Page 132 of Scorching the Alien Empire
Like some giant Dracoth just dumped his toy box all over the place. We didn’t destroy this many on our way in. A twist of unease coils in my stomach.
There’s so many I’m forced to clear the way with my divine barriers. Like a sexy Moses parting a metal sea, the shattered remains are flung against the walls, piling into a perfect, skateboarder’s wet dream of a U-shaped ramp.
Then, something different. Something familiar catches my eye.
Like a murder-bot and a tennis ball had a forbidden love child—a murder-orb.
Creepy. Gross.
Its dull red lens flickers, a dying ember at the heart of its warped, spherical frame. A gaping, smoldering wound has caved in one side, rivulets of molten metal still sizzling, hardening into jagged scars.
“What the hell is this doing here?” I ask no one in particular, finger pointing accusingly as if denying the murder-orb’s right to exist.
“Seeker drone. It must have come from outside, Blessed Daughter,” the masked visage of the black-haired warrior follows my gaze, a hint of surprise in his gruff voice. Varax, If I recall correctly. Though I can hardly be expected to remember every bone-through-the-nose’s name.
“A recent kill, by the looks of it. We best be on our guard.” He glances at his fellow space-knights, and they nod back, as if I’m not the one bloody protecting everyone here.
Wonderful!
Even creepier murder-bots.
I recognize these things. When we first entered Scythian territory, there were billions of them, swarming the void, forming that terrifying space face. They whirled around like demented fairy lights with their red blinky blinks.
A shiver rakes down my spine. The cold slithers beneath my skin, worming its way into my bones.
Enough of that. With a flick of my wrist, I summon my barriers, slamming them inward with crushing force. The murder-orb crumples like tin foil, its shell compacting under the unrelenting pressure. A sharp, metallic screech—then silence. It drops to the floor, spinning wildly like a giant quarter before clanking to a dead stop.
A modicum of relief.
Then, my vision swims. My eyelids suddenly weigh as much as a hundred grumpy Dracoths. My legs veer slightly off course, like my feet have decided that walking straight is outdated and crashing into walls is the new craze.
Ugh.
Is it the nose-stinging chemical stench of melted metal and singed circuitry? The fumes are probably taking years off my life, not to mention what they’re doing to my complexion.
This day has been a never-ending nightmare—a stomach-churning rollercoaster through a haunted house of horrors. The tragic death of Elder Ignixis, the mad dash through space, now knee-deep, trudging through murder-bot entrails.
I need a nap. A cocktail. And a bath. A scalding-hot, bubbling soak... Ah.
Come on, Lexie. One foot in front of the other. Chin raised. We’ve so got this.
Disturbing noises shatter my weary thoughts like an alarm bell from murder-bot hell. The distant roar of billowing orders, hiss-crack of energy weapons, metal crashing against metal.
No.
No, no, no.
The all-too-familiar sounds are worse than before. This isn’t just a skirmish—this is war. Hundreds, maybe thousands.
A space-knight mosh pit.
The soldiers behind me inspect their wrist weapons, shields and armor. They exchange silent, solemn nods—an unspoken command, a wordless farewell. Then, as one, they move to tower at my side.
The massive entrance door looms ahead.
Unlike before—when we arrived what feels like days ago—the glyphs are fully visible beneath the harsh crimson glow. They pulse, sickly green, a tangled web etching across the floor, the ceiling, the walls.
So many red flags are fluttering. Only a complete maniac would go through. But here we are. Guilty as charged. Now, we face the consequences.
