Page 175 of Scorching the Alien Empire
I flinch. My skull splits with pain.
Too much. Too fast.
But I force myself to endure it. To see.
The battlefield stretches before me in its true, unfiltered horror.
Billions of vessels.
Seeker drones swarm like a metal plague, darting between the looming shapes of thousands of Voidbanes. Above Argon-Six, hundreds of Battlebarges shift into position, their payloads of droids ready for orbital drop.
And across the gulf of space, the defenders return fire.
Not just Nebians. Klendathians. My kin.
Two hundred Scythian Battlebarges line up beside their once-sworn enemies. Among them, the Nebian fleet holds its ground—nearly a thousand Starcruisers, backed by twice as many smaller Starfighters. Tens of thousands of Battlesuits brace for engagement, their pilots ready to fight, to die.
And at the flanks, scattered like scavengers awaiting a feast, lie mercenary ships of every design—a motley mix of desperate fighters and opportunists seeking to carve their own place in the chaos to come.
Has such a powerful force ever been assembled before?
Under normal circumstances, a Nebian war fleet of this size would be unstoppable—a force capable of conqueringentire galaxies with ease, their superior technology crushing all opposition. But against this?
Against the relentless, churning war machine of the Scythians—an empire of hundreds of conquered worlds, each bent to a singular, tireless purpose?
This is not just a fleet.
It is a tide.
An unending tsunami of metal, surging forward, threatening to wash away all life in its path.
“Oh, we’re going to need more Elerium for this lot, boys,” Drexios muses, his voice maddeningly light despite the monumental force looming ahead. His hands flit across the weapon controls, his claws clacking rhythmically against the display. “A lot more.”
Princesa huffs impatiently, shifting in my lap. Her glossy blonde hair catches the pulsing lights from the display as she glances back at the others, brow furrowing.
“What’s happening, babes?” she demands, shifting her weight. “Why’s everyone gone all quiet—like we just crashed a funeral?”
Without hesitation, she reaches for my warvisor, fingers grazing the edges in a feeble attempt to tear it from my face.
“Let me see.”
I indulge her pointless demand. Removing the blessed warvisor, I place it over her face, the sheer size of it swallowing her entire dainty head.
She tilts her chin as if that will somehow help.
“Your creepy, perv mask doesn’t work. I can’t see a thing,” she mutters, her voice muffled in a way that is almost comical. Then, she sniffs loudly, wrinkling her nose.
“When was the last time you washed this thing, anyway? Smells like moldy cheese.”
I snatch it back, the familiar seal hissing as it locks into place over my face.
Even now, she grows distracted?
“Each warvisor only serves its owner,” I remind her, my voice steady. “You must complete the Proving, as the human female Rocks did, to earn the right.”
I peer down at her—not to shame, but to ground her in the truth.
She is not yet all-powerful.
