Page 64 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“The forces of nature. The strong devour the weak. Adapt or die.” Her voice turns soft, coaxing. “That is what the followers of the entity you know as Arawnoth believe. Amusing, is it not? How those ideals flutter away like cosmic dust the moment someone they love is too weak to survive?”
Her smile is cruel, her words laced with venom. “Is it hypocrisy? Or something else? Perhaps Arawnoth and the others simply need you to perpetuate their precious cycle, the unending chaos that keeps all us tethered together. Tell me the truth, no more lies.” She leans in, her breath cold against my skin. “Is thatlove? Or is itslavery?”
Her words reverberate through my mind—hundreds of unsettling echoes demanding an answer. I can’t tear my gaze from her hypnotic eyes, swirling with the promise of every mystery the universe holds, if only I dare to stare long enough.
Then, a searing heat thaws my numb fingers, stealing my attention. It’s Arawnoth’s blessing, flaring molten and gorgeous on my chest and neck, filling me with fierce adoration as it hisses defiantly against the blistering storm.
“It’s love!” I shout, my voice brimming with conviction deeper than I’ve ever felt. “It’s obvious, you jaded ice bitch!” The words scorch from my throat, fueled by the blaze in my chest.
Aenarael’s beautiful form melts away like slush beneath a glorious sun. I whip my head around the demented, frozen snow globe, elation surging through me as the landscape dissolves—banished like the Wicked Witch of the West.
The gales fall silent, the icy shards cease to fall, the cragged peaks shrink into distant specks. Until there is nothing. Just endless black, and my rapid, ragged breaths.
Then, in the distance, an orange spark appears—no, not a spark. A flame.
“Arawnoth!” I cry out, my voice drenched in devotion.
But elation curdles into dread as mocking laughter erupts from the void. Aenarael’s too-many voices slither from within me, as if she’s taken root inside my very soul.
“There it is, the flames you crave. Go on now, fly away, my little pet,” she sneers, dripping with cruel amusement.
Oh no!
Before her laughter fades, a ripple of transformation overtakes me. My limbs grow slender and fragile, my skin hardening into delicate scales, fine as ash. Wings, thin as parchment, unfurl from my back. I flutter them experimentally, the motion as natural as breathing, though dread coils tighter with every beat.
I try to scream, but there’s no sound—only terror.
“Aww, such beautiful patterns you have,” Aenarael coos, her voice booming like a god speaking through a mountain.
Frantically, I flutter through the darkness, desperate to reach the flame. If I can just touch it, Arawnoth will save me. He’ll burn this evil bitch to cinders.
“Shame your fashion sense is wasted now. You’re just a flying cliché—a literal moth to a flame,” she mocks, her laughter slicing through the void, a cruel echo that never fades. “Sad, really. But it can’t be helped, I suppose—simple creatures know no better.”
My little moth heart thrums frantically, wings beating in desperate rhythm. If only moths could speak, I’d tell this bitch to shut the hell up. But my distorted vision sees only shadows and light, locked on the growing flame ahead—my only hope.
“How exciting. We’ve never been a moth before,” Aenarael whispers, a sadistic delight in her many voices. “Do be careful, my dear. I hear there’s a terrible storm coming.”
At her words, a brutal wind slams into me, jerking me off course like a shopping bag caught in a cyclone. It comes from nowhere and everywhere, twisting the infinite void around me. I spin, caught in the freezing squall, desperate to stay focused on the distant flame.
“Oh no! A hungry sparrow!” she exclaims with false concern. “Hmm, I wonder if your precious hypocrite will save you from nature’s wrath again?” Her laughter mingles with the howling wind, like I’m a toy in the hands of a child in a deranged god’s body.
A chill runs down my fragile exoskeleton, and the fine hairs covering my entire body stand on end. Some knowing, some instinct, forces my wings to still.
A monstrous sparrow swoops past, its razor beak narrowly missing me. Terror floods every fiber of my fragile body as I scramble against the brutal gusts, wings flapping frantically. From the corner of my eye, I see the bird twist in midair,navigating the storm with ease, while I flounder like a paper scrap.
It dives with ruthless precision, its beak opening with the expectation of a delicious Lexie-moth meal. At the last second, I dart upward, propelled by pure panic, feeling its feathers brush against me.
“Olé!” Aenarael cheers, her mocking applause echoing through the dark. “Ack, poor sport. I’m afraid I let my temper get the better of me. Fly, little moth. The way is clear.”
Her words drip with false sweetness. The crushing wind vanishes as suddenly as if a switch had been flicked, and the sparrow dissolves into mist. I seize the fleeting opportunity, not trusting thegoodwillof this cruel God, wings a blur, surging toward the flame—larger now, its warmth calling to me.
“Oops, I forgot,” Aenarael sighs, and my insect blood freezes, bracing for the imminent horror. “There is the matter of that pesky red dragon,” she tsks, the sound echoing ominously hundreds of times. “Although, I know you have a thing for such beasts.”
Red dragon? What the—
My wings falter, betraying me to gravity and terror, as a colossal red dragon erupts in a dazzling explosion of flame. Its scales, shimmering like molten metal, cast an infernal glow that devours the suffocating darkness. A roar—raw, ancient, and furious—shakes the very air, its massive wings unfurling with the sound of worlds breaking, sending spirals of fire lashing outward.
Its eyes, twin furnaces of hatred and hunger, lock onto me.
