Page 36 of Survivor
“She is right, my son. We cannot hide from this. We must face it... together.”
Vysar took his position at Vraxxan’s side, his spine straight as a blade, radiating a regal pride. Despite his time in exile, he still retained the presence of a king. I looked at these two men—these warriors who had claimed pieces of my heart—and felt my own spine stiffen with resolve, a fierce pride swelling in my chest.
The giant ship descended through the atmosphere with terrifying grace, like a bird of prey gliding toward attack. It touched down in the nearby clearing with barely a whisper—a deceptive gentleness that made the hairs on my neck rise—disturbing the surrounding trees no more than a lover’s sigh would ruffle bedsheets.
The ramp descended with agonizing slowness, each inch accompanied by the synchronized footfalls of the guards erupting from the ship’s shadows. Their leather uniforms clung to muscular frames, identical to what Vraxxan wore when we first met, yet more menacing in their uniformity. Like Vraxxan, or at least how Vraxxan used to be, bright colors wove into their black scales. They stood unnaturally still, spines rigid, their clawed hands resting on ornate sword hilts—not casually, but with practiced readiness.
Then she descended.
I didn’t expect her to be so beautiful. There should be some cosmic rule demanding that evil manifest physically, that the corruption of the soul twist the flesh and not hide behind stunning beauty.
She towered with predatory grace, her silhouette hauntingly similar to a human female but stretched taller, more powerful, and much more dangerous. Obsidian scales covered her form, not merely black but reflecting light like polished glass. Her pale golden eyes—cold as distant stars—swept over us with calculating intelligence from a face carved with cruel perfection. An intricate crown of golden braids, each twist suggesting both vanity and power, adorned her head. She wore a long, sleeveless red vest over black leggings and a wide belt scattered with weapons and equipment cinched her waist.
At her side, bound by a golden collar and chain that bit into scaled flesh, crawled a male Zarpazian. The azure scales across his chest showed a battlefield of lacerations and bruises and dried blood and filth clung to almost every inch of his flesh. At sight of the male, I felt Vraxxan tense, a low, guttural, rage-filled growl vibrating in his chest. Diarvet. It had to be Diarvet.
I watched her golden gaze methodically assess everything, lingering first on Seibring’s broken corpse. Her expression transformed from contempt to visceral disgust, as though offended not by his death but by the inconvenience of being failed so completely. Her attention drifted to the treehouse, dismissing it with a contemptuous shrug that somehow conveyed more disdain than words ever could before finally settling on the three of us.
Vraxxan moved to put himself fully in front of me, as though he didn’t even want the touch of his mother’s gaze to sully my skin.
Her pale eyes widened at the sight of him, genuine shock fracturing her composed facade for a heartbeat. Then thetransformation came—her features rearranged into a smile so malevolent, so filled with a dark promise that the blood seemed to freeze in my veins.
“My son.” Her voice sliced through the air, haughty and arrogant. “You have finally utilized all those years of training and shifted your scales. I am positively euphoric to witness this transformation.”
Vraxxan released a guttural sound of revulsion at her words. Vysar moved deliberately to his son’s side, their shoulders touching in silent, unwavering solidarity.
The queen’s blood-red lips twisted into a cruel smile as she assessed her former mate and king with cold calculation, then fixed her predatory gaze exclusively on Vraxxan.
“I had planned to extract your screams through exquisite torture before ending your miserable life for your treasonous acts,” she declared, with the casual indifference of discussing the weather. “Butthis...thischanges everything. Now that you bear my likeness, you can ascend to your rightful place beside me as my true heir and take your brother’s place in the kingdom.”
A low chuckle escaped Vraxxan’s lips, more humorous than I would have expected, given the situation.
“I am nothing like you, Mother. Nor am I anything like Vreses,” Vraxxan proclaimed, his voice resonating with iron conviction. I watched as every sinew and muscle in his back and shoulders coiled with determination.
The Queen’s features momentarily contorted with bewilderment. “You are precisely like me. You have found the will and power to transform your scales.”
Vraxxan extended his arms outward, and I witnessed his body morph, gaining height and muscle. “My shift came not from force of will. It was bestowed upon me by the goddess. A blessing that allows me to protect my true mate.”
“The goddess ceased giving such blessings centuries ago.” The queen dismissed the idea with a contemptuous flick of her talon-like fingers.
“She has blessed me... and Lucy,” Vraxxan announced, his voice thundering with unmistakable pride.
Shock paralyzed the queen’s features for a heartbeat before she swiftly regained her composure. Her penetrating gaze found me, despite Vraxxan’s protective bulk.
“A human?” The cackle that erupted from her throat reverberated through the humid jungle air. “The goddess would never debase herself by conferring a blessing upon a creature so utterly worthless.” She dismissed me with another disdainful gesture. “Once she lies dead, you will realize that your transformation stemmed from your own innate power and become the king you are destined to be.”
“You will not harm my mate,” Vraxxan warned, his voice dropping to a menacing rumble as his body seemed to expand several more inches in height, his presence becoming even more imposing.
The queen’s expression shifted to one of bored impatience, as if Vraxxan’s defiance was merely a tedious inconvenience. Her head tilted almost imperceptibly, and the command she issued to her guards slithered through the air like a snake. “Bring me the human.”
Vysar’s iron grip closed around my wrist, yanking me away from where Vraxxan braced to confront the approaching guards.
“They can’t shift, can they?” I whispered, fear clawing at my insides as my heart plummeted to the depths of my stomach.
“No,” Vysar assured me, positioning himself protectively before me. “None of the guards possess the ability to shift their scales. It’s how she maintains such absolute control over them.”
The thundering steps of the dozen or so guards descending the ramp hammered through the air like a war drum. Despite their numbers and skill, they were no match for Vraxxan. By the time the guards reached him, he’d transformed into a behemoth three times the size of a normal Zarpazian male. His muscles rippled with raw power as he plowed through his attackers like a grizzly swatting away bees, their bodies crumpling and flying through the air.
Witnessing her warriors scattered like broken toys, the queen’s pale eyes narrowed with cold calculation. Her pale lips pursed, and she released a faint, chilling whistle. Within a heartbeat, a mass of armed guards—a hundred or more warriors poured forth from the spaceship.
