CHAPTER TWELVE
Fangus Klot had never thought that anything could possibly hurt as much as he hurt now. As an experienced gladiator – the most skilled and most proficient fighter in the entire Vamp empire – he had gone through his share of pain, both in training and in battles, and in the fight for his honor. He had felt pain from herding his Demon Sheep, and had felt pain from the rough and uncaring hand of his father, Fangus Horrd.
But never had he felt the pain of death before. He had suffered bolts from seven different Inriks. Seven. Just one, when fired in the right spot, would kill the organic tissue and end a life, but he had taken seven. He had blacked out from the pain instants after suffering the seventh blow, and now, though he could not see, could feel the pain. He could feel exactly where the Inrik bolts had struck his body and killed his flesh.
But for some weird, odd reason, he was still alive. Inriks had been made to kill living things, and they had always done so with Vampish precision, but he had survived.
And he knew why he had survived, too. It wasn’t that Fate had wanted him for some other purpose than to end up as dead meat after a promising career; it was because he was strong. He was the greatest of the Fanguses, greatest of the gladiators, greatest of all beings –
But he hurt. He hurt as if his entire body was splintered, shattered, and broken in so many different ways he couldn’t count them all. He could barely summon the strength to blink open his eyes, and even that felt like lifting the whole Zyxlag into the air after living on starvation rations for a week. For a moment, all he could see was pure, glaring white.
Before his weakened eyes could focus on anything, one of his other senses kicked in: smell. Wherever he was, it stank to high heaven. It was even worse than the odor emitted by his Demon Sheep when they needed a bath, and that was saying a lot. The stench only added to his pain, and he released a groan of anguish.
Then he could see where he was, finally: the waste management facility. In the dump. Thrown away like so much trash. He was lying atop a heap of sharp metal bits, which poked into his skin and dug deep into his flesh and nerves. He was beaten, and wounded.
But he was alive, and he would return.
After all, he was Fangus Klot, the greatest gladiator in history. He could pull through anything; this would be nothing but a test, to see if he could come back with a vengeance after Emperor Essir thought he had been slain. He would have his revenge on the Vamp Emperor, and everyone in the Vamp Empire would know.
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Master of ellipsis...
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