Bah, more pointless distractions!
With careful hands, I pry her from my leg, her small frame reluctant to release me.
“Please, don’t leave me, Dracoth!” she pleads, her voice trembling, her blue eyes shimmering with desperation. Her words stir something deep within me again, and unconsciously, I shift my warvisor, revealing my face to her—a gesture I cannot explain.
“I will return with the others,” I promise with a solemn nod. She watches me, her wide eyes full of trust and fear. Whirling to leave, I lower my mask, knowing I must be quick to reach them before they depart with the other two females—the one who speaks endless madness and the other angry spitting hydralith.
The sour idea of letting the Whores Orphans keep the troublesome pair wrinkles my brow in amusement.But no. They belong to me, and the junkers must pay with their lives.
I charge down the corridor like a rampaging aurodon. The frightened scent of my females twitches my nose, including the musky stench of excited males who dare touch what is mine. It’s an affront to my maleness, a challenge that they dare encroach upon my territory, taking what belongs to me. The thought drives me faster, drawing my fangs out.
I will rend the flesh from their bones and scatter their remains across the void.
There are seven of them, various species. A Tuskarian carries one female over his shoulder, while a Jungarian and Argorian prod another along, who’s suffering injuries, including a concussion.How brave these so-called warriors are, brutalizing weak females.I will enjoy watching them quake in terror, witnessing the blood and bone of their comrades coming to haunt them, before adding them to my belt.
The group halts, perhaps sensing my approach is near. It’s no matter; nothing can stop me now. “Fire!” A gruff voice shouts just as I round the corner. My arc shield surges to life, flashing brilliant blue, casting shimmering reflections across the black metal walls.
The clang of their pulsar fire and bullets echoes around the corridor like the desperate clamor of prey struggling for survival.
“What the void is that monster?” A terrified voice cuts through the chaos, their question mingling with the futile snaps of energy weapons. My claws twitch with jerky, berserker rage, longing to tear out their throats.
The impact of their weapons thud into my plasma shield like a strong breeze. Their primitive ballistic bullets melt into molten droplets as they touch my shield, the pulsar waves fizzing and disintegrating before they can breach my defense.
I smirk behind my warvisor, seeing my prey’s pulses rise as they realize the inevitable—their deaths.
Close now, I leap, crashing like a comet among them. A tiny skittering Glaseroid is the first to die, its fragile body crushed beneath my boots in a sickening crunch.
A sadistic smirk twists my face, my heart soars. Buoyed by Arawnoth, his molten soul roars within me lifting me higher and hotter. I can almost feel his presence, whispering in myear urging me to unleash my wrath, each kill, each slaughter a glorious tribute to his seething divinity.
The blonde female, her silver eyes narrowing with a look of elation on her face.It pleases me. She’s a mirror to my molten soul, the offering of blood and bone to Arawnoth just beginning.I waste no time driving my claws into a cream-colored Jungarian, lifting his torn, twitching remains high into the air. Blood rains down, soaking the floor beneath us.
An Argorian and Crongarian continue to fire, but I have a new shield now. Their bullets slam into the mangled remains of their comrade, his body jerks, absorbing the impact before I hurl it at them with brutal force. The wet thud of flesh against metal echoes as the pair topple to the ground, screaming in horror and disbelief.
Among the chaos, the fierce dark-haired female, despite her hands being bound, scrambles, trying to wrestle a gun from the trapped and stunned Argorian.
I turn my attention to the two remaining Argorians. They exchange a look, their bladed weapons quivering in shaky hands.Pathetic, their resolve now running down their legs in steaming streams.
“Don’t!” one of them begs, his voice cracking.
I silence his irksome begging by slashing my claw through his scaly throat, nearly severing his head.
Such a weak species.
The other throws down his weapon before turning to flee. He doesn’t make it far, my long claws raking down his back, shredding through flesh and bone until he falls in a bloody, spurting heap. Glorious gore coats the walls and floor, filling the air with the scent of victory.
Meanwhile, the fierce female has finally wrenched the gun from the fallen Argorian’s grasp. She rises smoothly to her feet,her gaze cold and focused, before executing him and his trapped comrade with precise bursts to the head.
She is a warrior.
“You voiding stop!” The last Tuskarian’s voice drips with barely contained terror. I turn to face him, my blood still burning with rage. He holds a weapon against the temple of my blonde female, her body rigid with fear. “Or I’ll splatter this meat’s brains all over this cursed ship!” My blood flares at this rank offense, at his cowardice.
The fierce female aims her gun at the Tuskarian, causing him to recoil, switching to face the two of us in frantic motions. “Put down the voiding gun!” he snarls at her, glaring. My warvisors reveal the extent of his terror, his heart pounding like thunder atop the Peaks of Scarn.
He’s weak and fearful. He will not survive.
I gesture for the fierce female to lower her weapon. She hesitates for a brief moment, eyes narrowed, then mutters under her breath, “Cabrón.” The word is unknown to me, but the disdain in her tone is clear. She slowly lowers her gun.
The Tuskarian exhales, foolishly thinking he’ll live. He begins to back away, dragging the blonde female with him, his gun still pressed to her temple. He has no idea of the doom that awaits him.
