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Dracoth

Warmer

F irst, I dress in simple brown warrior robes, then after I drink and eat as much as my stomach can hold, trying to wash away the putrid taste and memories of Ignixis’s sacrilege.

He thinks he’s clever, the old gas-cloud—another one of his lessons, coated with venomous barbs.

But I had the last laugh, and now he’ll think twice before crossing me again.

Now I march towards the human female’s cell, the sound of heavy footsteps echoing through the dim, purple corridor, but lacking the full weight of my armor.

That gruesome attire rests back in my quarters along with.

.. my belt. If that is the correct name for such a magnificent, grisly trophy.

These weak females already tremble at the sight of me.

There’s no need to heighten that fear, a stench so rank it wrinkles my nose and seems to permeate the walls, seeping into the very metal like trapped spirits.

While strength oozes from my every pore. These females fear such power. It’s foreign to them. Earth produces nothing but soft, useless things—a place too safe, too irrelevant, growing weak and complacent, never prepared for the horrors that lurk in the universe.

Horrors like me.

Heat builds beneath my skin, and my eyes leak faint wisps of Rush at the irritating memory of past failures.

I exhale, forcing my fists to unclench, rolling my shoulders back as I clear my mind.

No—this time I will try a different approach.

A Chieftain must adapt. Only a fool repeats the same flawed tactic and expects victory.

I’ll need a new strategy—something unexpected, even meekness, if it will serve my ends.

And if it fails, it will still provide valuable information.

As I near the cell, the arcweave bars come into view, a looming barrier between me and my prey. A strange sensation churns in my chest—something resembling apprehension. It’s maddening that such puny specimens could stir this in me, where even a hundred junkers could not.

Their nervous whispers fall silent as they hear me approach, the air inside thick with held breaths and anxious energy.

I stop before the bars, staring down at them, seeing them straighten with rapt attention.

They sit apart from one another, wrapped in the borack furs I left them, appearing like little pretty heads perched atop fuzzy mounds—totems to fragility.

All except the one called Carmen—the spitting hydralith .

She stands near the bars, her defiant gaze meeting mine head-on, wrapped in those strange, mottled clothes of hers.

Earlier, as I dressed, fragments from yesterday’s rampage returned to me, like flashes from a wonderful dream.

It was entertaining, reliving each kill.

Every blow delivered felt like my initial experience of it.

But the end intrigued me most—my interactions with the females, learning most of their names, their brief display of trust, before I lost consciousness.

Somehow, Ignixis managed to undo that slight progress.

Based on how he treats me, an ally, I can only imagine what calamity he’s brought about for me to fix.

“What do you want, pendejo ?” Carmen spits, her eyes running up and down my towering frame, contempt etched on her face, as if unimpressed by what she sees—a warrior of unparalleled strength.

I meet her challenge with a smoldering glare.

It’s amusing, she thinks to judge me. By what right does the puffrio judge the arrohawk ?

The weak to judge the strong? None. Still, her insults have lessened today.

Normally, by now, my ears would be assaulted by a series of frantic, incoherent babble .

Progress?

Before I can respond, the pleasingly plump female—Princesa, is her name from what I recall—bristles, casting off her furs to stand.

A faint smile curls my lip, seeing her curves bounce, almost spilling from her strange pink clothes.

The modifications I made were meant to teach her a lesson in humility, and now they’re a distracting feast for my eyes.

“Shut up, Carmen!” Princesa snaps, her odd pale complexion flushing crimson, a pale reflection of my own molten skin. “Unless you want to get us all shot again!” The blonde female gestures to the other females, waving her arms dramatically.

My gaze sweeps over the other humans, pausing on the one who names me Oni . She watches me with curious dark eyes, chewing upon a jellied ration. There’s a strange calmness to her now, a stark contrast to when she first arrived, with endless tears that fell like a Draxxi waterfall.

Has she finally come to terms with her new reality, or does her newfound confidence stem from a plan of escape?

Then Sandra—the one with the beautiful hair of fire—rises to her feet, drawing my attention.

