[Lord Stanley]

CHAPTER SEVEN

The instant Klot exited the gladiator’s section of the stadium, he was met with a rousing ovation of hisses and sneers from the crowd of Vamps, all baring their teeth in a display of their widespread approval. He accepted their enthusiasm with slight nods toward various dignitaries spread among the crowds, giving little bits of acknowledgement toward those in charge.

He did not smile. He was not just happy that he had beaten the Zyxlag and become the greatest gladiator in the history of the Vamp Empire, he had been the greatest Fangus ever to exist, surpassing all achievements set by his entire species before him. Just the thought of that was staggering, to say the least…except that he’d known he was greater since his birth.

I am Fangus Klot, he thought to himself, and imagined shouting it aloud. Fear and honor me as I am due.

Suddenly, the hissing of the crowds ceased, and a long line began to form in the crowds. Klot recognized what was happening: one of the important Vamps had arrived and the others were forming an aisle for him and his guards to walk through.

The guards were taller Vamps than normal, dressed in shining silver armor and wielding strange guns that looked more organic than object, faint wisps of blue energy lacing up and down the twisting barrels. These Vamps were the best of the best, their faces concealed behind HUDs of helmets: the Imperial Guard.

Behind them came Emperor Essir himself. Or, as Klot usually thought of him, Emperor Fathead.

Essir was not the fittest of Vamps; not only was he quite round around the waist, his tall batlike ears were slightly drooped, as if he were not strong enough to keep them at full-mast all the day. Still, there was no denying that his apparel was regal enough; from the way the garments shimmered and slid around his wide frame, Klot estimated they must have cost more than a million denarcs.

Out of protocol rather than respect, Klot bowed his head and bent his knee in obeisance to the ruler of the Vamp Empire. “My emperor,” he said quietly.

The Imperial Guard spread out, forming a semicircle around Essir’s sides and back, staring coldly at the crowds of Vamps that surrounded the emperor. The Inrik guns they carried seemed to pulse brighter as they were turned slowly to point at many of the Vamps, as if the Inriks themselves longed for their wielders to pull the triggers.

“Gladiator Klot,” Essir returned. His voice was deep rather than high, an oddity in Vamps, but one that made him sound impressive – his voice was not unlike that of Klot himself. “You understand that you have surpassed all beforegone records and defeated the challenges of the arena.”

“I do.”

Essir shook his head slowly. “Then you must also understand that I have no further use for you.”

Klot felt his blood run cold as ice. “What?”

“A gladiator who has no further challenges is of no entertainment to anyone,” Essir said. “You must remember, Klot, that you are but a slave; to give you wealth and peace for the rest of your life would be merciful…too merciful.”

Klot slowly rose to his feet; he stood a good half-head taller than the emperor, and his muscles stood out like cords on his arms. “I could kill you where you stand –”

“And my guards would kill you in return.” The emperor shook his head. “Do not pretend to be serious, Klot.”

Essir leaned forward and said softly, “I have not yet said what is to become of you.”

Klot breathed in and out deeply. “I am a slave. You would have me return to that life and help build your empire.”

The most unexpected thing happened: Essir began to laugh. The Vamp sound for disapproval was not at all what Klot had been expecting, for it meant he had given the emperor the wrong answer. Slowly, the crowd around them also began to laugh – not because they understood, but because they always had to agree with their emperor.

“Look at this wretch,” Essir scorned. “He thinks I would ever let him live.”

Klot felt his breath leave him. “You…what?”

“You heard me.” The emperor folded his hands behind his back and turned to walk away. “Guards? Execute him.”

* * *