"What do you think, my dear? Rakshur has truly proven his mettle in the arena, despite being a foolish zero." I tried again to gain the lady's attention.

  It had become irritating to work so hard for her affection; her aloofness was slowly outclassing her sublime beauty. But her features were not skin deep as the scent of noble blood lingered in the air.

  It was sweet; I could almost taste it on my tongue. Nearly all of vampire society considered such thoughts heresy. But I adhered to an ancient time, ages past when such modern rules were merely guide lines then actual laws.

  Mongrels, unlike modern vampires, did not even consider me as part of a house. The thought nearly sent my claws to rend and tear at my luxurious seat. Keeping it together, I ignored the arena and focused on the beauty.

  Griselda was her name, not that it mattered. Only her blood and the noble heirs she could produce would matter. Pure Strigoi, her blood would overshadow mine and propel me into the upper echelons of a house. Hiding in this ancient temple would be days long past. We would rise, side by side, as husband and wife.

  The sight just beyond my reach was tantalising and delicious. We could rise beyond my meagre efforts in this ancient blood brewery. Be more than just a mongrel coveting scraps.

  Finding her wandering the halls slaughtering my useless rejects was system sent. Especially since she was at a lower level, then I. But not low enough that I could subdue her easily. She had talents yet to be determined.

  Glancing to the side, I witnessed a dark beauty, immaculate and stunning. Such pure blood, truly a Strigoi with the pale features and glowing red eyes. She wore finery and a black dress slit down the side. Lounging in an opulent seat as a burly Volkaran refilled her goblet with the most exotic bloods we had on hand.

  The urge to take her by force returned with a vengeance, but I kept that in check. While I would succeed, and with enough effort, she would bear my child. It would sour our relationship and cause problems establishing an acknowledged house.

  No, I would woe her, and that's what these games are for. Mere entertainment: a dinner and a show. And the first course was about to begin with the first show ended.

  With the Garathi victory over the Volkaran dogs, I waved a hand, and a Volkaran slave to my right, dressed in fine garb, activated a magic circle in the wall. Old magic etched into these ancient halls sprang to life. I loved this feature.

  Sensing the flow of magic, spiral out of the circle and leaking into the arena below, it performed its dark work. Slowly, the bodies littering the battlefield writhed like puppets with reattached strings. As if alive, they jerked back and forth, tearing the remaining blood from them.

  Flowing out from every wound, it circled the arena, coalescing above in a massive blob of viscous fluid. In just minutes, the magic had drained from all the corpses, leaving withered husks. I couldn't help but allow a savage grin to cross my face every time this contraption performed its grim task.

  "The Strigoi brewers of old crafted such incredible magic. You should be proud of your ancestry." I complimented her, and when she gave a perfunctory reply, I chalked that up to another failure.

  She was indeed Strigoi; that was not in contention, but her bloodline remained a mystery. One could not extract even a hint from such a stoic creature as she. It was maddening, like trying to dig blood from a stone; no matter how many strikes, it refused to give the sweet nectar. But I was nothing but patient; soon she would relent.

  Returning to the arena, I found it was time to speak to the masses. Well, I used to see frightened peasants back in the day, but those people were not. These were hardened and bloodthirsty monsters with only faint traces of humanity. Exactly like the Strigoi made them.

  Horrific experiments that would make any mortal peasant revolt at the mere thought. To me, however, they were masterful strokes to take lesser creatures and combine them into something better. Not just the unique bleed of flavour produced from their blood, which was quite a benefit. But the savagery they could unleash upon the unsuspecting world.

  The promise of ascendance and the securement of my future house. I rose like a phoenix from the ashes of my past. Striding confidently to the parapet, I cast a discerning gaze across my modest domain. There was no sun above, which was perfect; the cavernous ceiling boasted illuminations etched into the rock.

  With the glowing light, I could see all within my domain. Glancing around the arena, I noticed the Lich Draven lounging across the arena in his own pulvinar. The skull he once had was now sporting flesh. Did he skin someone again? I thought he got over that from the last time.

  The proclivities of my allied lich were of no concern, but it was still creepy. Looking to his left, noticing a new death knight, shorter than the last one. Perhaps he recruited and raised one of the adventurer corpses that littered this temple. Treasure hunters were always in supply within these walls.