She covers her nudity; her clothes little more than torn ribbons, her pale skin crisscrossed with streaks of peculiar dried red blood—an intriguing color.

Annoyance flares within me—that she’s been left in this state.

I’ll need to remedy this. Yet, despite her wounds, when our eyes meet, she does not cower, but offers a smile, not her usual terror or tears.

Something has changed in them. Perhaps a new ploy to lower my guard?

“ Loca !” Carmen snaps, stalking towards the other end of the cell, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she adds before muttering more disjointed fiery mumbling . I watch her with a keen eye, knowing she’s the agitator, though her warrior’s spirit pleases me, even if it’s encased in such a feeble body.

“Dracoth,” Princesa says, the sound of my actual name on her squeaky tongue, a surprising rarity, drawing my attention. “Igniter had us shot.”

Igniter?

“Ignixis,” Carmen corrects with folded arms, leaning against the far wall. “ Hijo de puta from Infierno is what he is!” She spits on the floor in disgust.

“Whatever,” Princesa waves a dismissive hand. “But we didn’t do anything!” Her silver eyes plead, searching mine, but I remain immovable, harder than the crags of Scarn. “We helped you when you collapsed...”

My anger seethes at her words. I collapsed ? Such a thing implies weakness, vulnerability—I feel my stomach churning in disgust, like when I discovered Ignixis fed me that revolting cocktail of flesh.

My crimson eyes snap to hers, leaking wisps of my fury.

“Um...” she falters, taking a step back as her fingers fidget.

“Anyway, it was dark, and we were scared, okay? Surrounded by all that horrible blood and guts. So when Demon Egg-Head started yelling...” She glances over her shoulder at Carmen, who merely tuts.

“Carmen may have said something rude. But, I mean, who’s to say for sure?

The place was a madhouse, tempers were raised ; we were frightened. ”

I suppress a groan. This female, despite her pleasing form, speaks much nonsense—so much so she reminds me of the old gas-cloud.

Why do people use so many words when few will suffice?

Like a trick, they attempt to overwhelm and distract, giving the illusion of knowledge, when they blather uselessly, wasting my time.

“But that’s no reason to shoot us!” Princesa continues, finally getting to her point.

A disappointing point—is this what they summoned me for?

It’s a little less grating than the usual pitiful pleas to go home, but equally fruitless.

“I have an enormous bruise on my head from when I fell.” She stomps closer to the bars, pulling back a lock of blond hair to reveal a tiny patch of purple on her forehead.

I squint, barely seeing it. “What if I got a concussion, and my brain swells ... Fuck, I could have a stroke any second! You should be keeping me safe.”

She glares at me, eyes ablaze, expecting an answer to her absurdity.

I stare back, bewildered, though none could tell by looking at me.

Is this female serious, or is this some form of mockery?

The ways of aliens differ from us Klendathians—we who speak our minds with plain intent.

Well, except the old gas-cloud. He spent too much time abroad in the company of aliens, pursuing females. The old letch.

I’m tempted to walk away from such nonsense, a waste of my time, until I remember my plan to try a different approach—one of softness, although such an effort is beneath me, an aberration to my molten soul.

“A mere scuff is enough to kill a human?” I ask, frowning at the female, doubting she’s serious, but if she is, then humans are even more fragile than I thought possible.

My question, for reasons beyond me, only seems to irritate her further. “No!” Princesa snaps, confusing me more. It’s like I’ve entered a realm of chaos. “That’s not what I meant!” Her temper flares. Then why speak the words? “Listen, you big—”

“What Alexandra means,” Sandra interjects, stepping forward with a soothing hand directed toward the fuming Princesa.

I glance between the two females, their multitude of names confusing me further. They have more titles than the vainglorious high merchants!

An unsettling sense of being lost burrows into my mind. It’s almost enough to wish Ignixis was here—almost.

“Is that he terrifies us, and we think it’s unfair what he did, after we helped you.” Sandra continues, her eyes searching mine, a silent plea for action.

