Page 9

Dracoth

Shorthair and the four females

T he tiny form of the weeping human female rests in my mighty arms, crumbled like a beaten borack calf as my thudding boots echo against the metal floor.

Regret shimmers beneath my resolve like a cooling ember, a dim feeling quickly extinguished by recalling my mission.

Her tears will never quench my thirst for revenge.

Her terror is nothing against my people’s glorious future.

These concerns are naught—petty, weak things.

My heart is as hard and brutal as the crags of Scarn.

It beats a primal, pumping molten fury that scorches my veins and twists my mouth.

Instead, a flicker of excitement ignites within me, that despite the female’s tiny and fragile stature, they may unlock newfound power within me.

Though I frown glancing at this female—the one who cries endlessly.

The sound is an anathema to me, the rank weakness and helplessness of it turning my stomach.

But you cried. You were weak too... Remember?

My teeth clench and my eyes leak crimson Rush at the thought.

The shame is as familiar as breathing, stabbing my soul with a thousand icy daggers.

It’s almost too much to bear—this waiting.

Every second Krogoth lives is an affront to my noble blood.

Can this tiny female or one of the others truly grant me the powers I need?

The sight of them inspires little confidence, but I will try anything, risk any endeavor if it brings me vengeance.

Ignixis and I march down the long metal corridor. I grimace, trying to ignore the blinking purple lights and chipped marble walls. Hoping this ship holds together long enough to reach Klendathor and complete the Mortakin-Tok . From there... well, we’ll see what gifts I obtain from the Gods.

The black-haired female launches into another round of heightened wails, piercing through the dilapidated, dimly lit corridor.

I suppress a frustrated sigh as my grip on her arm tightens slightly.

It’s not my intention to be cruel to the females, but neither do I warm to them.

They are mere tools for my blazing path to victory.

After completing the Mortakin-Tok , I could release them, even send them back to Earth.

Yes, this thought pleases me, expunging the dim ember of dishonor I feel at taking them.

Ignixis pauses at the control panel to the medical room, jabbing buttons with a practiced efficiency that sends glowing glyphs swirling across the screen.

In truth, females of any species are a mystery to me, having only seen them during my Proving Pilgrimage—a journey all young warriors undertake to become full war brothers.

I explored other planets as a mercenary, striking fear into the quaking hearts of the inferior aliens.

That’s when I first saw females in any numbers.

But they never fueled my passions, not the Argorians, Jungarians, or Tuskarians—none of them.

I shift my focus back to the female, her cries having dwindled to desperate sobs, lessening my annoyance.

The older warriors often speak in hushed, excited voices around the campfires with drink in hand, about their many “ conquests ” with females.

They eagerly goad and impress one another with such tales.

I found them tiresome, born from hedonism, simple pleasure seeking disguised as some grand adventure or conquest. As if such distractions are akin to a joyous war or glorious battle.

No. I remain loyal to my hate, the only passion I need. It consumes my every thought—it is me.

“Place her inside,” Ignixis commands, gesturing towards the healing pods lining the walls, each showing signs of wear.

“This pile of junk better still function after mending the mess you made of the youths.” The disgraced Elder grimaces, amusing me.

I step over broken panels and exposed wires, the faint hum of struggling machinery filling the medical lab.

I approach a healing pod, choosing the only one without a web of cracks on the translucent cylinder. Its once-luminous white surface is now dull and scratched. As I attempt to place the weeping female inside, her tiny grip tightens around my arms, and she buries her wet face against my broad chest.

“Let go!” Ignixis hisses, peeling the human who clings to me as if her life depends on it.

The disgraced Elder’s disdain for the humans is well known to me, particularly his disapproval of Klendathians mating with humans to produce offspring.

I recall his frequent bitter rants about it weakening our noble people and how it’s an offense to the Gods.

Yet even he remains pragmatic enough to overlook his contempt to achieve our goals.

But mating and producing offspring is the last thing on my mind—I seek to bring death, not life.

The female thrashes like a wild hydralith as Ignixis dislodges her.

