Fated to the Alien Chieftain (The Klendathian Cycle #3)

8. Krogoth

Chapter 8

Krogoth

Trigger

I f only I had a plan .

“It must work in a similar fashion to the statues in Sunaisor, some type of trigger,” I suggest, glancing around for any potential clues. I should’ve asked Harkus more about the Mortakin-Tok and how to evoke the judgement of the Gods. There’re so few of the old ones left that have successfully completed the ceremony, leaving me with precious little knowledge.

The mostly rotten wooden offering bowl sits between the two figures of Machsin and Dagdorix. Inside, the bowl contains the decomposed remains of what looks like flowers, and petrified food. Maybe that’s the key? I rummage through my bag and take out some food, relieved I didn’t give Cupcake everything we had.

Pebbles stands next to me, her pretty eyes glued to the offering bowl. “Good idea,” she echoes, helping to hold the satchel as I scour through it.

Slowly, I lower the food into the bowl with the utmost caution, like I’m handling a volatile plasma bomb. As I carefully lift my hands away, we both wait with bated breath.

But nothing happens.

After a prolonged moment, Pebbles glances around the area.

“Anything different?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“What are we missing?” I sigh,

Pebbles looks thoughtful, rubbing on her Elerium necklace as she often does. “What about praying? It worked in Sunaisor.”

I shake my head. “Harkus never mentioned praying.”

Pebbles’ face brightens. “Oh, you asked Harkus? What did he say, exactly?” she asks excitedly.

“He said the priestesses lead him and his Mortakin-Kis to stand beside Machsin and Dagdorix beneath the spiral, and that they embraced.” I scratch my head, trying to remember the exact wording. “Then he said they experienced a vision, which he refused to elaborate on.”

“Embraced?” Pebbles repeats, her eyes examining one of the shadow images cast onto the ground. “If these window projections are any clue, those priestesses would have got quite the eye full,” she says, laughing.

I chuckle, looking at the surprisingly detailed lude shadow image of two Klendathians having sex once again. “Harkus would never mate with so many eyes on him. He’s not the type.”

Pebbles smiles, walking toward me in a sultry way, her beautiful hips swaying visibly even though she’s wearing her golden armor. “There are other ways to embrace,” she teases, her cute pink tongue flashes out to lick her lips.

Gods, she’s beautiful! I close the distance between us in an instant. Pebbles gasps in shock at my speed as I place one arm around her waist and a hand gently on her face. I look down into her large hazel eyes, sparking and reflecting the same need I feel for her. I gently lower my head to rub my nose against hers. The dainty feel of her soft skin produces a sharp inhale from me, causing her to giggle at my reaction.

I interrupt her giggles by moving my lips to massage hers, enjoying the soft, full feeling of them. Greedily, I press for more by probing with my tongue, seeking entry into her, while squeezing her tightly against me. She releases a muffled moan, opening her mouth in gorgeous surrender. I take advantage, seeking the moistness within her. When our tongues meet and caress, I feel the familiar stirring of my cock demanding to be released.

Pebbles pulls away, panting. “I think that qualifies,” she says, fanning her face.

“Qualifies? Oh yes, the trigger.” I smile like a lost fool before remembering what we were doing. Frustration soon replaces my lustful excitement as I look around the area to see nothing has changed. “No signs, no whispers, nothing.” Surely the Gods haven’t forsaken us now?

Pebbles looks down at her hands, her face uncertain. She doesn’t believe it will work. “Krogoth...” she begins, before pausing. She looks up at me, her face full of pity and worry.

“I know what you would say, that the Mortakin-Tok won’t work, that the Gods will not bless our union?” I ask, my voice steady and firm.

Pebbles nods weakly before she glances away, unable to withstand my glare. “I’m sorry, but everyone said it wouldn’t work.” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know much about all these rituals. But Krogoth, it’s never been done before and they said it was extremely rare, even with your own people.” She meets my eyes again, a small smile on her lips. “It doesn’t mean anything, just the way it’s set up to be.”

Anger and disappointment rage within me. “How can you say ‘it doesn’t mean anything?’ After everything we’ve been through?” I turn my back on her, my mind racing.

“Krogoth, I didn’t mean–” she pleads.

“It means everything to me! You mean everything to me!” I shout, turning to face her. A pang of sadness creeps within me, seeing the hurt and worry on her face, but the torrent within me refuses to stop.

