CHAPTER 35: MUUKTEL

Alliance Command Dreadnaught "Foremeth"

Luna Orbit

King Muuktel stared out the vast viewport, a twisted smile creeping across his face as he surveyed the level of carnage his fleet had wrought while entering the orbit of the solitary natural satellite that shielded the third planet from the void. The battle had been surprisingly brief, as the Federation’s meager defense fleet was nothing more than a handful of frigates, hardly a match for the might of the Alliance. The Orbital Defense Platforms had posed the most significant threat to the advancing fleet, their ancient, formidable structures unleashing a devastating barrage of missiles and rail darts at the incoming armada. However, fortune smiled upon Muuktel, as several of his destroyers executed precise micro jumps to close the gap with impressive speed, systematically dismantling the automated defenses before they could inflict any serious damage upon the Alliance capital ships.

"My Lord." Mel`Nar, the ever-loyal advisor, bowed deeply upon entering the throne room, his scaled skin glistening under the dim lights.

"What is it, Liege?" Muuktel replied, his tone a mixture of annoyance and curiosity.

"Our forccccesssssss have been defeated at the fourtttthhhhh planet," Mel`Nar hissed, his voice laced with concern as he delivered the grim news.

Muuktel momentarily disregarded the lizard’s report, his eyes fixated on the viewport, unable to tear himself away from the beautiful chaos unfolding before him. The blue and green world revealed itself in all its glory, a breathtaking sight that ignited a sense of awe within him. "Look at that, such a beautiful planet, don't you agree?" he mused, his voice dripping with a twisted appreciation.

MelNar froze for a brief moment, caught off guard by the king's unexpected reverence. He could express his thoughts freely with the Queen, who had always valued his insights, but this new 'King' was an enigma. Muuktel seemed to oscillate between a bloodthirsty mania and a blissful ignorance, traits that left MelNar feeling uneasy in his presence. The king appeared consumed by a thirst for power, relishing the thought of the blue world’s destruction, a stark contrast to Mel`Nar's own preference for the arid desert worlds of Mordic, where the searing heat was at once familiar and comforting. "It issssss my lord," he replied, bowing his head and fabricating a lie to appease the king.

"Why do you always lie to me, Liege?" Muuktel spat with a mix of anger and a strange, soft menace, his gaze piercing through Mel`Nar with an intensity that made the lizard's scales prickle.

"I do not know of whichhhhh you mean, My lord," Mel`Nar stammered, attempting to maintain his composure.

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Muuktel slowly turned to face the Mordechai, towering over him despite Mel`Nar's height advantage, the observation platform elevating the king even further. "You have lied to me ever since I took the throne!" he exclaimed, gripping the hand railings tightly, his frustration boiling over as he spat directly onto MelNar's face.

"I do not undersssssstand!" Mel`Nar's voice trembled, a struggle to suppress his anger and revulsion towards the Almorian king. The spit rolled down his face, invading his nostrils and pooling in his mouth, the surprise of the sweet flavor igniting an unsettling rumbling in his stomach.

"First," the King began, his voice calm yet threatening as he descended the stairs from the observation platform, "you lie to me about the queen. How she can't escape."

"That wa—"

"Silence!" Muuktel roared, and MelNar could almost envision the king's skin turning a vibrant shade of crimson, reflecting the fury that radiated from him. "Then you lie to me about the Sumarians! They wouldn't declare war, they wouldn't get involved at all! Then you lie to me about the Terran forces. 'They don't have enough. Their sh..sh..sh..s.sssssssssips are too primitive,'" Muuktel mocked, mimicking MelNar’s hissing accent, which only served to infuriate the Liege further. "Then! You lie about the Legion."

Confused and frustrated, Mel`Nar broke the silence, desperate to defend himself. "My Lord, what about the Legion have I misssssssssslead?" he asked, his voice barely containing his agitation.

Muuktel laughed, a chilling sound that echoed in the throne room, widening his sinister smile. "Ohh my ignorant friend. You have failed to mention to me the super weapon designed to destroy the Legion."

Mel`Nar racked his brain, desperately searching for any relevant details about a weapon of such magnitude. Only one project flickered to life in his mind, but it was still in the conceptual stages, far from realization. "My Lord, that project is not viable," he insisted, switching to his native language in a bid to communicate more clearly. "Our scientists haven't even built the weapon yet, let alone tested it."

Muuktel closed the distance between them, now standing on the same level, forcing MelNar to look up at him. "What have I told you about speaking in that primitive language?" he spat, his rage palpable. MelNar merely stared back, a low growl escaping his lips as he bared his razor-sharp teeth, weapons designed for tearing flesh. "No matter, I don't care what you said; I have ordered its construction," Muuktel declared, turning away as he walked toward the lower level observation viewports. "Soon the Legion will be no more, the Terrans will finally be eradicated, and the Almorian people will be liberated. Begin landing your troops."

Earth loomed ominously beneath the viewports, smaller ships zipping by, destroying the defense platforms and the turrets mounted on various space stations with ruthless efficiency. An explosion erupted in the distance, blinding Mel`Nar momentarily as the Musk orbital shipyard was reduced to a shower of debris.

"It will be done, my lord." Mel`Nar, still speaking in Mordic, felt the weight of the king's orders upon him, but he had a different plan in mind. He had to tread carefully, orchestrating a calculated assault on the heavily populated planet before a ground force could successfully seize control. His thoughts raced, strategizing the delicate balance between obedience and the necessity of preserving their chances for victory.