Page 56

Dracoth

Truth

I watch the old gas-cloud approach, scrutinizing his face.

There’s something off with the disgraced Elder—more than usual.

His rants have become more frequent and erratic, as if some great venefex were at his back.

Then there are his strange interactions with Princesa, switching between vipertail-like jests and solemn stares and promises.

He’s plotting something.

“Do you flee from danger once again, Elder? ” I challenge, fixing him with a stern glare, carefully gauging his reaction.

Ignixis grins but does not take my bait. “No. I need to make arrangements to pave the way for your glorious return as the War Chieftain blessed by the great Arawnoth. Promises were made, and they will be kept. Trust was assumed, but it must still be earned.”

His words ignite my molten heart and mingle with the Dark Matters Stout, sending embers of heat fluttering through my veins.

“Good. Finally proving yourself useful,” I reply, a faint smile curling my lips.

“I wouldn’t be much use as an Elder if I couldn’t even guide the young and the foolish,” Ignixis retorts, stepping closer. Despite my seated position he peers up at me with a hint of a smile tugging at his expression.

“Not much use either way,” I say, surprised to see his lips tremble slightly and his green eyes glistening in the firelight.

What’s this?

He reaches a withered, blackened palm toward the top of my head. “What are you doing, you old fool?” I pull back as if his touch were vipertail venom.

“Indulge an old fool,” Ignixis mutters, his hand settling back to where it was. I sigh but allow him to rustle my short crimson hair. “Never forget what I taught you, Dracoth. Never forget the sacred words.”

With that he turns, his black robes swirling like a voidbloom. “Farwell, Dracoth, son of Gorexius.”

A strange sensation tugs at my heart as I watch him leave. An urge to offer praise, to wish him farewell, springs to mind, but I suppress it with molten resolve. It reeks of weakness—an abnormality that does not belong where my heart resides, a place of fire and death.

“What a creep!” Princesa exclaims with an exaggerated shudder once Ignixis is out of sight.

Her fiery rebukes toward Ignixis at first pleased me, until her disdain went too far, crossing the line into shame and dishonor. If she can show such disrespect to an Elder, it proves she lacks any sense of deference.

“Did you see the way he threatened me?” she asks, turning to Sandra.

I would condemn all human females if not for Sandra, who sits mild-mannered and compliant. Is the fire-haired female unique in this regard? A pointless question. The Gods have already chosen my bonded mate, who will hopefully be revealed soon. Until then I will forge ahead.

“It was... intense,” Sandra mutters in agreement, her eyes flicking toward the door.

“And then there were three,” Princesa says with a sly grin, casting a knowing look at Sandra. The pair share a quick giggle. They think me a fool, as many do—mistaking my great size and silence for a lack of wits. Their coming manipulations are as obvious as my strength.

“I don’t know about you two, but I already feel more relaxed,” she adds, stretching her arms and stealing a glance at me to gauge my reaction—there isn’t one.

“Finish, we leave soon,” I say, gesturing toward their still uneaten food. I frown as I notice Princesa hasn’t even started her Glintfish.

“Already?” Sandra asks, sounding disappointed.

“I haven’t even started—” Princesa begins to complain.

My claws lash out in a blinding flash, slicing her Glintfish into neat pieces, cutting off her protest before it can begin.

“Um... thanks,” Princesa stutters, recovering from her initial shock. Sandra has almost finished her meal, and it pleases me to see her belly full.

But Princesa takes her time eating for what feels like eons. Breaking each tiny piece into even smaller, minuscule pieces like she’s trying to reduce them to the molecular level.

“This fish isn’t actually bad,” she announces as she chews as if she actually needed to.

My jaw tightens watching her. The smug look on her pretty face—vainglorious and overly proud, as if her ploy isn’t blatantly obvious.

“I thought all of it was delicious,” Sandra chimes in, clutching my wrist with her pale softness. “Thanks, Dracoth,” she beams up at me, her beauty almost washing away my irritation—but I will not be distracted.

“You,” I say, jabbing a finger at Princesa and jangling the chains around her collar, “eat faster.” I command, my gaze piercing hers.

“What?” She shakes her head, tossing her wavy blonde hair. “I’m eating as fast as I can,” she sighs, plucking another small morsel of Glintfish and popping it into her mouth. “You don’t want me to get indigestion, do you?” she smirks.