“What was the point of all this then? Some cruel joke? That Astraxius died to some voiding scum ridden Glaseroids for nothing? His research, all lies?” A bitter laugh escapes me. “And the visions, tormenting me of your death, who sent them? Just my descent into madness? They came to you also, remember? Madness must be very contagious.”

I pace back and forth, my raw thoughts spilling from me unfiltered. “Why do I feel such overwhelming love for you, yet felt nothing for the thousands of others? From the very first moment I laid eyes on you, it was different. This makes no sense.”

I slump to the ground with my back against the statue of Dagdorix. For the first time in my life, a sense of total loss and hopelessness consumes me. “This was supposed to be a way out, a new future for my people. I betrayed the War Chieftain, led my warriors to their deaths, nearly got you killed, only to lead us here… a temple of broken dreams.” I stare at my trembling hands, the earlier fervor replaced with anguish.

A long moment of silence passes as my stomach twists in knots, grappling with the aftermath of my rare outburst. What will we do now? Will Pebbles want to stay after witnessing such weakness? The sound of her approaching snaps me back to reality.

“Look at me,” she says. I gaze into her moist, glistening eyes. She wears a soft smile behind a sorrowful face, offering me her hand.

I stand, peering down at her before she takes my hand. “I don’t need you, the Gods or anybody to tell me how I feel.” She smiles sweetly, as beautiful as ever. “Because I love you, Krogoth, and I know you love me too.”

My heart fills with affection for her. This is enough for me. To be with her forever, whatever comes our way. “I’ll always love you, Pebbles.” Suddenly the ground shakes and rumbles beneath our feet. We both look around in a panic. That’s when I notice Pebbles and I are both in the exact same pose as the statues of Dagdorix and Machsin. “The trigger was the pose!” I shout excitedly, struggling to be heard over the rumbling of stone.

Realization dawns on Pebbles’ face as her eyes dart between us and the statues. Our circular stone platform shoots upward into the spiraling tower above at unbelievable speed. She clutches onto me as we both glance around, seeing only total darkness. “I don’t like this. I feel like I’m going to vomit,” she says, squeezing me tighter.

I stroke the back of Pebbles’ head gently. “Be brave. The vision comes next,” I say, but when I move to stroke her soft hair again, I feel nothing. In shock, I look down to discover she is gone, and I’m floating suspended in utter, total darkness.

“Where is she?!” I demand. But no sound emerges from my lips. There’s no sound at all. Am I even breathing? Then I feel myself being pulled through the void, hurtling towards some new destination. I can see lights of many colors and hues streaking across the blackness, filling the void with ever-increasing detail and awareness. It builds and builds until I’m somewhere new, a place I’ve never seen before.

My breath is being filtered by a warvisor, my warvisor? My senses are flooded with awareness from the mask. The air here is extremely toxic, poisonous even, not fit for any living creature. This room is like a huge cavernous tunnel, but instead of rock and stone, it’s constructed from dark gray metal. With an overwhelming number of grooves, holes, wires, tubes, it resembles the guts of some enormous monster, but that cannot be.

The tunnel is also completely dark, with not a single source of illumination. If not for my warvisor, I wouldn’t see an inch in front of me. What is this place? There’re others with me, twenty or so Klendathians, by the looks of them. Although, they appear sickly, hunched over, with thin and weak limbs. But it’s hard to be certain underneath their strange garb, triangle shaped suits in garish colors with comically wide shoulders that end in points.

They all carry weapons, ballistic rifles and primitive looking rockets. The sight is strange to my eyes. My war brothers would make quick work of them, maybe even my Prospects could handle them with ease! It’s only when I glance down do I notice, to my chagrin, I’m carrying the same equipment as them, and my body is not my own but is as thin and stooped as they are. Gods give me strength.

They nervously glance around them, mumbling, clearly not used to this strange environment, either. “Where is Pebbles?” I demand, wondering if she is among the group.

“Pebbles, Patriarch?” a red-haired Klendathian asks, his accent strange. There’s a haughty, arrogant tone to it. Each syllable is drawn out as if to deliberately waste time.

“A female, Rocks or Roxy?” I ask, looking around the masked faces, hoping she can hear me. “Pebbles, are you here?”

“I’m not aware of anyone by that name,” red-hair says, with a quick glance around. “But Patriarch, time is of the essence. We must strike now, before all is lost.”

This vision must be some kind of test, or a glimpse into our ancient history. They look to me as some kind of leader. If I play the part, surely Pebbles and our union will be blessed by the Gods. “What’s the situation?” I ask, determined to lead this rag-tag bunch of weaklings.

