“That well?” Ignixis mocks, and not for the first time, I wonder if he can read my thoughts. The subject annoys me—a constant source of consternation that occupies too much of mymind. Things were simpler before these females arrived. A life of battle and death—the death of my enemies, delivered with brutal efficiency. A glorious destiny as War Chieftain, bathing the galaxies in flames. Now smothered by a shroud of weakness and fragility that cannot be dismissed, but must be navigated.
“When does this... captain arrive?” I change the subject, the wordcaptaincatching in my throat—too good for a cowardly space junker.
“Patience, young Dracoth,” Ignixis replies, his withered fingers steepled as he takes a seat at the table. “And keep your... fiery blood in check. No need to go painting the walls again,” he adds with a sneer.
“They’re fortunate I let them keep their pathetic lives!” I snarl, my hand crashing down on the table, anger flaring at his audacity to command me. “And they dare request an audience withme! As if they have earned the honor.”
Ignixis remains silent for a moment, then exhales deeply. “There are a hundred and twelve ships remaining. Fifty with actual crews, such as they are. All light fighters and modified transports. I’ve had the young warriors dock the empty ones, scouring for anything of value.”
“Anything of note?” I ask, expecting little.
“Few credits here and there. They’re junkers. I’m amazed they had the Elerium for such a horde,” Ignixis explains, his words irking me. Such a waste of time, offering nothing new. Why should I concern myself with this? This is the realm of logistics and quartermasters. I should be training in the halls or... checking on the females...
I almost balk at the intrusive thought.Why did that come to mind?
“You have this well in hand, Ignixis,” I mutter, turning to leave as the war room door swooshes open, revealing three rag-tag aliens. A cream-skinned Tuskarian in an oversized coat and twoArgorians clad in dirty polymer pants and jackets. Their eyes travel up my form as I glare down at them, my contempt twisting my lip.
Their mouths move soundlessly, betraying their frightened hearts. Can they sense it? The souls of their fallen brethren clinging to my waist. Yes. Their eyes reveal much. This is what the other pathetic junkers saw before I snapped their spines and added them to my belt. Any excuse, and I will reenact that joyous slaughtering.
“Sit,” Ignixis spits, gesturing to the trio with a smile that doesn’t reach his glowing green eyes. The three move to obey, glancing nervously between him and me.
“I’m Captain... Balsar, and these two are—” the Tuskarian mutters as he takes a seat. I remain standing, pacing behind them like a stalking venefex.
“What is it you want, Balsar?” Ignixis interrupts, drumming his retracted claws on the table. “We are rather busy.” He turns to me with an ominous smirk that oozes menace. “There are pressing matters of the heart to contend with.” My anger flares at the old gas-clouds tiresome provocations.
“Matters of the heart?” The Tuskarian exchanges an uneasy look with his brethren, who offer him nothing—hardly surprising. I can hear their hearts pounding in their chests, smell the stench of fear oozing from their glands. “Well… I’ll not take much of your time.” He nods, as if trying to convince himself. “See, me and the lads were talking... about this... ah... situation.” He emits a nervous laugh that hangs awkwardly in the air, alone and dying.
He reaches into his long jacket, and my claw is at his throat in a nanosecond. His two so-called brethren recoil, abandoning him. Pointless. I would kill them too.
“Peace,” the Tuskarian mutters, his hands raised in meek surrender. “My top pocket, a gesture... of our... commitment,” hewheezes, my sharp claw pressing into his neck, forcing him to remain deathly still.
“Idoenjoy gifts,” Ignixis claps his hands in exaggerated excitement, startling the two Argorians. “Sadly, if you’re fortunate enough to reach my age, gifts are few and far between.” He lets out an exaggerated pained sigh.
“That’s... everything we have...” Balsar glances at his companions. The two Argorians beside him, despite their blank, white eyes, seem to wish they were anywhere but here. “And our... those patches... they’re to show we’re no longer part of the Orphanage.” His frantic eyes darting between Ignixis and me.
I retract my claw, letting it trace across his oversized collar and shoulder with deliberate slowness. Balsar shudders under my touch, his tusked, snouted face quivering.
Ignixis leans in, his expression twisted in exaggerated scrutiny, savoring every moment of their discomfort. Typical of the old gas-cloud, always prolonging the torment when he senses weakness.
“Oh, I was hoping for something... tastier,” Ignixis purrs, flashing a yellow, fanged grin that hovers menacingly in the dim light. Balsar offers a shaky smile in return, but it melts away as Ignixis’s face shifts to a sudden predatory glare. “Let’s see how sweet your gift truly is,” he sneers.
With a flick of his withered, tattooed hand, Ignixis snatches the credit chit and scans it with his wrist console. I watch the old gas-cloud carefully—our meager resources have dwindled, neither of us being wealthy enough to fund my ambitions.
“Fifty thousand credits...” he declares after a moment, something akin to joy or perhaps relief surges through me—a pleasing amount. “And what is it you hope to buy with this, Captain?”
“I... we... wouldn’t dare presume to buy anything,” Balsar stammers, his eyes darting to his fellow pirates. An astuteanswer. We Klendathians are warriors, not greedy, honorless merchants. “We just thought...” He takes a large gulp of air, the scent of his fear clogs the air, swirling like mists of despair. “You’d let us be on our way.”
“Oh?” Ignixis raises a hairless brow, his glowing emerald eyes flicking to me for a heartbeat. I renew my pacing behind the trio, my heavy arcweave plate armor clanging, the bones of his former comrades jingling like a macabre wind chime. The sound melds with their frantic breaths and the thudding of their terrified hearts.
Ignixis, the old dramatist, loves to draw these moments out, while my hands itch as the Rush roars, scalding my veins, craving release—craving carnage.
“I findthesegifts more pleasing,” Ignixis rummages through the pile of emblems, all frayed and crusted in grime. “This means more than you realize... Captain.” The old gas-cloud begins shredding the patches with his claws. “You no longer serve the Whores Orphans. You serveusnow.”
“You?” Balsar recoils as if stuck—not by me—he’d not survive my power. The Argorians mutter anxiously, whispering the wordKlendathianslike a frightened prayer.
“Klendathians?” Balsar echoes, a frown creasing his brow. “But... you... fight for the...” He stumbles, struggling for the right words—but there are none. “We’re just simple mercenaries, not soldiers piloting great battleships—”
My patience is at its end. Listening to this defeated fool prattle on endlessly, as if he has earned the right to speak or choose. I have more important matters to attend to—the females. I step closer, letting my shadow fall over them, forcing them to bask in my glory and strength.
