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The Ghost Zone was as mercurial and amorphous as its inhabitants. It defied the most basic rules of physics and by nature distorted concepts such as space and distance. Floating doorways could take you from one corner of the universe to the next, only the Ghost Zone wasn’t made up by corners and lines as much by projection and materialization. There was no “hang a left at Skulker’s island” or “if you’ve hit Walker’s prison you’ve gone too far.” Mostly the islands stuck together in their loose archipelagos but the space between them didn’t. On more than one occasion Vlad had found himself flying away from one island and finding himself in an entirely different sector once it was out of sight.
Going deeper into the Zone was less about moving farther or flying longer than it was about balancing seeking and surrender. Certain realms had a tendency to stay hidden without strict rhyme or reason and force of will only sent them sinking deeper into the abyss, like a magnet repelled by focus. But others, Vlad discovered, were merely a manner of playing hide-and-seek.
Only recently did the idea strike him to try and map the Ghost Zone. Drones were usually effective at plotting the more visible layers, though he did often need to replace them when they fell victim to the other ghosts’ various temperaments and appetites. Some simply raced into dark and never returned. But with relative speed and little effort Vlad had a basic map and didn’t mind devoting his time to the more particular areas. Chasing legends, seeking artifacts. Scouting out potential allies and strategic pieces for his plans, similar to how he’d survey competing businesses back home. Naturally, he was more reluctant to trust ghosts than humans; they tended to have less cooperative natures and even the simple ones could have tricks lying up their rotted sleeves. But sizing up a target was all part of the game, whether it be cranky cathartidaes or a potential date or an ancient, mighty dragon on perpetual guard-duty.
He and Fright Knight appraised the latter from a floating island, no doubt once attached to the castle grounds. Though he was certain they hadn’t been spotted on the flight in (a modest mixture of invisibility, intangibility, and his very own VladCo aura-suppressing pocket-watch) and the dragon never directly looked their way, he thought it looked on edge.
“Do you think it can smell us?” he whispered to Fright Knight when the dragon swung its head and took an audible whiff.
“It smells its imminent doom.”
Vlad rolled his eyes. “This is supposed to be a surprise attack.”
“My presence alone is enough to astonish.”
“I…you’re not wrong, but it is imperative that I make it inside the vault. And there’s a reason I can’t find any written record about encounters with this dragon. There are never survivors.”
“You worry unnecessarily so, Plasmius. This beast is no match for our combined strengths.”
Not that he would admit it, but the rare praise placated Vlad, at least for a moment. When the dragon growled and hissed at its unseen threat he forced himself to refocus, but not without effort. Fright Knight wasn’t one for overt affection, verbal or otherwise, but there was something about the self-assured, matter-of-fact delivery that gratified Vlad almost as much as gushing adoration.
Still, someone as Romantic as Fright Knight could stand to be a little more…well, romantic. Vlad was as annoyed with Fright Knight for his unwillingness to ballroom dance as Fright Knight was with Vlad for Vlad’s capability to roll his eyes. Which he did every time Fright Knight brought it up.
It felt like reflex, at this point.
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I said: prepare thyself.”
“Oh, right.” Three copies of himself peeled away from him. “This should be plenty. Remember, you need to keep it distracted while I—”
Fright Knight leapt from their hiding spot with a roar, Soul Shredder already drawn. Four Vlad’s smacked their foreheads with their palms before the original snarled, “Go on, off with you!” They scattered, covering Fright Knight’s nigh-invincible but still unguarded blind spots or finding strategic placement of their own. The dragon responded in kind, baring its fangs and flaring its wings at the intruders. Vlad waited until it was thoroughly occupied before making himself as undetectable as he could to leave his hiding spot.
Cloaked as he was, it meant he couldn’t risk giving away his location whenever a stray shot fired his way. He tried to make his trip as swift possible; relying on his clones to guard his/their back was giving him more of a complex than he’d ever admit, even to his same selves who shared the same sentiment. Mercifully, he was out of range of the dragon’s attacks within minutes, though he didn’t dare drop his guard. No one mentioned extra ghostly guards or traps in any of the writings he’d read but that was only because they never got so far.
Vlad sent a quick instruction to his clones and waited. With the next deafening roar, he shattered the glass window and slipped inside, flying low and close to the exterior walls to avoid detection. To his knowledge, no one had ever once broached the fortress. Vlad smirked, feeling appropriately smug. No one else was genius enough, it appeared.
That did mean, however, he was flying blind. Both he and Fright Knight had agreed beforehand that the treasure was likely in the throne room or in the castle’s subterranean floors, if it had any, but that still meant wasting time flying down dead-end corridors and correcting his mental map every several turns. Though he tried his best to be thorough and cautious, within minutes he was phasing through walls and blasting anything resembling a doorway to a secret passage. Time was of the essence, after all.
Just as Fright Knight expected, the plan was overly cautious and unnecessarily complex. Assaulted from all sides, within minutes the dragon took as protective a stance as possible and retreated to the castle door, intent on protecting its singular purpose for existence. It was a valiant but futile effort. Two of Vlad’s clones were aiming at its back heels, forcing the dragon to dance forward to Fright Knight’s waiting blade. In an impressively efficient blow, Fright Knight cut its head off in a single slice. Nightmare ran them back around to the front just to be sure, but there was nothing left to do but watch the death throes of the castle’s guardian. One of the clones wrinkled his nose in disgust when ectoplasm pooled out of the esophagus.
“Pitiful. I expected more of a fight,” one of the clones said.