“Patriarch?” Red-hair asks, concern lacing his voice, before he turns to another Klendathian with long blue hair, who’s even smaller and slimmer. “Exarcha Dranuxia, can you examine the Patriarch? I fear the temporal displacement has interfered with his recollection.”

“At once, Exarch,” Dranuxia says, her voice soft, yet strange like the other one.

A female? If only the environment wasn’t so toxic, I could look upon a real Klendathian female for the first time since my childhood. She approaches quickly, waving her hands over me, which pulsates with a strange green glow. I flinch back at the strangeness of it. “Relax Dagdorix, you expended a lot of psionic power, teleporting us.” Dagdorix? Teleporting? Surely such a thing is impossible? And such blasphemy to be named after a God. Who would be so arrogant?

But I dare not ask more questions that seem obvious to them, fearing they may dismiss me as deranged. “You are completely healthy,” she says quietly, before turning back to Red-hair “Exarch Arawnoth, there is nothing physically wrong with him, but no one’s ever created a temporal displacement of this size before so who’s to say what the side effects might be?” She shrugs.

I’m Dagdorix. Red-hair is Arawnoth, and she is Dranuxia? A ll names of the Gods. My heart thumps in my chest, realization dawning on me. I observe my surroundings once again, noticing the strange alien machine technology. This must be the last battle against the Machine Gods, as told in our stories and murals. But rather than the majestic heroic titans immortalized in stone, they stand as confused weaklings. Do we worship these people? I push the troublesome thoughts from my mind. Now is not the time.

“Where are the others?” someone from the group asks.

Arawnoth looks around. “Matriarch Machsin, and the others, are not present?” He asks, worry in this voice.

“They must be somewhere else on the mastership, if they made it at all,” Dranuxia says, looking at me, as if I know the answer.

“Then all is lost. Without her, we cannot locate the Void Bringer,” Arawnoth laments his shoulders, sagging.

My pulse rises witnessing his defeatist attitude. Such negativity must be purged lest it infect the other warriors crushing their will to fight. I grip Arawnoth by his silly looking collar. “Nothing is lost. We haven’t even engaged the enemy yet you sulk like a beaten borack. Grab your balls and follow me.”

“Yes... Patriarch... at once,” he stammers out, if not for the mask, I think there’d be tears leaking from his eyes.

I head along the tunnel walkway, watching like an arrohawk for any movement from the thousands of potential hiding places within the walls. My warvisor's range is extremely limited, not able to penetrate beyond the walls. The Machine God must have devised a way to blunt their effectiveness.

Thankfully, the others follow closely behind. I do not know where I’m going, but waiting here will not help; unfortunately this Void Bringer is not going to kill itself. Contacting Machsin is the number one priority, if she can lead the way and provide some reinforcements, so much the better. I glare back at my ‘warriors’ ruefully. Hopefully, her warriors are of better quality.

Suddenly, the clanking of metal on metal draws my attention. “Incoming!” I shout, feeling my breaths quicken. What foes will the legendary Machine God send? My warvisor floods my senses. There are hundreds, no thousands, of non-life entities emerging from networks of tiny tunnels embedded within the walls, like insects from a hive.

“Engage,” I roar, firing my strange ballistic weapon at the tinkling mass. The walkway erupts into the snaps and bangs of primitive projectiles being launched at high speeds towards the robots. The skittering eight-legged machines, while small, move with impressive speed, low to the ground. They scurry carrying a single green optic platform and two forelimbs. One looks to be a cutting device while the other has strong pincers.

Our attacks are effective, seeing the bullets shred and rip off limbs and crush their optics. I’m relieved to see they don’t possess advanced shields. But at this rate, we’ll be overrun quickly.

“Keep moving! Keep moving!” I roar over the carnage. A conflagration erupts amongst the horde of drones, which I can barely take my eyes off, as it dances and weaves along the walls as if it has a mind of its own. Breaking my trance, I look around to see Arawnoth with his hands outstretched, glowing red and moving as if directing the inferno.

What in the void? But I barely have time to think, as I push the warriors past me, urging them to keep running down the tunnel, with any luck, towards an exit and away from the creeping death. “Go, go!” I shout. My warriors fall into a pattern of firing and moving, firing and moving. It’s effective, but still not enough.

More and more machines creep out of the crevices. It seems for every one destroyed, another two take its place. We’ll have to seal them in here or we’ll be chased down like helpless prey. I fire off a quick burst from my weapon, smiling with satisfaction at seeing my target explode into a shower of broken pieces.

