Page 248 of Scorching the Alien Empire
His glowing orange gaze sweeps across the table, lingering on me for a thundering heartbeat.
Fuck. Does he know?
Of course he does. I’ve been limbo dancing between his Robo-Nibs all bloody morning like I’m auditioning for the Space Olympics. Wait—thatmeans he’s onmyside, right? HewantsDracoth to win.
Aw. I always had a soft spot for Papa Smurf.
But where is Bitch Brick? Why isn’t she here yet? Is she plotting some last-minute psychic sabotage? Slipping love notes into Mummy Chief’s robe? She seems the type—manipulative. Petty. Evil.
And then—right on cue—Todd’smirrorrune pulses bright silver. A warning. A shield.
The huge summit doors groan open behind me like a Hungry Hippo preparing to swallow me whole.
My heart skips so many beats I’m basically a zombie.
All eyes snap to the source. Heavy and light footfalls intermingle, cutting through the held breaths. They echo down the long corridor like chimes before a disco rave.
Krogoth strides in like a titan, raven-black hair cascading over his clawed mantle, purple eyes burning like dying stars. His gaze? Locked on Dracoth. Pure pissing contest. And trailing at his side like the last girl on prom night?
Bitch Brick.
She clings to his arm like an angry child’s drawing of royalty, stuffed into a wrinkled purple gown—her last taste of royalty.
Her eyes pass over me—barely a flicker. Not long enough to register my full-bore seething loathing. My teeth clench at her petty slight. Like an ostrich, she thinks burying her scarred head in the sand will make me disappear. But not this time. Now I’m the Divine Daughter.
I won’t be ignored. I can’t be erased.
She’s whispering already. Constantly. Buzzing in his ear like a psychotic, oversized ham radio tuned to Paranoia FM.
It’s unsettling. What is she saying? What is she reading? Everyone’s thoughts? Feeding them to him like a psychic IV drip? Whatever poison she’s blasting like a malfunctioning fire hose, it’s working.
Krogoth’s glare snaps to the Imperator, hands clenching tight enough to crush bone.
Touchy.
“Welcome, Chieftain Krogoth,” the Imperator booms, voice echoing beneath the great star mural. His twin-sun collar aligns with the mural’s celestial disc, as if staged. “We’ve beenanxiouslyawaiting your presence. I fear, in your absence, discipline has begun to... wane.” He laughs, gesturing to the tree-like thrones at the far end table head. “Please, take your seat. I’m eager to resolve this little dispute.”
“You misspoke,” Krogoth replies smoothly, pulling out the smaller seat—forher.“I am theHighChieftain.”
Not for long, Loser Cringe-Eyes.
“Of course!” the Imperator gasps, raising both hands in mock surrender. “Forgive me—these ancient ears. They fail me after a mere thousand years of service.” He chuckles, nodding to his smirking bootlickers. “Why, just this morning, I misplaced my wrist console. I swear I’d be lost without my NeuroLink.”
He sighs wistfully—then jolts upright with dramatic flair. “Now—where was I? Ah, yes, we’re here to conduct a vote for leadership between High Chieftain Krogoth and War Chieftain Dracoth. With I, your grateful ally, acting as independent adjudicator.” He turns to his high-collared Smurf toad. “How do the Klendathians typically conduct such votes? A silent ballot? Or—?”
“A roll call vote,” Krogoth says, barely listening as Bitch Brick refuses the seat like the stubborn Todd turd she is. Instead, Cringe-Eyes lifts her effortlessly onto his lap—like she’s the galaxy’s most garish ventriloquist dummy.
“So each warrior may look upon andhearhis brothers’ will and resolve,” he adds, settling proudly into his throne.
“Brother,” Peacock Chief spits, feathers twitching. “Youdaresay that word? You, who murdered my friend with nether-spawned power? Without a shred of honor or skill, you ripped the beating heart from our people. And now you inflict this desecration upon us?” He gestures at the Imperator with venom. “I’ll not waste another second on this insult. My vote is for War Chieftain Dracoth—the true heir of Gorexius. Not some traitor who’ll soon taste the kiss of Scarn’s volcanoes.”
Oh, our first vote—and such a poetic death threat! Assuming Bitch Brick gets crisped alongside him, I’ll call that a two-for-one.
“How... enlightening,” the Imperator stammers, clearly thrown. “I take it both candidates vote for themselves?” He raises a bushy white eyebrow.
“Yes,” Krogoth says without hesitation.
My Red Dragon just grunts and nods—concise as ever. All smolder, no sparkle.
