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I was wrong; the old ship wasn’t the trailer park of space—this one is! Dracoth bends further, and I cling to him, trying my best not to touch any of the filth. He’s way too big for this place; if he stood up straight, I’m pretty sure his head would poke out like a scowling red fin.

“Why are we changing ships?” Sandra asks, carefully tiptoeing over the disgusting refuse which reeks of sweat and moldy bread. It’s a fair question, though I suspect the answer is to torment us.

“The Scythian Battlebarge is known to the Elders,” Dracoth rumbles against me.

Great, add spaceship theft to their list of crimes. His answer only heightens my anxiety, stirring more worrying questions—who are the Elders? What is a Scythian? Why does it matter if they know the ship? How did I even end up in this fucking mess?

We squeeze through the tight corridors of this floating garbage can, and eventually find a couple of worn chairs facing a window. Demon Egg-Head groans as he lowers himself into one, tapping at the multitude of holographic controls that blink to life.

“Sit,” Dracoth commands, gazing at Sandra.

“Oh, thank you,” she says, smiling sweetly, but the effect is almost ruined by the heavy clinking of her chains. She groans in pleasure, wriggling into the seat. “I could get used to this.”

“Don’t, pleasant little human,” Demon Egg-Head chimes in.

I grimace at his words. The prick calls her pleasant while I’m the “ plump one ,” gagged and chained like a.

.. like a... fucking heifer! The thought sends icy water down my spine.

My cruel nickname is now an accurate description.

Brilliant. Fantastic. Maybe they’ll eat me for lunch too, just to complete the humiliation.

“It will be a short hop over to our beloved Klendathor,” Demon Egg-Head continues, his hands working the controls with strange symbols that mean nothing to me.

How the hell did Kazumi figure this stuff out? A shame she did...

“Below us lies the sacred bosom of the Gods. The cradle of the greatest civilization to ever grace the void.” His voice is thick with pride.

“Class!” Sandra exclaims, her eyes locked on the closed docking hatch.

“Class?” Demon Egg-Head titters. “A curious expression. But yes, you should be excited. Behold!” He concludes with a dramatic press of a button.

Nothing happens.

An awkward silence stretches. “Wait, maybe it’s this—”

Dracoth reaches across, pressing something on the blue glowing terminal, still holding me easily with one arm.

“Ah, that’s the one,” Demon Egg-Head nods. “My thanks, young Dracoth.”

The docking hatch door creeps open. Inch by inch, it reveals a stunning vista with each tantalizing second.

A massive red-orange planet glows in the void of space.

It’s flanked by an immense purple sun that spews flares and bursts, which illuminate the abyss with violet flashes.

The sun roars so close to the surface, like a fire-breathing beast about to scorch everything in its path—yet somehow, it doesn’t.

The sight is breathtaking—alien, majestic, and terrifying all at once, unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

Suddenly, I’m struck by the sheer immensity of what’s about to happen.

I’m going to an alien planet! A thrill of fear and excitement races through me.

What will it be like down there? Giant monsters?

Advanced technology? Exotic foods? High culture? Who knows? But I’m about to find out!

Demon Egg-Head moves his blackened, tattooed hands over the controls, and our trailer park-like ship shudders to life. It coughs and splutters like an old car on its last legs. The initial stutter fills me with dread, but then we glide forward, smoothly leaving the docking hatch behind.

My pounding heart echoes in my chest. It feels surreal moving through space, watching the alien planet grow larger and larger with every passing moment.

Closer now, I can see a large moon. Its purple surface gleams like a polished amethyst amidst a sea of twinkling diamond stars. I glance back to the planet and notice the surface is mostly landmass, save for a vast expanse of water that stretches like a shimmering purple-blue continent.

“This is amazing!” Sandra exclaims, her voice filled with awe.

Suddenly, the ship begins to shake. A deafening roar assaults my ears, like a colossal monster has us trapped in its gaping maw. I cling to Dracoth tighter, drawing some comfort from his monstrous strength and calm demeanor.

“It’s just the atmosphere,” he rumbles, with a hand brushing my back in a surprisingly kind gesture from the giant red menace.

My attention turns back to the window, watching streaks of orange and red whipping across it. The roaring and shaking intensify, and my breath catches in my throat as fear grips me—what if this rickety ship falls apart mid-descent?

“It’s roasting in here!” Sandra shouts, her face flushed with panic. Strange—though it looks like we’re in a glorified oven, I feel no heat other than Dracoth’s.

The violent quaking stops as suddenly as it started, and Sandra and I both exhale in relief.

We pass through thick, bellowing clouds that swirl in the purple-tainted sky.

It’s so strange—like someone draped a lilac filter over everything.

The scenery rushes past so fast it’s hard to make sense of it all while cradled like a curious toddler in Dracoth’s arm.

Sandra’s wide eyes are almost pressed against the window as she “oohs” and “aahs,” pointing out every new, bizarre sight.

“Oh! What’s that place?” Sandra asks, her eyes glued to something below.

“Looks like a city!” she exclaims, perking my ears up with excitement.

A city sounds far more appealing than ancient temples, humongous trees, or erupting volcanic mountains.

A city means shops, restaurants—maybe even aliens who aren’t sex pests.

“Star City,” Demon Egg-Head spits out the name as if he’s just eaten a rotten egg.

“A trade city, where the rabble of the cosmos come to barter, despoiling our lands with their greed and avarice. It promotes decadence and debauchery—a blight upon our planet, spitting in the eyes of the Gods and mocking the sacred words.”

Sounds amazing!

“Oh no... that sounds terrible,” Sandra says, putting a hand to her mouth. I can’t tell if she’s being serious or just polite.

“Indeed,” Demon Egg-Head mutters, his attention still focused on piloting the ship as it continues its descent.

“When young Dracoth assumes his rightful place as War Chieftain, he will reinstate the old ways, as was written. Not this softness... this corruption.” His voice drips with contempt, and his head shakes in disapproval.

I peer up at Dracoth, wondering what he thinks, but he stands like a red mountain, giving nothing away—such a bore. It’s infuriating. I hate that I can’t read him. It drives me mad. Does he really want to return to these “old ways?” Ugh , sounds terribly backwards.

I frown, picturing a planet ruled by absurd traditions: only jelly sticks for food, holes in the ground for toilets, no partying, mandatory church attendance, no sex before marriage... Horrendous.

The ship jerks violently, jangling our chains, yanking me from my thoughts.

My eyes dart to the window—we’ve landed.

Actually landed on an alien planet. The surroundings outside are stark and black, like polished marble.

It does little to inspire confidence, being too close to the interior of our old horrible ship.

Still, this is just the start. Things can only get better. .. right?

“Welcome to Klendathor,” Dracoth says, peering out of the viewport. “The beginning of my glorious destiny.”