Is it revenge they seek? Reassurances? “Ignixis has been dealt with,” I growl, though his so-called punishment is sweet bliss. Only for one as twisted as him would pleasure equate pain.

But my words don’t satisfy the females. Their tension remains palpable, etched into their faces. Are they mercenaries, seeking payment for whatever supposed aid they rendered? It makes sense, birthed from a planet devoid of meaning, awash in softness and hedonism—materialism may motivate them.

Disappointing.

“What does that even mean?” Princesa presses, her frustration irking me.

“Ignixis has been dealt with,” she mimics, mocking me with a deep voice that doesn’t come close to the real thing.

“We could have escaped, but we didn’t.” She glances back at Carmen before continuing.

“We could have done worse, with you napping on the job and all those guns lying around. I think we’ve earned some trust—”

“Silence!” Fury seethes within my molten flesh.

This female’s infuriating implications twists my lips and spills forth my crimson Rush.

Sandra and Princesa recoil at my rage, at my power.

Like znats before a flame, they burn before my intensity.

This is what meekness earns—open disdain and disrespect.

“You speak of trust, while in the same breath, threaten me! As if you could ever harm me—the War Chieftain!” I roar, gripping the cell bars with molten hands, almost twisting them to broken things.

It’d be easy, a mere trifle for one such as me.

“You think your existence here is bleak?” I ask, my voice dripping seething scorn, glancing between the two stunned females.

“Had I let the Whores Orphans take you, you would have begged to return here, begging for my protection! And yet here you stand, lacking gratitude; instead, you dare challenge me? Presume to tell me what to do! You who have done nothing. Earned nothing!”

My words erupt like a volcano, my frustration spilling forth.

I glare at them, my words hanging , scorching the very air with intensity.

Carmen’s eyes widen as Sandra and Princesa stumble backward, their eyes downcast. Only the black-haired female remains strong, continuing to nibble on her ration, studying me, unperturbed.

A sweltering tense silence lingers as my anger lessens, my breathing steadying.

I straighten, releasing my hold of the bars, now bent and contorted.

As I move to leave the tiresome females to their inane thoughts, resigned to drag them kicking and screaming to the great temple of Lanaisor if need be.

Let the Gods sort through this madness, let them decide.

“Real smooth, Princesa.” Carmen mocks, tapping her foot against the wall.

“Shut up, Carmen,” Princesa mutters, distracted in thought.

“Thank you,” Sandra says, halting my exit with her unexpected gratitude.

I peer over my broad shoulder to find the fire-haired female standing near the bars—unafraid, but sincere.

“That’s why I wanted to speak to you. To thank you for saving me.

” Her gaze drops toward her fidgeting hands.

“When that monster attacked me... I fought as hard as I could, but I couldn’t stop him.

I thought... he’d… hurt me. But then you saved me, just when I gave up hope.

” Her blue eyes meet mine, simmering like the pale blue of her planet.

“I’ll always be grateful for what you did for me.

I know, underneath, you have a good heart.

” She finishes with a nod, as if releasing words that have been burning inside her.

The words wash over me, soothing, like water on the embers of my rage. Yet, they carry much naivete . For within my chest beats not something good or kind, but something molten—dark, craving vengeance and blood. And I will pay any price, make any sacrifice, to feed its hunger.

Her bloodied nudity stirs something within me, the way she stands almost pleading, full of alluring innocence, with no thought to cover herself from my gaze. This is trust. This is submission. And I will repay it, ensuring she is tended to, just as I planned.

My hands dart over my wrist console, bringing the cell bars crashing down. I watch Carmen with a keen eye, expecting her to attempt a futile escape. Yet she makes no move, just watching with eyes like an arrohawk .

I beckon to Sandra with a hand, “Come.”

Sandra glides forward while Princesa’s silver eyes dart between us in disbelief. “What about me?”

“You?” My molten gaze sweeps over the indignant female. “Speak less.” My voice rumbles like distant thunder before a storm.

Princesa shakes with barely restrained anger before retreating to her furs in a sulk. I punctuate my words by sending the cell bars clanging upward.

Let her contemplate the error of her ways.