Page 217 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“I’ve met these voiders dozens of times,” Drexios boasts. “Back when I was Second to your father. Rustled feathers. Tweaked a few nipples. Crossed a couple blades.” He tilts his head, red eye gleaming. “So take it from me—I know how they tick.”
“Oh?” I try not to soundtooeager. Maybe this walking war crime can actually be useful.
“Hah!” he barks, jabbing a finger at me. “Pinkie’skeener than a Glaseroid during mating season.”
Ugh. I hate him so much!
“Please,” I snap, rolling my eyes. “My mistake. I thought you might actually be worth the earache for once.”
“Keep your tits on. I always speak sense—just your stunted pink ears haven’t been listening,” Drexios grumbles. “Besides, you gotta finesse for the caress.” He draws and spins his energy blade with practiced flair, holstering it in a smooth motion. “So, first up—Aelioth. Chieftain of Sanaxus. Loves a laugh. Problem is, his clan’s blood-cousins with Draxxus. That means he and Krogoth are tight. Like two zarberries dangling on a vine.”
I frown, chin on knuckles.Not great. If there is a vote.Loverboy will side with Krogoth for sure. Good thing we’ve got Peacock Big-Chief in our corner.
“Franthos, Clan Chief of the Aquaxus,” Drexios continues, “well,was.We all seen old seaweed breath’s flagship go nova. Now he’s swimming with the ancestors in the cosmic oceans.” He flutters his fingers toward the ceiling, making stupid swooshing sounds.
“His Second now leads?” Dracoth asks, eyes drifting to a nearby viewport.
Outside the crimson sun of this system bathes the sandy interior in churning molten blood. It makes me think I should be wearing black lipstick, Doc Martens Boots, and listening to gothic metal.
“Could be,” Drexios shrugs. “That’d be Voryx. Likes his females how I like my enemies—plentiful and dripping.”
“Ugh. You’re so gross, Drex-iot.” I scrunch my face like I’ve been force-fed a hundred lemons. Which sends Drexios into a laughing fit. “Don’t listen to the bad man, my innocent little cherub,” I murmur, shielding Todd’s sleepy little head.
Still, despite being a disgusting creep, this information is useful. If this Voryx is a playboy, well, I can work with that. I’ll have him twisted around my little finger so tight his head will pop off.
“I saved the best for last, just for you,Pinkie.” Drexios grins darkly. “Old Borrthak of Clan Virennix.”
My heart skips. His eye narrows.
“Oh, you two’ll get on like a high-merchant in a pleasure garden. He’s a mad voiding cultist. Just. Like. You.” He cranks a clawed finger at me.
I just smile.
He wanted a reaction. He doesn’t get one.
Perfect!
I’m blessed by both Divine Mother and Father. My fingers trace Arawnoth’s scorched runes on my chest, the warmth bleeding into my skin. Once he learns the truth, he’ll have no choice but to support us.
“This is brilliant!” I beam up at Dracoth. “Give me enough time, and I’ll convince them to join our side.”
He only nods, faintly. But I feel it through the bond—his relief, warm and quiet.
“Bunch of voiding yackers, the lot of ‘em,” Drexios scoffs. “Think they’re something. Better to drop ‘em into a hot warzone—bore the enemy to death instead.” He barks a laugh. “That’s what Gorexius did.”
Ahead, four purple Robo-Nibs stand like statues, joined by a cluster of standard armored Nibs. They look like grumpy teenagers well past bedtime.
“If you’d please disarm before continuing,” Consul Catokar says with a smile that never quite reaches his red eyes. He gestures to a nearby swarm of murder-orb drones.
“Disarm?” Drexios echoes, voice dripping with venom. “Void this, War Chief. This stinks like a deathtrap.” He juts his chin toward Catokar.
Dracoth halts before the guards, crimson eyes scanning the Robo-Nibs like he can see the pilots inside. I feel it—his grip tightening around me, muscles coiled and ready.
“I assure you,” Catokar drawls, “this is standard protocol. Only through security and safety can the enlightened truly discourse.”
He sounds bored and offended, like we’re street urchins who just trudged poop over his Kashmir rugs.
“Discourse my arse cheeks,” Drexios snarls, stepping toward the Consul, forcing him backward. Two Robo-Nibs close in, shielding him. “What about these robotic cunts? Aretheygetting disarmed?”
