Page 280 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“Relax,” I purr, placing a perfectly calm hand on his vambrace. “Dracoth’s got this. You’ll see.” My voice is syrupy sweet with total confidence.
He’s sure taking his sweet time though.
Peacock Big-Chief glares down at me with pale-gold eyes, but I barely register it. I only see Dracoth—being pushed closer to the gravy-ring of lava that borders the arena.
Come on, Dracoth. Come on. Freaking do something already, YOU BIG RED BALLERINA!
Then—it happens.
His axe flies—a helicopter blade of murder and justice, answering my prayers. Krogoth leaps, rising absurdly high, like he reallydoeshave a jet engine rammed up his ass.
Something flashes. My breath hitches.
Dracoth catches something in his hand. The kinky whip—a one-ton Krogoth Cringe-Eyes hooked. Dracoth yanks hard.Krogoth sails through the air before crashing onboard the USSLoser Express.
“Told you!” I yell, in delight, clapping my hands like a performing seal.
Dracoth charges—a big red murder-bus with no brakes, shaking the earth. His sword-like claws extend with a satisfyingSHRIEK. They’ve never looked so sexy. Shish kabob’s about to skewer some choice victory meat.
Krogoth springs up from the ash-strewn stone like a demonic grasshopper—what evenisthis guy? But I’m too hyped to care. I roar in bloodlust, my voice lost in the bone-through-the-noses stampede of cheers. They clash—a blur of snarling limbs and screaming metal.
Snap!
Dracoth slams his shield into Krogoth’s stupid, prancing face. Green blood spatters the fissures like divine pesto.
Delicious.
“The Gods smile on us,” Peacock Big-Chief breathes.
“Isn’t Aenarael glorious?” I reply, grinning like I’ve just won the lottery.
Krogoth stumbles, one hand to his broken nose, coughing, choking like a fifty-a-day smoking habit has caught up to him. Then Dracoth—the massive stud—scoops up Krogoth’s weird breathing mask thingy.
“Look! He can’t breathe!” I laugh, gripping Peacock Big-Chief’s wrist and jabbing a finger forward. “Oh, this issoover.”
Across the crowd, I spotBitch Brick. Her Plain Jane face twists in horror, one hand trembling over her mouth. Picture perfect. I wish I could snap a photo and frame it above my bed. The moment we win. The moment she regrets ever messing with me—frozen forever.
Lexie-verseis spluttering into reality.
“Even this cursed land rejects you, Krogoth.” Dracoth booms, voice like thunder cracking the sky. He smears ash over his body like now’s the perfect time for a little volcanic exfoliation. “You wither. While I burn with rage. I rise—reborn from the ashes of the shame you inflicted.”
Gods.
“What is he like?” I squeal, grinning so hard it hurts.
Heat blooms in my core, molten and glowing. He’s such a drama queen when he wants to be. The fans are going to eat this up like a five-layer raspberry gateau. Right here—right now—my legs are turning to hot, wobbly Jell-O.
Dracoth charges forward—a blood-slicked, ash-smeared murder train with no brakes. His brutal axe crashes down with such Mr. Frowny Face speed its savage edge is a blurring arc. Krogoth rolls like runaway toilet paper down a flaming hill, barely avoiding the eruption of obsidian shards. While he sneakily thrusts his spear at Dracoth’s shield.
Krogoth hacks up ash again—how tragic—he doesn’t like spicy chips. Just a moment is all my Red Dragon needs to deliver a crunching boot into his midriff with a sound like a sonic boom detonating in a cathedral.
Cringe-Eyes skids across the jagged stone like a crash dummy without a seat belt.
Yes! Kill him, Dracoth! Kill him!
Dracoth obliges. Earth-shattering blow after earth-shattering blow, each more glorious than the last. Somehow Krogoth’s still alive, clinging on like a huge zit that refuses to pop. His shield is now basically decorative paper mâché.
The crowd is goingferal. Half are screaming for blood, the other half are gasping for Xanax. Lexie-moths swarm in my stomach, performing aerial acrobatics, kicking off the Victory Day Parade.
