My armour felt awkward. It wasn’t heavy, although a regular mammal might have found it so. But I wasn’t used to it. On the plus side, hopefully, it would take a reasonable amount of punishment, unlike my oft-rent and increasingly expensive tunics.

  The sun burned down on the sands beyond the portcullis-style gate that would shortly open to let me stride across the arena and face a series of fights to the death. There was a faint heat haze shimmering above the golden grains. I was going to go full Russell Crowe on these poor bastards. They wouldn’t know what hit them.

  The voice-over guy was whipping the crowd up. Have you ever sat in a bath as a kid and figured out how small, well-timed waves of a hand can reinforce a wave of water? A simple gesture that lacks the force to make much difference, if done properly, builds on what is already there until the water slops over onto the tiles and you know you’re going to get bollocked for making a mess.

  That was Roderick. He was the wafting hand, fanning the flames of the crowd's excitement. His words stirred their bloodlust, inflamed their desires, and fondled their schadenfreude. It wasn’t those buggers who were going to fight for their lives. Others would clash and die for their entertainment, and bad things are always nice when they happen to someone else.

  “AND HERE HE IS! THE DRAGON OF THE ARENA! OBLITERATOR OF BRIGITTE THE BOUNCER! BOB THE BATTLER!” The final cry from Roddy rang out, no doubt deafening anyone unfortunate enough to be sitting next to the speakers, and the portcullis before me rose with a clattering jerk. I was going to have words with him about my stage name.

  I blinked as I stepped from the shadows into direct sunlight and raised the visor on my helm. It was winged, flutes of silvery steel flaring out behind my head. I raised my mace in salute as I strode forward to an equal mix of boos and cheers. The thoughts of the squishy humans in the stands were beneath me, I couldn’t care less. This was just a job. Vanity was getting antsy in my mind, but I focused on the take from the bookies, and Greed went to work keeping my narcissism in check.

  It wasn’t entirely clear what was upsetting Vanity, as far as I could tell. My armour gleamed; it was polished to a pleasing shine. Metal plates covered almost every inch of my body, bar my armpits and groin. One for ventilation and the other because I guessed risking getting stabbed in the balls was some kind of test of manhood in ancient times.

  Naturally, it was all looted from Bulb’s warehouse and was capable of committing laser-based war crimes. Just because I had to fight didn’t mean I had any plans of fighting fair. I’d forgotten which ancient artificer of god-tier talent had crafted the set, and for whichever villain slash war it had been made to overcome. All I cared about was that every piece could blast holes in magically reinforced city walls for funsies.

  I strode out to the middle of the arena in the manliest way possible, my strides long and steady. Head held high, arms loose at my sides after my triumphal mace-raising. A refreshing breeze tickled my armpit hair, beneath a padded undercoat, and my balls swung freely, which was nice.

  “On this very special occasion, we have been blessed with a most august patronage! Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, please rise and honour His Imperial Majesty, Supreme Lord and Protector of the Realm, Lozenge Madson the First of his Name!”

  Well, that killed the mood. The crowd applauded politely; for some reason, they went from ravening for my blood to theatre-goers applauding an adequate performance in an instant. I squinted up at the Imperial Box and saw Lady Artington lead the small group out to their seats.

  The Madson looked like a kid. Maybe early twenties if he didn’t shave for a week. Blond hair framed a square jaw set above ridiculously fine-looking clothing. Purple velvet, gold brocaded, studded with gems and sequins, it almost put my armour to shame in terms of shininess. Some part of me decided I liked this emperor.

  A tall and elegant woman who was almost as beautiful as Lady Artington sat beside the emperor and rested a hand on his forearm. He glanced over and smiled, then raised his other fist into the air and gave me a V-sign. In the spirit of charity, I decided he had meant it to be the other way around, the V for victory, not the V for “fuck you, frenchie, I can still shoot arrows”, where the original rude version originated.

  I raised my mace again in something approaching a polite salute. I turned towards the portcullis on the far side of the arena, spinning the mace loosely in my hand as it dropped to create a circle of silver that blurred around in anticipation. Shadows were moving beyond that portal of darkness, but being out in the bright light left me unable to pierce the gloom where my opponent waited.

  The roar of the crowd had picked back up after golf-clapping for the emperor, and once again the cries were deafening, almost a sonic wall that battered me from all sides.

  “AND NOW LET’S MEET OUR DARING DRAGON DESTROYER! A POWERHOUSE OF THE OLD SCHOOL, GUILD CAPTAIN LAB IATUS! LAB IS AN ADEPT OF THE BEAST SLAYER FOUNDATION AND HAS BEEN RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DEATHS OF DOZENS OF WILDERNESS MONSTERS, INCLUDING WYVERNS AND SALAMANDERS, SO BOB THE BATTLER WON’T HAVE ANY TRICKS UP HIS SCALES THAT WILL WORK ON LAB IATUS!”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I was really starting to dislike Roderick.

  The Guild Captain wore simple leather armour that left his thighs bare. High greaves protected his knees and shins, and his bracers had a row of metal spikes along the back of his forearms. A long red cloak hung down his back that caught the wind and flared out behind him as he stopped and struck a pose opposite me.

  The butt of his trident thudded into the sand, and he raised his left arm with the small buckler attached near his wrist as the crowd bayed for his victory.

  “Dude.” I nodded politely. No need to be rude to your food.

