Page 134 of Scorching the Alien Empire
A sharp, automatic laugh bursts from my throat. Look at them. Writhing uselessly, limbs gasping at nothing, their metal shells frosting over in the cold void. One by one, the horde spills into space, their frames weightless, drifting like bottle caps on water. Lost. Alone. In their thousands. Utterly hilarious.
“Farewell, loser-bots!” I call out, laughter ringing out.
But for some reason, I’m the only one having fun. My laughter trails off followed by an eerie silence. My brow furrows, glancing down to check if my boobs are showing.
Jazreal emerges from the crowd of still space-knights, tearing his scary mask free, revealing the wide-eyed, trembling awe on his face. On the unscarred side, at least.
“Females... our females.” His spear slips from his grasp, clanging against the floor. His legs buckle, collapsing him to his knees. “We thought you were lost... We—” His voice chokes, barely above a whisper. “We betrayed you. Please... forgive us for our sins.”
Oh, right. The women.
I lift my chin, throwing out my arms, letting the gold-inlaid black robes flow dramatically around me.“Behold, the Revered Mothers!” My voice soars, carried by the adoration flooding my heart.
“Elder Ignixis’s sacrifice enraged Arawnoth into action! He sought retribution, a vengeance most divine.” I trail my fingers along the burning runes on my chest, feeling the heat pulse beneath my touch.
“Through me—his Blessed Daughter—we achieved the impossible. Our redemption!” The words come easily, naturally, an inferno of passion lifting me on its thermal winds.
The space-knights lower their weapons, battered and scorched, their expressions raw with disbelief., approaching the women as if they were angels sent from the heavens.
Many remove their masks, as if only their own eyes can be trusted. Some fall to their knees, their bodies shaking with sobs. Others let out deep, guttural cries, a wound centuries-old, finally beginning to close.
And it’s all thanks to me.
The Revered Mothers, though frail, haunted by trauma, stand tall. Their presence is a shining beacon of hope amidst the carnage. Some press a hand against my barrier, their expressions vacant yet peaceful, their gazes sweeping over the ocean of reverent faces before them.
Sarkoth steps forward, his movements slow, almost groveling. A green-haired woman approaches the barrier, her trembling hand rising. Sarkoth lifts his own, mirroring her.
Tears glide down his scarred cheeks. “I can’t... believe this is real.”
How romantic. Though these horned-up bone-through-the-noses might need a cold shower before long.
Jazreal stares at me now, unblinking. His green eyes glisten, raw and exposed, like he’s just cut a hundred onions at once.
“You. Prince—Blessed Daughter,” He swallows, his voice faltering in a way it never has before. “You swept aside an army like it was nothing... and delivered us the most precious treasure in the universe.”
His fingers curl against the floor. His breath shudders. His voice drops, reverence bleeding into something almost... fearful.
“Who are you, truly?”
A swarm of Lexie-moths somersault in my stomach as all eyes snap to my glorious self, expecting an answer, hanging on my every word.
I let them wait a moment longer, savoring it. Let them see me. Let them bask in my glory. I create a gap in my dome of shields and step through it.
“Am I not magnificent? Beloved and feared? Delicate and powerful?”
The words spill from my lips unbidden, surprising myself at my boldness. It should make my cheeks burn, this raw, naked desire to be worshipped. But it does not. It feels right. My heart soars, my skin thrums with exhilaration. This is perfect. Who I was always meant to be. My moment. No more hiding.
“Am I not divine?”
I stride forward, each step measured, deliberate, dripping with elegance and certainty. Regal. Alluring. Unshakable. Jazreal—a towering titan of muscle and blood—stares down at me, his green eyes burning with reverence, hesitation, awe.
He searches my face, my blazing silver-crimson gaze. I do not balk. I stand tall, unyielding.
Then, as it should be. Pleasing and natural. He kneels before me. His head bows low.
“You can only be divine,” he breathes. “The chosen of the Gods themselves. Divine Daughter.”
Divine Daughter. Oh, I love it!