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  Paying him no mind, I turned to my subjects on the stands. They were once cheering for blood and death, now silent at my approach. Volkaran and Garathi were the majority, and they didn't even bat an eye at their kin being slaughtered upon the sands. The savage feeling welling inside compelled me to oblige and grant them more bloodshed. It did not matter how many people we slaughtered.

  "Children of the sacred blood, tonight you all gather to bear witness to the games. Too long have you been scorned, treated like monsters and fractured beings. No longer! You are one brood, my brood!" Raising my hands in the air as my augmented voice drenched the stadium with my noble words. "In the arena, your blood and kin find purpose; through battle do you prove your strength and position. Do not fret at the dead, for they are merely fuel for the future. The day that we will rise and claim the world above!"

  The stadium erupted in cheers, all in my name and for my glory. The feeling was glorious, and the days before I found this decrepit temple were long forgotten. No more scrounging for blood, no more ruling over peasants that would dare to harm me during the day. Not even the sun itself could defeat me. At that moment, I felt like a god.

  Glancing back, I expected my lady to be enraptured by my presence. Instead she remained disinterested, merely sipping her blood like a courtly lady, looking down on everything a lowborn accomplished. In that moment I felt an intense urge to take her, nearly tipping over my self-control. Fangs descended, slicing through my tongue as I bore the indignity.

  A minor wound of no consequence, but I would get revenge for the wound she inflicted upon my pride. Right now was not the time; there was still time to woe her into submission. Perhaps the next bit of theatre would make a perfect showing.

  "With the three champions having proved their strength upon the sands. I shall grant you all a special event." I waved to the Volkaran slave, and he did as instructed.

  The metal gate opposite the three Garathi warriors ascended with a dull screech of rusted metal. I needed to get a slave to fix that infernal noise. No matter; it was not of importance right now. What mattered was the chained and battered woman thrust into the arena at the point of a sword.

  Glee welled up from my chest at the sight of the adventurer as someone threw her to the dogs or gargoyles, as half their blood would attest. Wait a second, what did she call herself? Not an adventurer, but something new and stupid. What was it?

  "The quester?" A sultry voice spoke from the side, ending her silence.

  Yes, that is what she and her party called themselves. I did not know what that meant. Was it related to quests? It didn't matter; her party was dead, and soon she would die upon the sands.

  "Yes, my lady, it is the surviving quester. Please indulge in her end; soon we shall drink her exotic blood." Latching on to anything, I tried to entice, but she remained indifferent to my efforts, her gaze lost to the arena.

  Returning to the soon to be dead woman, a thrill ran through me at the sight of her chained. It wasn't particularly fair, but she was dangerous, and this was more an execution than a fair battle. The stadium seemed not to mind as she killed many of its ilk, and so the order came down from my very lips.

  "This outsider slaughtered your kin; it is time to claim vengeance! Justice shall be done. Slay her!" I commanded with the fire of my ancestors.

  As the Garathi gladiators hopped to my command, I noticed the zero lingering behind his brethren. Was he planning to attack from afar? It was his strategy, but perhaps he could try something different this time. But he was a zero, so we couldn't expect too much of him.

  Shaking my head, I went to sit back down just as a grating sound descended upon the arena with a fury greater than the gods. Like a thunderclap, the sound was so raw and electric, almost alive. It was music unknown to me. Somehow I heard it in the back of my mind.

  Turning to face my retainers, they too heard the strange rhythmic drumming and screeching instrument that would make any bard weep with envy. The music ascended with a crescendo of drums just as a figure leapt from Draven's pulvinar, soaring through the air, his black cape fluttering in the breeze.

  The descent was slower than expected and matched the musical beat. The crowd and the combatants all stared above with slack-jawed confusion. Once the man reached them, he fell onto the sand with a theatrical landing. One knee bent and his arms out bent like a kneeling vassal.

  The moment he stood upon the sands, the beat shifted, and a voice reigned supreme in time with his entrance. Unhinged and taunting, the echoing voice spread across the arena, bidding welcome to its jungle. Claiming they had games to play with its weary guests.

  "What in the name of the royal blood is going on?" was all I could say.

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