Page 182 of Scorching the Alien Empire
They swarm, they writhe—they die.
The violet light licks at their metal hides, not melting, but unmaking. Drones are drawn inexorably toward the swirling singularity, their cores flaring in one last, desperate attempt to escape the inescapable. Piece by piece, metal is stripped away, oval frames crushed and contorted as they are dragged toward extermination. Hundreds of thousands collide in their frantic retreat, compressed and shredded by forces beyond comprehension, their remains funneled into the vortex like a shattered hull venting into the void.
The vortexes pulse. A corridor of pure annihilation carves through the Scythian ranks. A path of divine judgment.
Princesa’s fingers dig into my arm, her voice hushed, filled with something approaching reverence. “What is this...?”
“Krogoth Star Eyes,” Drexios rasps, for once his tone laced with something resembling respect. “I nearly smashed his arrogant nose in once, but he was—oh, so fast. Oh, so deadly. He always thought he was better than us.” A short, sharp laugh. “Maybe he was right.”
This is his power? This is what consumed my father? The power to unmake reality itself.
Even with Arawnoth’s might, could I defeat him?
My gaze drifts to Princesa, her silver-crimson eyes locked on the viewport, her lips twisting into a sneer. The future I promised her, the empire I swore to carve for her, now fades like the Scythians dissolving in the void.
Another mangled audio burst rips through the comms—no longer a whisper at the edge of awareness, but a jolt of static and needles pricking at my ears. A harsh, synthetic voice struggles to form a single word.
“ANOMALY!”
The Voidbringer cannot compute what defies logic. What transcends the known universe.
The power of the Gods.
Good. Let it suffer.
For the first time, the Scythian forces falter, recoiling like a hand scorched by fire. They move with impossible synchronization, breaking like a school of fish in the abyss, fleeing the celestial maelstroms tearing through their ranks.
Their tsunami collapses inward, folding into itself.
Half their number—gone.
Some are shattered husks, drifting lifelessly through the void. Others are lost to the spiraling singularities, their existence erased.
“Krogoth, Cringe Eyes, more like,” Princesa snaps, suddenly leaping from my lap. Her black robes and chieftainess cloak swirl in her wake as she strides forward, her glare ablaze with defiance. “He’s not as powerful as me.”
She lifts her chin, eyes flashing with divine arrogance.
“I am blessed by Divine Mother and Father. I could cage suns.”
Her gaze locks onto mine, pupils dilating, silver and crimson swirling like molten metal.
“Watch.”
Her hands raise toward the towering viewport. Through the thermal spectrum of my warvisor, I sense it—a shuddering ripple in the abyss. The four pursuing Voidbanes and their Seeker drone escorts... halt.
Without hesitation, I tilt theRavager’s Ruin, pivoting toward the chaos. The vast bulk of Scythian forces flee toward Argon-Six, but those closest to us—Voidbanes and Seeker drones—slam helplessly against a silvery barrier stretching across the void.
A prison. A cage of divine will.
Her barriers form an unbreakable box, encapsulating the enemy—a construct larger than anything I have ever seen her summon.
Her arms drop. The cage constricts. The shimmering walls crush inward, slamming into the Voidbanes and Seeker drones. Manic laughter rips from her throat. Her body shakes with the effort, sweat beading across her flushed skin.
Megatons of arcweave tremble under the pressure. Thousands of Seeker drones compress against the Voidbanes, their oval frames warping and shattering. The hulking Voidbanes resist like floating mountains of obsidian, their plasma barrages dissipating harmlessly against the barrier.
Princesa’s laughter transforms into grunts of effort, her trembling intensifying. Concern gnaws at my core as I leap from my throne, hand outstretched to steady her.
“No!” The word hisses through her clenched teeth. “I can do this!”