I frown, placing a halting hand on his shoulder, before gently coaxing the human into the pod, making soothing sounds that are as alien to me as Glaseroids .

Her feeble protests grow weaker, her dark brown eyes searching mine, weighing my trustworthiness.

I nod at her, making a gesture to mind her head as I reach to close the translucent door of the healing pod.

The female’s eyes dart frantically as she places hands against the pod, perhaps bracing herself for what she fears may assault her—blissfulness awaits her.

At least that’s what I’ve heard the other warriors say.

I’ve never used one, not being as fragile or weak-willed as my supposed peers.

The female mutters panicky gibberish as Ignixis takes a seat at a nearby bench, activating a medical terminal console.

“Time to get a measure of these humans, ” he spits the last word out like vipertail venom.

His hands deftly work the controls as I cross my arms, watching the female with keen interest.

Green vapors leak into the pod, bathing the female in an emerald haze.

Her chest heaves with rapid breaths, while she casts frantic glances seeking the source of the gas.

“Hmm,” Ignixis mutters, examining the blue glowing terminal.

“She’s in fine health... Their bodies are frail, though.

Skeletal and muscular density are extremely low,” he tuts .

The sun is accusing the moon of being purple. Ignixis is as frail as a newborn. “We’re not recruiting warriors,” I remind him. Although If I must mate with one to unlock my power, then it might become a concern.

“Indeed.” Ignixis turns with a sly smirk on his black lips. “Tell me, young Dracoth. Does their frail flesh stir anything in that deep, dark pit you call a heart?” I glare at him, my brows furrowed, which only amuses the old gas-cloud more.

“Our stern future chieftain would never allow himself to succumb to such base pleasures, is that it?” A flicker of surprise crosses my face at his astute words, causing Ignixis to cackle louder.

“War Chieftain,” I correct him. Irked, I turn my gaze back to the female, who’s now transformed into a vision of blissful ecstasy. She waves her hands through the green mist in languid, dance-like motions, her eyes drowsy.

“Of course... War Chieftain. How could I forget?” he corrects, tittering darkly.

“What female could be worthy of our great War Chieftain? ” He lingers on my rightful title mockingly, but I will not be baited.

His words are wind, lesser even—wind has uses.

“Oh, there’s no need to sulk.” He presses after a moment of silence, feeling the need to fill it.

“I saw the way you stared at her, the words you muttered.”

“You saw nothing, you deaf old fool,” I retort more sharply than I intend. He’s good at this, rankling me like no other.

“Is it her plumpness that stirs your young heart?” Ignixis questions with a knowing grin, twisting the runes on his face into a grotesque mask. “Like a fattened flaxen-haired borack , ready for the slaughter and the feasting.” He smacks his lips before laughing with excitement.

She showed bravery in a sea of tears.

I frown, recalling the golden-haired female, another moment of weakness when I named her “most beautiful,” distracted by her ample breasts and pleasuring curves. I need to be more careful next time, not give this gas-cloud more fodder.

“Shame your device showed no females for you. You’re as keen as a rutting aurodon ,” I challenge, glaring at him with my eyes as sharp as my claws.

“Maybe!” Ignixis hoots, brushing a hand over his bald, tattooed head. “But we Magaxus Elders vow to forgo such carnal pleasures when we purify our bodies in the sacred words.”

“You’re an Elder no longer,” I remind him, enjoying the flicker of anger twisting his face.

Glad I’m able to irk him as he irks me. We’re like two wounded animals tethered by shame and a shared goal.

I could drive my claws deeper, tear open his dishonor and expose his festering wound—but he’s useful to me.

“I could no more stop being an Elder than you could stop being a giant,” Ignixis scoffs, turning his attention back to the medical console. “This female shows signs of early arthritis in her hands,” he tuts , “For one so young. They really are a fragile species.”

She must work with her hands. I study her, expecting to see calluses and thick, swollen knuckles, but they appear as soft as the finest fur.

A loud ping echoes through the cluttered medical lab, signifying her healing is complete. I rush to open the pod door. The intoxicating vapors tickle my senses as I see the human female examine her hands with disbelief, something akin to pleasure on her face—a welcome change.