.

I have provided the females with food, comforted them with furs, and answered their questions amid their pathetic weeping.

Yet nothing satisfies them. Every avenue always leads to the same response—‘I want to go home,’ followed by their ball-shaped wailing.

Even I know crying, much as it irks and haunts me to admit.

But I reforged that pain into molten fury, twisting it into something useful—an insatiable lust for vengeance.

Why can’t they?

If none of these females are capable of the same, how could they ever be my suitable mate?

The answer is obvious. It should have always been—They could never be my match.

All failures. Even the two who initially showed courage soon fell into despair.

Disappointing and pathetic. Just like their human warriors.

I turn to see Keth, absorbed in his work on the glowing blue controls, oblivious and incapable of the storm of emotions that cloud me—I almost envy him.

All the females offer is their beauty, albeit undersized.

A fleeting pleasure to look upon. Like a work of art or a pretty flower, they wilt under the scorching heat I exude.

I have no place for useless, pretty things—only the strong may bask in my coming radiance.

Ignixis was mistaken. None of these females are my bonded mate.

They can’t be, for weakness is an anathema to me.

It is by my will alone that Krogoth will die, then I will reclaim my rightful title.

“What is the meaning of this, boy? ” Ignixis’ exasperated voice mingles with the swooshing door. He rushes towards me, his outrage clinging to him like his black robes. My gaze remains steady, fixed on the mesmerizing view of the void.

“I return to the path of glory,” I reply, my voice level, yet my heart simmering with rage.

“What folly is this?” Ignixis asks with disbelief, irritating me. He should be full of contrite submission, begging for forgiveness. I hear him slithering behind me like a vipertail , checking the navigational console alongside Keth. “Argon Six,” he spits.

“Keth, direct this ship back to Klendathor at—”

“Cease your poisonous tongue!” I round on Ignixis like an erupting volcano.

My eyes flash molten crimson. He recoils like the coward he is.

No witty words, no insults—just raw terror.

Keth’s hands move with unquestioning loyalty, adjusting the ship’s course.

“Keth, delay that order,” I command, sweeping my mighty arm wide.

A silence lingers and I can almost hear the wheels turning in Ignixis’ head, gathering his venomous rants, scheming for a soft spot to puncture. But I’m as hard as Scarn, all softness long evaporated—Krogoth made sure of that.

“I understand your frustration, Dracoth. I too am disappointed with the female’s lack of.

.. quality. But you are a youth, unfamiliar with females; they are fickle, fearful things, especially the young pretty ones.

” He barks a short laugh. “Gods! Combine that with their inferior human stock, it’s amazing they haven’t all succumbed to heart attacks. ”

Today his poison comes in the form of sweet-tasting fruit.

The words land uselessly, like rainfall on burning lava. I turn my attention out of the viewport, folding my broad arms. Ignixis’s words ring true; I’m unfamiliar with females, but what concern is it of mine if they are weak by nature—it merely confirms my conclusions.

“Listen, young Dracoth. I may not look it—old and marked with the sacred words as I am—but in my younger years, I was known to enjoy the company of females. My ceaseless desires carried me across the galaxies... Gods, those were the days.” He emits a cackling laugh before sighing, “I know how they think, what motivates them. These females are frightened after being taken from their homes. It will take time, but they will adapt, as all life does to survive.”

“Time is a luxury we can’t afford, you old letch,” I snap, growing impatient with his words, with the delay, with everything.

“Time, time, time! You sing the same tiresome song, boy ,” Ignixis sneers, his sweet words now giving way to the boiling poison beneath. “What use is time when you’re dead? You foolish child!”

I hear him pacing behind me, slithering softly like a vipertail .

“How many times must we rehash the same trodden ground? When will sense permeate that gigantic skull of yours? I thought you were smarter than this, but it seems I was wrong. You only seek a glorious death—not victory, not TRUE power.”

I retort, calm as bubbling magma. “You offer no power—only lies and wasted effort.”

“You’re right, I don’t offer power. It is the Gods who grant such gifts.

I merely guide you, Dracoth, as our patron God wishes.

Arawnoth visits me in my dreams, showing me the way.

His fury burns hotter than the molten core of Klendathor.

He scribes your victory, written in blood and death, if you but have the sense and the humility to heed his sacred words. ”

I turn to Ignixis, disbelief etched across my face, wondering if the old gas-cloud has finally succumbed to space madness.

But what I see isn’t mania. No. There is an arcweave -like resolve in his stern, glowing emerald eyes.

For a fleeting nanosecond, I could swear I see the deepest ruby-red flames roaring in the depths of his gaze.

A chill runs down my spine, compelling me to avert my gaze.

Surely the old fool is half-mad? But why do I feel this unsettling doubt gnawing deep in my mind?

The older warriors speak of the Gods in such reverent ways.

With the traitor Krogoth’s victory, many now believe they walk among us.

Some few that witnessed Krogoth’s power firsthand now consider him Dagdorix reborn—Krogoth Star Eyes.

Could they be right? Is this how my noble father fell, in a battle no mortal could ever win?

“How do I defeat an avatar of a God?” I whisper, thinking aloud.

“By becoming one,” Ignixis answers, his words hanging heavy in the air.

My mind swirls as I pace, struggling to comprehend a universe where such supernatural entities exist. I always scoffed at religious cults, be they from weak aliens or even my Klendathian kin, judging them tools of control and a balm for the puny.

I stop in front of the viewport. The void of space looms large, the myriad stars and anomalies blurring past in a beautiful kaleidoscope of colors. Yet for the first time in my life, I feel as small as a faint ember against the immensity of unknown entities that may lurk in the infinite darkness.

“Return to Klendathor, complete the Mortakin-Tok as ordained, my troublesome young Dracoth,” Ignixis says, with a hint of amusement.

Doubt still clings to me. I hungered for this supposed power , even though I scarcely believe in it. But it seems the Gods have other plans, despite my wishes. “Your visions lie. There is no bond for the Gods to bless.”