Indigestion— the irksome female is more at risk of starving at her current rate. I begin to draw in her chains, taking my time, savoring the growing concern on her face, wiping the smugness away as she struggles to resist the pull.

“Wait, wait!” she pleads, bracing herself uselessly against the table. “For fuck’s sake, Dracoth!”

Her meager strength is nothing—a breeze against the Peaks of Scarn. Sandra gasps beside me, tugging at my arm, but she cannot move me.

“Dracoth, please don’t hurt her.”

“Open,” I demand, plucking a chunk of Glintfish onto my claw, placing it before Princesa’s mouth. Her silver eyes widen as she’s forced, bent over the table, held in place. She shakes her head like a stubborn wild borack, glancing between Sandra and the morsel she is soon to eat.

“Don’t look at her, female. She cannot help you—EAT!” My voice booms, my fangs bared.

Finally, she squeezes her eyes shut, and her full lips part, waiting expectantly. A tingle of victory and something else runs through me. I slide the meat in carefully, ensuring not to cut her little wet, pink… alluring tongue with my claw.

She plucks the Glintfish with puckered lips, chewing slowly. Her silver eyes snap open, locking onto mine.

For a moment, I almost look away as a sudden rush of emotion surges within me.

No! This weakness afflicts me again! I feel it coursing through me like an uncontrollable river of molten lava—this desire, this uncertainty.

It pulls at my mind, threatening to drag me into an abyss of madness and shame.

I will not be controlled; I will not submit!

“Yummy,” Princesa moans as her eyes roll back in her head. My grip loosens, distracted as my mind reels, fighting to distance myself from the confusion she’s provoking.

Princesa slides back into her chair, laughing softly to herself.

“I really don’t know anymore! If I eat too fast, I’m the plump one.

If I eat too slow, I’m dragged over a table.

” She gloats, raising her hands almost as if in victory.

“I swear, these boys can’t make up their minds.

” She lingers on the word boys like a cursed spell, driving it deep into my molten heart.

This was a mistake. Princesa knows my weakness, and like a brutal berserker, she attacks it without mercy—admirable, were I not the target.

I’ve underestimated her. These human females appear as soft and pale as snow, but beneath lurks the gaping maw of a mutalisk. A devious disguise—beautiful devourers.

I rise to my feet, ready to leave this shame behind.

“Wait, Dracoth,” Sandra pleads, her blue eyes sparkling in the dim firelight.

“We just want to enjoy this a bit longer.” She gestures to encompass the food hall.

“We were locked in a dark cage for over a week and don’t know what’s coming next. .. please.”

Her earnest words halt me. I study her face for any sign of deception but see none—only her wide, shimmering eyes and her pink lips slightly parted, seeming open and sincere.

Her meek expression evaporates some of my doubt and shame.

The thought of leaving now reeks of retreat—like when I fought Krogoth, the arrogant traitor who has also tamed his human female.

The thought makes my stomach churn—I will not fail. Cannot fail.

“We drink,” I declare, retaking my seat.

“Class!” Sandra exclaims, and Princesa claps in unison. “Exciting!”

I activate my wrist console, the blue glow bathing our table in its light.

“Do you have something like a Cosmopolitan, Espresso Martini... oh, or Kri Royale?” Princesa blurts out in an excited rush, the names meaning nothing to me. “Wait, you’re paying, right?” she frowns, rubbing her chin before jolting upright again. “Oh, of course, you are. Sandra, what do you want?”

I’ve already selected the drinks, but I let the farce continue, watching with some amusement. “I don’t know,” Sandra ponders, her lips scrunching up thoughtfully. “Something sweet, perhaps?” she adds, glancing up at me.

“Oh!” Princesa exclaims, eyes alight with mischief. “Since there’s two of us and one of you, how about you drink two to our one?” she challenges with a smirk.

I almost laugh. It’s been years since I’ve drunk alcohol. Regardless, they will never match me—no matter the amount.

“Done,” I declare, confirming the order and reclining back in my chair, hands locked behind my head.

“What do you mean, done? What did you get us?” Princesa demands, her brows furrowing like two little golden cyloillars.

“Patience,” I reply, savoring the musty scent of ancient wood and cooked foods. The smell of Clan Draxxus—decadence, but I cannot deny its appeal for my troubled mind.

“Patience!” Princesa mocks, failing to mimic my voice, sounding more like an annoying squeak instead. “Probably got us more of that... What was it? Dark Tar Stout?” She wrinkles her face in disgust before sighing.

