Page 279 of Scorching the Alien Empire
Suddenly, I’m brushing ash from my hair, straightening my robes until something silver catches my eye—Todd.
His stinkingly cute bowtie...crooked.Trillions of alien eyes might be watching, and here’s my sweet Chug Bug looking like he crawled out of a laundry pile. Perfection tarnished. Reputation ruined.
“You’re not decent!” I snap, lunging to adjust the angle. A few degrees—like so. There. Crisis averted.
Todd, for his part, remains blissfully unconscious to the near disaster—curled on my shoulder like a multi-limbed croissant, softly snoring in rubbery little croaks.
I scan the towering masses, hoping to spot a hawker selling jelly sticks—something to bribe Toddy Woddy awake. But instead, I find somethingbetter. Moredeliciousthan jelly sticks—at least according to Todd:Bitch Brick.
There she is—dabbing tears from her scarred cheeks while Sandra strokes her arm like a comfort puppy. They’re flanked by Sumo Face and Blonde Goth. They’ve got losers corner written all over them. I hope Dracothdragsthis out. I’ll savor her tears like a fine Dom Pérignon with a side of ash flakes: Extra salt. Extra smug.
Big-Belly Chief’s voice booms like thunder, a deafening ear assault. Something about ancient Gods—boring ones, obviously not Divine Mother or Father—definitely a blasphemy.
Then—silence. A vacuum, louder than a gnomish fashion show. Like someone yanked the plug on this entire deathball planet.
“This will be a battle for the ages,” Peacock Big-Chief murmurs beside me, eyes fixed ahead, his massive form taut with tension. “By the Gods’ grace, let Gorexius’s murderer fall this day.”
Yes, Mother that would be rather lovely.
CRACK!
“Ahhh!” I yelp, clutching Todd to my chest. Crimson lightning splits the sky between Dracoth and Krogoth, blasting obsidian shards into the swirling ash.
Todd’s poor little heart!
SWOOSH! BANG!
My poor little heart!
Dracoth strikes—massive axe howling, a thunderclap of violence. The sheer force nearly bursts my eardrums. Nearly bisecting Cringe-Eyes in one glorious chop.
I mean, okay yes, babes, but maybe slow down? Draw it out for our fans?
Then kinky Krogoth lashes out with awhip—questionable, confusing—giving me ideas for later. As if that noodly chain thing is going to stopmyMountain of Muscle.
It whistles ominously, building speed, a distorting chain of barbed links that keep growing faster and faster. Krogoth’s arm becomes a blur of motion. I lose sight of the weapon entirely. The only thing left is the sound—a buzzing drone like a murder-bee swarm, confirming he isn’t just windmilling like a lunatic.
Then—crack! Lightning again? Perhaps a hand moved? No—wait... is thatblood? Actual blood? Near Dracoth’s eye?
A gasp escapes me. I reach instinctively to touch Todd, fingers brushing his rubbery back.
Then—the impossible happens. Dracoth steps back. A tank in reverse. Chanel in a clearance bin. The universe’s most awkward ballerina pirouetting intonope.
Another ear-piercing crack. No motion. No swing. No thunder. Just blood. Another green line opens across Dracoth’s side.
Icy tendrils coil around my spine.What the hell is this?Some kind of BDSM nightmare minus the safe word? Invisible attacks? His cheater powers?
“Curse him!” Peacock Big-Chief snarls, fangs glinting like new stilettos. “He moves like the wind.”
“Winds... verystabbytoday...” I murmur, a joke limping offstage. Someone throw a hook to take Dracoth and me offstage.
Maybe this is one of Dracoth’s galaxy-brain tactics? Like that time the murder-bot swarm chased us through the hellish asteroid field. It must be! Lure the admittedly fast Cringe-Eyes into a false sense of security, and then—bam! Strawberry smoothie with extra chunky bits.
I exhale. Shoulders drop. Ah. Of course. Obvious once you think about it.
It’s bizarre to watch—Dracoth hopping backward like the floor’s turned to lava. While Krogoth is now the Mr. Frowny Face. A pursuing hive of swarming invisible murder bees. A lawnmower on the blink. A jet engine someone forgot to turn off.
“This is a farce,” Peacock Big-Chief growls, feathers bristling—an angry turkey gobbling. “It was a mistake to challenge Krogoth Star-Eyes.”