I quickly pick out another target and pull the trigger. Panic grips my chest, as the only sound is the clacking of my weapon’s empty chamber. Turning the weapon over, I quickly pull and haul at it, trying to figure out where the ammunition clip goes and where the release mechanism is. “Useless thing!” I shout in frustration.

In my distraction, I fail to notice I’m the straggler; the others, having taken my advice, are rushing further down the walkway deeper into the tunnel. Relief washes over me to see in the distance some kind of circular door that looks somewhat like an Iris. I rush to catch up, clutching my rifle around the nozzle like it’s some kind of strange club.

I can hear the machine’s needle-like legs scraping close by. The whistles of bullets zooming past my head tells me all I need to know. First, that the machines are right behind me and second, my warriors are a bunch of trigger-happy novices. I dash with my head down to join the rest of the group as we huddle pressed against the door. “Get that door open!” I roar.

The machines are upon us. I can see their sparking green eyes gleaming in the darkness. My eyes mist purple as I feel the Rush building in me, my blood boils and muscles tense. I try to extend my claws, but horrified, realize I cannot feel them. Where my claws should be, is only a hollow, lacking. A phantom of something lost.

Roaring, I rally to my surprise by bringing my club-like rifle down on top of the nearest machine. It smashes to pieces as my rifle suffers huge dents. But I hardly notice, as I leap towards the next opponent and swipe it off the walkway to crash back down against the tunnel walls. Moving feels awkward and strange, almost as if I’m stuck in a dream, only able to drift. It’s this body! Soft and untested, it lacks the strength and speed that a true Klendathian possesses.

My novel club is no more, smashed to bits on the enemy. I discard the broken nozzle to roll away from a sparking cutting tool of a machine to pick up a piece of broken robot leg as my new weapon. Other Klendathians have joined the fray using whatever is at hand to crush and break the machines. Some dishonor us all by shying away, pressing hard and desperately, in a huddled frightened mass against the locked door.

We’re all going to die if we don’t get that door open! I’m already covered in many searing cuts. Others have already fallen, brave but awkward as they attack. Machines crawl up their legs, piling over one another in a frenzied rush to scorch and crush us. I watch as a war brother is dragged screaming, his cries of pain drowned by the swarm of machines over the walkway, plunging to his inevitable demise.

I fight as best I can with the skill and experience from centuries of battles, but this body lacks the strength and endurance I’m used to. Already I’m huffing and gasping for breath, lacking even my claws for defense. Swatting away another few machines over the walkway as they scramble over the top of some poor soul. I witness a grisly scene below. Lifeless eyes stare upward as he lies sliced open from groin to neck.

A scorching pain shoots through my mind, as a robot clamps onto my ankle and burns a hole into my leg forcing me to the ground. I bash the thing to pieces in my furious agony, but before I can attempt to rise more machines come to take its place, rushing over to crawl on top of me. Dozens of brutal needles of pain pierce my mind as I feel them cutting into me, killing me.

My eyes burn with furious rage, the purple mist so thick it obscures my vision. In my dying agony, I do not think, only act. With a tug on my mind like I’m projecting some wispy part of me into the structure itself, pulling and yanking it, I force the door to bend to my will, forcing it open. At the back of my physical consciousness, I can hear the gasps of the other warriors.

I raise a shaking, dying hand, a purple glow surrounding it. I project my hatred and will onto the swarming machines, wanting nothing more than to crush them. Suddenly, an invisible force pulls them all together, yanking them from the walkway and walls, suspended in a ball of skittering metal as thousands upon thousands of them are pressed together. Tighter, tighter! I command. The mass begins to screech and pop as the pressure builds higher and higher.

The others gasp, as I watch in wonder myself, unsure what and how I’m doing this. I can still see the machines twitching. They’re still functional, so they must be further crushed. The ball of compressed machines increasingly implodes with each passing second, the force overwhelming until there’s nothing but a single dense ball of matter that could fit in the palm of my hand.

I laugh weakly as I feel my life fading away. “Hurry, bring him inside.” I hear a voice say, as I’m half lifted, half dragged across the walkway through the iris-like doorway. Why can’t they just let me die in peace? My body is awash with scorching burns and open wounds, showing exposed bone and organs.

My vision is blurry as I struggle to remain conscious. “Don’t worry Patriarch, I’ll take care of you,” a soft voice says. A blue fuzzy glow swims at the edge of my vision, filling me with a warm sensation.

A pleasant sensation.