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I glance at the bones again, my mind reeling. The bloodroot... the visions... the molten world... and now these relics of death dangling at my side. The cycle . Arawnoth’s voice booms again in my memory: “Rise, and complete the cycle.”

A yawning silence stretches as I struggle to piece together the meaning of these events. But the puzzle is beyond me, each answer birthing more questions. Frustrated, I rise from the bench, the pounding headache in my skull intensifying, souring my mood further.

“I didn’t do it for your pleasure or approval.

” I sneer, examining the full extent of the blood and gore which mars my ashen armor, so caked in, it’s almost fused with the metal.

Remnants of fever dream-like memories flash into my consciousness—scenes of exquisite violence and death—amusing me with the sheer brutality of it.

“Oh, you wound me!” Ignixis replies, a smile curling his black lips. “If I had bid you do it, you’d have done the exact opposite, you obstinate boy. ”

He’s wrong. This outcome was inevitable. Preordained by the burning fury that pulses through my veins. It feels right, resonating in my core—a manifestation of my will.

“What became of the junkers?” The ones who aren’t currently decorating my armor, I muse, casually picking their bloody remnants from the cracks in my armor with my claws.

“You commanded Keth to fire upon any who attempted to flee,” Ignixis answers, his visage narrowing into a predatory aspect.

“It was quite... effective. I must commend you, young Dracoth. A cunning plan, executed... almost perfectly.” He cackles, waving the bloodroot in a pathetic attempt to mock me.

“Reminiscent of your father’s stratagems. Though he wouldn’t have acted like a willful boy , drinking so deeply from Arawnoth’s blood. ”

Ignixis’s laughter heightens as I glare murderous fury at him, slicing through his amusement like the sharpest claw.

The coward clears his throat before continuing.

“Some junkers tested our resolve. Their bodies now drift twisted and frozen in the icy void, forever denied the scorching warmth of Arawnoth’s embrace. ”

I suppress a sigh. The old gas-cloud’s incessant droning tests my patience. His rants are like ceremonies to his own ego.

“And the rest?” I growl, flexing my mighty arms, feeling my strength return, yet the horrible taste and pounding headache persist.

“The rest, young Dracoth—the ones you failed to splatter all over our corridors—cower in fear aboard their ships.” Ignixis’s tattooed face twists into mirth, if such a nightmarish aspect could ever convey joy. “They reek of it. It shakes their voices and bows their heads. They are ours to command.”

“Mine,” I correct, for I am the War Chieftain. Ignixis is but a noisy Puffrio squawking endlessly in my shadow. Good, that they submit to my might. The beginnings of my forces, albeit weak, cowards. Yet even the fiercest inferno must begin with brittle kindling.

“Yours, of course. Mighty War Chieftain, ” Ignixis sneers, with just a touch of mockery. He dances upon my claw’s edge—one misstep from plummeting to his doom. “I’ve ordered the un-crewed ships be stripped and abandoned—”

“No,” I interrupt, glaring down at the old gas-cloud.

“Have them searched, but we’ll operate them remotely.

” Ignixis raises a naked brow at my words.

He feigns such wisdom, yet his naivete in military matters is laughable.

Unlike me—I was born to lead legions in glorious conquest. The empty ships will give us the appearance of a larger force, and when I reach Klendathor, I shall fill them with true warriors—not these weaklings who think themselves warriors.

A flicker of excitement courses through me. Yes, a fine foundation. Blessed by Arawnoth, now with the beginnings of my fleet, one that will bathe the cosmos in the flames of my fury. But a question remains—one Ignixis seems reluctant to discuss.

“Now,” I growl, moving to sit beside him, blocking his view of the holographic medical console. “What happened to the human females?”

Ignixis sighs, throwing his tattooed hands up in annoyance, no longer able to distract himself, amusing me.

“Your females,” he spits the words out like seething poison. I almost laugh that he names them ‘ your .’ Yes, they do belong to me, though their obedience is as lacking as Ignixis’s courage.

“They refused to go back to their cell!” The old gas-cloud rages, his mockery now morphed into outrage. “So, I had them shot.” His words twist my heart with molten fury, already spilling crimson Rush from my eyes.

“Oh, calm yourself, young Dracoth,” Ignixis groans. “They are merely stunned, recovering in their cell.” He massages his shoulder once again, that familiar pained grimace returning. “Too good for them! Can you believe that darker-skinned female shot me?”

Surprised laughter rumbles through me—a sound as rare as Elerium . “The one with fire in her belly?” I remind him.

“This is no laughing matter, boy, ” Ignixis sneers, rubbing his frail shoulder as if it’ll ward off his pain.

“She has too much fire in her belly, that one. She irks me—it’s as though she’s sworn a blood debt upon me.

” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Me, of all people! I’ve been nothing but civil to these.

.. humans. ” He practically spits the word, as though it leaves a foul taste on his tongue.

“In all my long years, I’ve never encountered females like these.

They come in the forms of soft weakness but possess the spirits of rabid venefexes !

Perhaps the bonding itself is a test of will and courage?

A test only the strongest warriors can survive.

” He muses, rubbing his chin with a withered hand.

“You must tread carefully, young Dracoth. Too much hangs in the balance to be blindsided by these... these vipertails .”

Vindication washes over me—an alluring, bitter satisfaction that I was right and he was wrong.

Yet I hold my tongue, suppressing the childish joy.

What purpose would it serve? The problem remains: four human females—the very embodiment of chaos, as unpredictable as cosmic anomalies.

