“Oh, no, young Dracoth.” Ignixis replies, a twisted smirk curling his blackened lips. “For your… condition, something much simpler was required. I merely induced vomiting to purge the absurd quantities of bloodroot you foolishly consumed.” He watches my reaction with predatory joy as the putrid taste of spoiled meat returns with ominous timing. “A special concoction I brewed just for you.” His fangs gleam like avipertail’sstinger about to strike. “Zirix gathered the ingredients—made easier thanks to the generous amounts of... material you left splattered across our walls.”
Dry retching folds me over, the horrid taste now overwhelming, as the image of being force-fed my pathetic enemies’ flesh grips my mind. I can almost feel it writhing in my guts, being digested, carried around my bloodstream, infusing my muscles with rank weakness—like a vile virus infecting both my mind and my body. Yet no matter how hard I gag, nothing escapes.
“It’s quite safe,” Ignixis continues. His cackling joins the cacophony of my useless gagging, twisting my stomach further, my rage building like molten lava pressing against the fragile dam of my restraint. “Aneloquentsolution, if I do say so myself. You should be thanking me,boy.”
I straighten, snarling, the relief of vomiting denied to me.
“Let me return the favor,” I growl, each syllable dripping with seething fury.
Ignixis’s mocking laughter dies, the embers of his arrogance snuffed out by the inferno rising within me. I lunge toward him, and his sneer withers into wide-eyed fear.
“Wait!” he squeals, his voice breaking as I grab him by his tattered black robes, lifting him as easily as a sack of bones. He squirms like cornered vermin, thrashing against my grip, but it’s futile. “Dracoth, no!” He flails pathetically as I drag him toward the healing pod. “This is forbidden for an Elder!” he bleats like a beatenborack.
With one swift motion, I bundle him inside, sealing the door shut. It’s amusing he fights so hard to escape what others would be begging for. The sound of his feeble fists thumping against the polymer screen subsides quickly; even he knows this is our last working pod. I smirk at the old gas-cloud, enjoying the disdain and alarm twisting his face and darting his eyes.
“You’re an Elder no longer.” I sneer, reminding him of his shame, my voice seething with finality. With one final press on the medical console, the green healing mist begins to pour into the pod, bathing the old gas-cloud in blissful fumes, his struggles lessen, becoming whimsical motions of awe.
He’s the one who should be thanking me.
Having already wasted enough time on the old fool, I exit the medical lab.
Time to discover what this female seeks.
Chapter 14
Dracoth
Warmer
First,Idressinsimple brown warrior robes, then after I drink and eat as much as my stomach can hold, trying to wash away the putrid taste and memories of Ignixis’s sacrilege. He thinks he’s clever, the old gas-cloud—another one of his lessons, coated with venomous barbs. But I had the last laugh, and now he’ll think twice before crossing me again.
Now I march towards the human female’s cell, the sound of heavy footsteps echoing through the dim, purple corridor, butlackingthe full weight of my armor. That gruesome attire rests back in my quarters along with... my belt. If that is the correct name for such a magnificent, grisly trophy. These weak females already tremble at the sight of me. There’s no need to heighten that fear, a stench so rank it wrinkles my nose and seems topermeate the walls, seeping into the very metal like trapped spirits.
While strength oozes from my every pore. These females fear such power. It’s foreign to them. Earth produces nothing but soft, useless things—a place too safe, too irrelevant, growing weak and complacent, never prepared for the horrors that lurk in the universe.
Horrors like me.
Heat builds beneath my skin, and my eyes leak faint wisps of Rush attheirritating memory of past failures. I exhale, forcing my fists to unclench, rolling my shoulders back as I clear my mind. No—this time I will try a different approach. A Chieftain must adapt. Only a fool repeats the same flawed tactic and expects victory. I’ll need a new strategy—something unexpected, even meekness, if it will serve my ends. And if it fails, it will still provide valuable information.
As I near the cell, thearcweavebars come into view, a looming barrier between me and my prey. A strange sensation churns in my chest—something resembling apprehension. It’s maddening that such puny specimens could stir this in me, where even a hundred junkers could not.
Their nervous whispers fall silent as they hear me approach, the air inside thick with held breaths and anxious energy.
I stop before the bars, staring down at them, seeing them straighten with rapt attention. They sit apart from one another, wrapped in theborackfurs I left them, appearing like little pretty heads perched atop fuzzy mounds—totems to fragility. All except the one called Carmen—the spittinghydralith. She stands near the bars, her defiant gaze meeting mine head-on, wrapped in those strange, mottled clothes of hers.
Earlier, as I dressed, fragments from yesterday’s rampage returned to me, like flashes from a wonderful dream. It was entertaining, reliving each kill. Every blow delivered felt likemy initial experience of it. But the end intrigued me most—my interactions with the females, learning most of their names, their brief display of trust, before I lost consciousness. Somehow, Ignixis managed to undo that slight progress. Based on how he treats me, an ally, I can only imagine what calamity he’s brought about for me to fix.
“What do you want,pendejo?” Carmen spits, her eyes running up and down my towering frame, contempt etched on her face, as if unimpressed by what she sees—a warrior of unparalleled strength.
Imeether challenge with a smoldering glare. It’s amusing, she thinks to judge me. By what right does thepuffriojudge thearrohawk? The weak to judge the strong? None. Still, her insults have lessened today. Normally, by now, my ears would be assaulted by a series of frantic, incoherentbabble.
Progress?
Before I can respond, the pleasingly plump female—Princesa, is her name from what I recall—bristles, casting off her furs to stand. A faint smile curls my lip, seeing her curves bounce, almost spilling from her strange pink clothes. The modifications I made were meant to teach her a lesson in humility, and now they’re a distracting feast for my eyes.
“Shut up, Carmen!” Princesa snaps, her odd pale complexion flushing crimson, a pale reflection of my own molten skin. “Unless you want to get us all shot again!” The blonde female gestures to the other females,wavingher arms dramatically.
My gaze sweeps over the other humans, pausing on the one who names meOni. She watches me with curious dark eyes, chewing upon a jellied ration. There’s a strange calmness to her now, a stark contrast to when she first arrived, with endless tears that fell like aDraxxiwaterfall.