  “Foul beast.”

  “I am a baron, you know.”

  “You’re a filthy skinwalker, masquerading as an honest human. You cavort with pixies, elves and dwarves.” He spat at my feet.

  “And unicorns and dragons,” I growled. “As well as Janglebonks, orlics and dwelvers.”

  “Condemned by your own words!” He raised his trident and spun it deftly before leaning it back across his shoulder, ready to bring it crashing down on my head if I made a move, judging from the way his muscles were tensed.

  It suddenly struck me that our playful banter was being transmitted through the speaker system by some magical microphone aimed in our direction, and the crowd were hissing and jeering at my words.

  “As are you, you bigot!”

  His heavy brow descended, and he squinted at me from beneath bushy eyebrows. “I am not!” he snapped. “I don’t care what someone looks like as long as they’re human!” The crowd roared.

  “So you judge me, simply because I am not really a man?”

  “I bet the whores you have to pay don’t mind.”

  “What? I’m happily married. To a woman, before you start down that line of prejudice. Where the fuck did Roddy find you?”

  “You’ve despoiled a human woman's virtue! Again, condemned by your own words!”

  “It was more like she despoiled me. She’s into some kin—How is that a bad thing? Can’t a dragon love a barmaid? It’s a classic tale of love conquering socioeconomic and species disparities.”

  “And what happens when you get bored? You’ll look for another to ravish, one of our women. I’d tell you to stick to your own, but it won’t matter after today. She will be a widow. Maybe I’ll pay her a visit and console her in her ‘grief’,” he sneered.

  Originally, I’d planned to be merciful. I wouldn’t kill the poor schmuck being used to fleece the bad gamblers, just beat the tar out of him and maybe take the piss out of him afterwards. That mercy was being reassessed as Wrath once again swelled into his Balrog form in my mental menagerie.

  “Don’t even joke about it.”

  He turned and strode away from me before spinning round to point his trident at me. “Or you’ll do what?”

  “You don’t have to die here today.” It hurt to say it; I really did want to kill him now. “Let’s just do the stupid fight, and as long as you quit your yapping, I’ll let you live, ok? At this point, I’m gonna break your legs as a minimum, but we can leave it at that and call it even.”

  Playing into the stereotypes of a voracious predator wasn’t going to do human-dragon relations any good, so in a way it was in my interest not to swat this pillock like a bug.

  “Speculator Visus!” I muttered while he concocted the sentence that would seal his doom.

  Lab Iatus

  Level 93

  Bonker of Beasts

  STR 132 DEX 245 MAG 53 ARM 97

  “I really hope your class name refers to bonking on the heads and nothing more… sinister.”

  “Why do you think armour always has the crotch free, scaly? I’m going to make some holes in you and—”

  I flashed forward and swung my mace for his skull, but he dodged back, blocking the blow with the haft of his metal trident. As he turned, the trident spun around his neck before he sent it snaking out at my chest with his left hand. Blocking was a waste of time, so I leaned into it.

  There was a flash of light as the three prongs struck the shining metal and bounced off, leaving him blinking. Boop-The-Snoot sent my free fist straight into his nose, which detonated in a cloud of blood as he went tumbling away. I was inevitable. I stomped forward slowly as he scrambled back to his feet.

  “Dat was uncallbed dor!” he snarled as his red dripped down his chin.

  “You were just discussing your plan to molest my corpse, right?” I ducked my head to one side like a boxer as the trident flicked past my armoured cheek, then launched into Reacher’s-Favourite-Move with my foot slamming into his overextended front leg, resulting in a satisfying, but sickening, crunch.

  “Bo! Dat’s just talk fer da crowb,” he hissed as he hobbled backwards. “Sui Sanitatem!”

  New Syntheticus unlocked!

  Sui Sanitatem

  At last, I had the best healing spell at my disposal. Green light flooded out around Lab, focusing on his knee and nose. After half a second, it dispersed, and he stood before me, once again whole and unscathed. That was going to get annoying if I didn’t do something about it.

  “Well, this has been fun. I don’t suppose you know what the beasts are I’m facing in the next round?”

  “I do.” Rather than do something helpful before he died, like tell me what they were, he chose to attack desperately. I gave ground to his flurry of blows, dodging or blocking anything aimed at my junk or pits and letting rest bounce off my armour. I was really starting to appreciate the heavy plate for more than its glorious shininess.

  “What are they?” I snapped, slamming my mace down on his trident after it bounced off my chest again, breaking it free from his grip to slam into the sand. I put a foot on it to hold it in place as he scrabbled to pick it up.

  “I’d never seen them before. Lizard things. Look, how about we talk this out?”

  The microphone was still on, and his quiet plea echoed out over the suddenly quiet audience. Angry muttering started up in the stands. I glanced over at the Imperial Box, and while the Madson didn’t move, imperurbable bastard that he seemed to be, Artington nodded just enough for me to notice it at this distance.

  “What was it you said about my wife again?”

  Not the best pre-murder statement, I could only assume my banter skills had continued to degrade over the last few days. My mace slammed into his skull from above, and it exploded like a watermelon stuffed with dynamite.

  Human (level 98) slain!

  Gold earned… Nothing!

  667kg of biomass added to storage.

  I belched loudly as the body faded into golden motes that mixed with the ones that leaked out around the joints of my armour.