That they showed courage instead of endless crying is a welcome change.

But how much was driven by the feisty one?

And how much were the others merely following her lead?

“They will bend to my will,” I declare. The words come unbidden, but still my solemn vow.

Arawnoth’s presence tells me I’m on the right path.

One of these females holds the key to unlocking my power—Arawnoth’s power.

Their pathetic weeping or chaotic nature will not deter me.

I am the fire, bringing order to the chaos.

I am the forge that will reshape their weakness into something useful, something strong.

“Good, young Dracoth.” Ignixis nods with approval. “Your resolve remains strong, even as mine falters. There may be hope for us yet.” He smirks, his green eyes sharpening, like a hunter watching its prey. “One of the females has requested to speak with you.”

A treacherous flicker of surprise crosses my face. Mocking laughter is my punishment for betraying even the faintest reaction before Ignixis.

“Is that hope or fear I see in your eyes, young Dracoth?” He moves closer, peering into my face, examining my eyes. “Tell me, which one do you wish it to be? Which female can soothe that molten heart of yours, I wonder?”

Only Krogoth’s death could ever quench the fire within me.

I grimace, turning away from the silly old fool’s tiresome antics.

“You bore me,” I grumble. But a surprising surge of excitement remains. The thrill is fleeting, however, crushed by the all-too-familiar thought that it’s likely another pitiful plea to return home.

Ignixis is undeterred, his eyes gleaming with mischievous delight.

“Ah, perhaps it’s the one with hair like fire that you favor now?

A bit too weepy for our mighty War Chieftain, don’t you think?

” His laughter rings out again, half-mad and hollow, before his expression twists into something darker.

“Or is it the vipertail who shot me that excites you? Do you revel in my pain, boy ?” His sneer deepens as he massages his injured shoulder with theatrical disgust.

The urge to leave grips me, his incessant prattle feeding my headache like kindling to a flame. Yet curiosity stirs within me, holding me in place. “If you’re too weak to endure the pain, why not use the healing pod?” I gesture to the one remaining intact device nearby.

“You should know the reason, boy. ” Ignixis tilts his head, a worrying sign of another lecture incoming. “When we Magaxus Elders are marked with the sacred words, we forgo the profane, corrupted technologies. They are an anathema to the teachings.”

I frown at the obvious hypocrisy. “And yet here you are, floating through space on Scythian technology.”

“Oh yes,” Ignixis sneers, baring his yellowed, sharpened teeth.

“Very clever, boy. Spoken with all the confidence only the truly ignorant possess.” He shakes his head as though I’ve just spat upon the great statue of Arawnoth itself.

“Had you studied the sacred words with any diligence, you’d know of the exemptions.

” He jabs a wizened black finger at me. “Why our God chose one so impious is beyond me.”

The old gas-cloud is sensitive when it comes to religion. I will remember this next time he irks me. But his tiresome rebuke and my throbbing headache raises a question. “Is that why my head thunders like the Peaks of Scarn? Because you denied me the healing pod?”

“Oh, no, young Dracoth.” Ignixis replies, a twisted smirk curling his blackened lips.

“For your… condition, something much simpler was required. I merely induced vomiting to purge the absurd quantities of bloodroot you foolishly consumed.” He watches my reaction with predatory joy as the putrid taste of spoiled meat returns with ominous timing.

“A special concoction I brewed just for you.” His fangs gleam like a vipertail’s stinger about to strike.

“Zirix gathered the ingredients—made easier thanks to the generous amounts of... material you left splattered across our walls.”

Dry retching folds me over, the horrid taste now overwhelming, as the image of being force-fed my pathetic enemies’ flesh grips my mind.

I can almost feel it writhing in my guts, being digested, carried around my bloodstream, infusing my muscles with rank weakness—like a vile virus infecting both my mind and my body.

Yet no matter how hard I gag, nothing escapes.

“It’s quite safe,” Ignixis continues. His cackling joins the cacophony of my useless gagging, twisting my stomach further, my rage building like molten lava pressing against the fragile dam of my restraint. “An eloquent solution, if I do say so myself. You should be thanking me, boy. ”

I straighten, snarling, the relief of vomiting denied to me.

“Let me return the favor,” I growl, each syllable dripping with seething fury.

Ignixis’s mocking laughter dies, the embers of his arrogance snuffed out by the inferno rising within me. I lunge toward him, and his sneer withers into wide-eyed fear.

“Wait!” he squeals, his voice breaking as I grab him by his tattered black robes, lifting him as easily as a sack of bones.

He squirms like cornered vermin, thrashing against my grip, but it’s futile.

“Dracoth, no!” He flails pathetically as I drag him toward the healing pod.

“This is forbidden for an Elder!” he bleats like a beaten borack .

With one swift motion, I bundle him inside, sealing the door shut.

It’s amusing he fights so hard to escape what others would be begging for.

The sound of his feeble fists thumping against the polymer screen subsides quickly; even he knows this is our last working pod.

I smirk at the old gas-cloud, enjoying the disdain and alarm twisting his face and darting his eyes.

“You’re an Elder no longer.” I sneer, reminding him of his shame, my voice seething with finality. With one final press on the medical console, the green healing mist begins to pour into the pod, bathing the old gas-cloud in blissful fumes, his struggles lessen, becoming whimsical motions of awe.

He’s the one who should be thanking me.

Having already wasted enough time on the old fool, I exit the medical lab.

Time to discover what this female seeks.