Page 111 of Scorching the Alien Empire
Her words pick up intensity, her last syllable a pointed glare.
Got what I came for?
For answers too bitter to swallow? Is that all that remains?
My gaze drifts to the nearby exit. The one leading deeper. The one the terminal hacker tried to obscure.
“No,” I mutter. Something lingers. A pull, faint as a dying ember, gnaws at the edges of my mind “There’s more.”
Princesa groans loudly. “Brilliant, more nightmare fuel. Just what I needed to top off this delightful day.” Then she gasps,eyes widening. “Poor Todd. He’s probably plotting revenge for being abandoned this long by his parents.” She sighs. “I hope he doesn’t poop in Sandra’s shoes again.”
I nearly choke on the absurdity of her words.How can the razor-sharp wit of my Mortakin-Kis house such inane nonsense?A maddening contradiction that shouldn’t exist. Parents to a pointless grub? A solitary creature experiencing loneliness? Supposing intelligence where none exists? Ridiculous.
Past the shimmering red terminals, I stride forward, Princesa’s softness nestled in the crook of my arm. Drexios, Razgor, and four of the warband move behind me. The approaching doorway is smaller than the entrance, still engraved with glyphs—faintly visible in the dim glow, their details sharpened by my warvisor’s-enhanced sight.
Behind me, my warband bark orders, voices sharp with command and impatience. The hairs on my neck bristle. We are being watched. A presence oozes from the walls, unseen but suffocating—like the hungry gaze of a stalking venefex, dissecting our every move.
The door swooshes open as I near, revealing another corridor. Engraved walls lined with more archaic battle droids, their weapon limbs raised, frozen in time. Deactivated, they gleam blue from Princesa’s wrist console. With not a trace of dust or corrosion marring their polished surfaces, they contrast the dilapidated station—like they do not belong.
“Kill them,” I growl, striding past without pause, eyes locked ahead.
Drexios sneers with delight, unsheathing twin plasma blades in a blurring flash. He and the berserkers descend upon the inert droids. The corridor ripples with shimmering blue energy, the comforting whizz of plasma fire mingling with the acrid scent of molten metal.
Each severed droid crashing to the floor, each hissing puddle of liquefied arcweave, lessens my unease. It would be a tactical error to leave behind potential enemies at our back, flanks exposed as we plunge deeper into the unknown.
Jazreal and Sarkoth’s groups carve through more deactivated defenses. But this accursed station is a labyrinth—endless corridors, endless rooms. No, time is running out. Better a surgical strike than an exhaustive extermination behind enemy lines.
Suddenly, the dim corridor flashes with vivid crimson, lighting the space like a flare in the night sky—then vanishing just as fast.
I halt my advance, adrenaline and Rush flooding my veins, eyes alert for any danger.
“Is it just me, babes?” Princesa stirs in my arm, blonde hair tousled as her head darts side to side. “Or did this creepy place just wink at us?”
“We must hurry,” I rumble, unease returning with laser focus, burning deep into my mind, hastening my steps.
“Well, that’s as reassuring as a deflated life jacket.” She sighs, fingers absently tracing the blessings scorched into her skin.
Amusing. She seeks reassurance where none has existed. A place where countless prayers went unanswered, where desperate souls were twisted into broken, wretched things.
Unlike the previous halls, this corridor does not diverge or split. Narrower, shorter—more tunnel than passageway. No doors line its walls, only deactivated turrets and more silent battle droids. Whatever lies beyond must be important to be guarded so heavily.
Then, another door. My warvisor scans—but detects nothing.
Strange.
No matter which vision spectrum I cycle through, I cannot pierce its surface. As if something lines the metal, reflecting even the blessed sight of the Gods.
This can only be the work of a malignant intelligence.The Voidbringer.
Cautiously, I raise my arc blaster, inching closer. The other warriors follow my lead, moving in unified precision. The door swooshes open. More darkness greets us. Yet my warvisor cuts through the black, revealing five open clone vats, each with a disabled terminal beside it.
But what draws my attention are the large figures sprawled across the floor.
Klendathians.
Four of them.
Two lying in pools of rapidly cooling green blood, their bodies torn apart.