“Dark Matter Stout,” I correct.

“Whatever. You knew what I meant, giant bore.” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes, then glances at Sandra.

Her chain beckons to me, dangling near my hand, but I stop myself from punishing her. I will follow the sacred words—let her challenge harden my heart and strengthen my resolve.

The approaching gray-haired Klendathian carrying our drinks draws my attention.

I straighten, dividing the drinks, passing the two females their Stardust Sunrises and keeping my Dark Matter Stouts.

They both ooh and aah as they study the swirling blue, purple, and green liquid, which emits a subtle, ethereal glow.

I watch them sip from the tankards, which appear massive in their petite hands.

I gulp greedily from mine, enjoying the pungent, malty taste and the warmth pouring through my veins.

“Delicious!” Sandra exclaims, beaming up at me, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her pleasure is no surprise—the soft and sweet crave sweet things.

“Hmm, it’s… okay.” Princesa wrinkles her nose like she’s mulling over a grand battle strategy. “I mean, I’ve tasted better, to be honest.” Yet she takes another generous swig.

“May you die a glorious death,” I intone, lifting my tankard, draining the last drop.

Princesa starts, “May you die a—wait, hold on, what?” She blinks, looking at me like I’ve grown a second head. “I don’t want to fucking die, Dracoth.”

Sandra laughs. “How about... ‘May we live happy, fun lives’?” She nods with satisfaction before taking another drink.

Princesa snorts. “Much better. I’m in.”

I frown at their na?ve optimism. “The meaning is the same, you silly females,” I state, feeling the stouts warmth blazing inside me, filling me with unusual levity.

“Huh?” Princesa’s silver eyes narrow, shooting to mine, her mind unable to grasp such a simple concept. “What’s ‘happy and fun’ got to do with dying?” She scoffs, reaching for another tankard. “But yeah, sure, whatever.”

Ignixis was right—her ignorance could fill every nanometer of space. I take another gulp of Dark Matter Stout, savoring the burn.

“A glorious death is... fun. Dying in battle is happiness. That is a life well lived,” I explain, knowing I’m likely wasting my breath.

Sandra presses her drink against her head, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah... yeah, that kind of makes sense. But only if you enjoy fighting, though.”

“Enjoy fighting?” Princesa snorts, taking a swig. “Maybe if you’re a giant murder machine, like you.” She frowns before blurting out, “Wait, why are you so massive, anyway? Like, extra massive.” She and Sandra share a giggle, the sounds promising more mischief.

Why does the arrohawk have wings? Why does the venefex have claws?

“Because I’m the son of War Chieftain Gorexius.” I activate my wrist console, ordering more drinks, a lot more—now necessary to endure these mundane questions.

“Was he a giant bore too?” Princesa fires back, laughing deliriously, her inebriation already clear.

Sandra reaches over to nudge her shoulder. “Lexie!” she chides, shaking her head.

Their words are meaningless—a dull buzz in my ears. The cost of power, I will gladly pay if it brings me revenge and my glorious destiny.

“He stood the greatest warrior the universe has ever known.” I say, the weight of his legacy pressing down on me.

Will I ever rise to his heights? How can I, burdened by this shame and weakness?

“To Daddy Dracoth!” Princesa raises her tankard, taking a sip, her face twisting in disgust. “Ugh, can you get me another drink?” She thrusts the empty tankard toward me. “Something a little less sweet, thanks.”

Unmoving, I glare at the annoying female, wondering if the Gods are playing a grand jest at my expense. She releases her tankard, which clatters to the table, rolling to the side. Princesa clicks her tongue, and Sandra quickly moves to tidy up.

“Lexie, don’t ruin this for us, okay?” she snaps.

“Really, Greg?” Princesa throws up her hands. “Really?”

These females interchange names constantly, as if deliberately seeking to confuse. This title must be particularly offensive. Sandra’s face flushes even redder, her eyes narrowing at Princesa, who crosses her arms beneath her large breasts.

“Me? I’m ruining it? Not you two bores?”

I should gag her.

Suddenly, the food hall’s ornate wooden door slams open with a deafening crash.

A cold gust sweeps into the room, causing the flames in the large hearth to flutter.

I spring to my feet, my eyes locking on the three approaching warriors—long, gray-haired veterans with the hardened faces of Klendathians who have lived by violence.

Good. I smile at the welcome reprieve from the females. Let them come.

Let them test me.