Page 1 of Bonded Queen: to the Alien Warlord Triad

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General Ra’al

No smoke billows from the ruined city. The fires went cold, along with the bodies. Stairwells stained with blood, streets pitted and burned, walls raked by the claws of the Scorp. No one screams anymore. It’s empty and silent, but for the wailing wind that echoes down the streets.

I scan, looking for her. The woman of my dreams. My Fated Mate. Scared, vulnerable, beautiful. My triad will build a tower for her and lock her up. I will put her behind walls, chain her in a dungeon if necessary. She will scream my name in ecstasy. I felt her free-willed spirit, her ache to be free.

She will accept the protection of my captivity. She will not suffer the same fate as this planet.

It took three months to eradicate the Scorp.

We killed them before they could form their cocoons, lift off, and drift towards sectors under our protection. This planet, Abascus, was forsaken.

Abascus threw off the yoke of the Aurelian Empire one hundred and ninety years ago. They threw off our high taxes and our protection. The planet declared Independence under the human Queen Jasmine’s verdict. Abascus prospered. A hundred and ninety years of boundless wealth, without our heavy protection taxes slowing their growth. Generation after generation lived and died, celebrating their freedom.

Humans have such brief life spans. It wasn’t the ones that voted to leave the Aurelian Empire who bore the cost of the decision. It was their great-great-grandchildren.

Ten billion souls. All snuffed out. We weren’t close enough to save them when we got reports of Scorp organic-ships thick as locusts, more than any in recorded history. Org-Ships. Cocoons woven by the Queens around Orbs that bring them from planet to planet, thirsting for blood. Scorp have one need. To expand. They come from the depths of Wild Space. Before, there would be occasional clusters of Org-Ships drifting inexorably towards sentient life. Now there are droves.

We could have gotten there in time to save them if we Orb-Shifted. The Emperors and Queen forbade it. They can’t afford to risk ships lost in the void, not now, with the Fanatics preparing for war.

I begged our General Gladinus to ignore the edicts and let us shift. My voice boomed out in the meeting hall, and he had me whipped for my insolence. He stripped the flesh off my back, but he did not strip me of my command. He needed strong leaders in battle.

My blade shimmers and ripples in my hand, the black-blue lightning curling around the obsidian metal like ethereal snakes. The Orb lodged in the hilt is deeper black, sated by the blood of thousands of dead Scorp. Every muscle in my body aches. I cut them down endlessly. I watched men under my command ripped to shreds by claws, dying screaming after being pricked by venomous barbs. You can’t give those pricked by the venom the relief of death. One in a thousand Aurelians survive the poison, and for that chance, the rest die the most torturous death imaginable.

Ten billion human souls. The rich fled. They took off in spaceships. They flew towards the safety of the Aurelian Empire, to pay for protection.

I can still hear the chitters of Scorp echoing in my mind like I’m in their nest, deep underground in the burrows where they breed. I killed two Scorp Queens with my blade as they spun their cocoons around the Orbs that would fly them to the next planet. Orbs want blood. They’ll work with anyone who promises violence, and only the Aurelian Empire can tame them. I crushed newborn Scorp underfoot, their carapaces crunching like bone. I led my triad out of the blood-soaked tunnels and into the light.

Our heroism was rewarded. We went from leading hundreds of warriors to Generals leading thousands.

The flag of the Aurelian Empire flaps furiously on the highest tower of the empty city in a mockery of triumph, but I feel no wind on my skin.

Why is there no wind? Where am I?

I blink.

The planet disappears. The mirror is in front of me. My hard, lined face stares back at me. My slate-grey eyes burn with hatred. Grizzled black stubble, flecked with grey, lines my jaw. I haven’t shaved since…

Since I don’t know how long. I’m losing track of time. Of where I am.

My chest burns, dully. Why does it burn? Not one of the monstrous reptilians pierced my armor. Not one of their claws scythed my chest. I clench my jaw, trying to get my bearings, reaching out with my mind.

The reassuring strength of my triad’s auras answer back. As long as I have my battle-brothers, it does not matter where I am.

I blink again, and I’m in the huge arena, built of massive black granite and marble slabs. The stands are packed. I’m pressed in, my battle-brothers on either side. Thousands upon thousands of Aurelian warriors are crushed into the stands of the half-circle Arena of Blood, clad in black togas that are the opposite of the pure white robes we used to wear when we served the Aurelian Empire. The togas are opened to show off the left side of our chests where we are branded.

Many brands are raw and red. Fresh fighters for the War-God. I look left and right, seeing the familiar faces of the men who followed me into battle.

My promotion to General came with a warship. My first action upon seizing control was to reroute us to Fanatic Space, cutting off all communication to the Empire. I told my men that any who wished to leave would not be stopped. I promised them we would not cut them down with missiles as they flew back to the safety of the Aurelian Empire.

Not one left.

They followed me to Obsidious, where the Priests ruled, waiting for their War-God Obsidian. We all saw the cost of the weakness of the Aurelian Empire. They allowed humanity to go free. They allowed humanity to damn themselves, free to die, free to be ripped apart by Scorp.

Humanity needs our protection.

They need our ownership.

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