Another agreed.
The third toed the sizzling carcass, muttering under his breath. Fright Knight observed him for a moment before turning his gaze away, out towards the depths of the Ghost Zone. From his vantage point all he could see was the luminance of green ectoplasm circulating through the black sea. There was no center to the Ghost Zone and no binding force compelling the movement of doors and islands. They stood on a lonely shore of a forgotten island of some realm brought into being by memory or lore. The emptiness rattled inside him. He’d been hoping for something more valorous. More enlivening.
“Oh, snickerdoodle.” Fright Knight turned in time to see a clone snapped up by revived jaws. Staggering up to its full height, the dragon decimated the clone in four deliberate chomps. To its right, a second head eyed the remaining clones murderously.
“You have got to be kidding me,” one of them spat. “Of all the oldest tricks in the—”
Fright Knight didn’t waste any time in slaying the beast again.
Vlad had stumbled across the castle quite by accident. References to castles and dragons were hardly an oddity in any mythology and he considered it a waste of time to verify every single legend. What he had been searching to verify was an unusual substance that was described in passing as the ghost of a deceased star. At first, Vlad had written it off as poetry and addled imaginations. But when he recognized brief mentions of it across several credible and related texts, he realized he had been mistaken. If this artifact was even half as rare and powerful as the sources read…
Vlad’s fingers itched for it.
The throne room yielded nothing other than oozing cobwebs, inanimate and glowing skeletons, and dreadfully dull tapestries. No hidden panels, no secret coves, not even a trap. So, Vlad raced through the hallways leading down to the ground level, careful to hug the walls under windows and stay low. Outside, he heard the roars of the dragon and Fright Knight’s equally ferocious battle cries. Inside, he doubled down on his own concentration when, courtesy of the mental clamor of his clones, he missed a turn. He didn’t like cutting them off like that, not knowing their whereabouts or thoughts, but it couldn’t be helped. They’d make do without him, he was sure. Anything modeled after his own image would be superior to all except the original himself. They could handle a dragon.
Finally, he came to the final stairwell and descended it swiftly, Skeleton Key in hand. As one could expect of a treasure-filled subterranean floor, there stood a gargantuan door wreathed in chains and scarred by the claws of its guardian as it slew those who dared trespass in its lair.
Unexpectedly, the door boasted not one massive and singularly unique lock, but dozens of small and mismatched ones bristling the entirety of the door’s thirty-foot height.
Vlad’s eyebrow twitched.
The math was simple. Each felled head spawned two more, shedding years of decay and emerging more vicious and cunning than the last. Where their progenitor rumbled, the new heads shrieked. Where it discharged heavy, toxic smoke on each breath, the young ones spat bright green fire. When they sprung from the throat they no longer croaked or smoldered or wheezed. They struck like lightning and hissed to each other while observing their enemies with shrewdness. Despite the clones’ best efforts they found themselves herded like sheep as the heads wove around them, forcing them on the defense.
“Duck!” one shouted, aiming a blast at his counterpart. He didn’t duck but turned intangible, allowing the attack to hit the head sneaking up from behind. The other clone scowled regardless.
Fright Knight, at times, was also simple. The only consolation the clones took from his refusal to leave the thick of the fray was that, eventually, sheer numbers would overwhelm him and he’d have to stop attacking and start evading. Equations did have to balance at some point.
What is taking me so long? one of the clones griped to himself.
Thirty-five, thirty-six, Vlad instinctively counted. Each dropped lock clattered on the floor below, drowning out the soft whooshing of the Skeleton Key re-shaping to the next fixing. Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine…
Fright Knight was simple but not simple-minded. He could do the math, saw the same cycle of death and reproduction the clones did. He simply did not care. He’d faced worse odds before and didn’t see a point in considering them now.
Fright Knight took aim and swung at the same time a head snapped too close to Nightmare for comfort. She whinnied and bucked, back of her head slamming against Fright Knight’s face. It didn’t hurt but the shock was enough to imbalance him, making it easier to wheel off his mount when she reared, kicked, and flung herself skyward to evade the heads closing in on her. Fright Knight barely had time to stagger to his knees before he thrust Soul Shredder into a yawning mouth. The blade easily pierced the skull.
The final lock clattered on the ground and with a groan and hiss, the great door slid open. Vlad tucked the Skeleton Key away and heaved the door open until it touched the far wall. He crossed the threshold cautiously, wary of being trapped inside.
On a lone pedestal shone the dead star. It pulsed softly in the dark chamber, sending ripples of light across its holding cell. At first Vlad thought the pulse quickened at his arrival, but his eyes were adjusting and when he cradled it in both his hands, he was no longer certain. What he was certain of was the untold, unspent power this object (being?) possessed. And it rest in his hands.
Perfect, Vlad thought, settling his feet on the ground. Once I’m clear of the perimeter, Fright Knight shouldn’t have any trouble reducing this place to rubble. And by that time maybe I will have already run some simple diagnostics and—
“Cookie batter!” Instinctively he wrapped his arms around his prize even as he hit the ground. He growled at the searing pain in his leg and glared down. The dragon glared back up and retreated, hissing around his leg and scraping him along the cold floor. Vlad grimaced and tried turning intangible, only for the dragon to screech and whip him into a stone pillar when they rounded the next corner. He didn’t know why he couldn’t phase through the blasted thing or how it escaped Fright Knight and his clones. But if they weren’t going to help him, so be it. Vlad hugged his treasure more securely to his chest, freed one hand, and fired as many ectoplasm shots as he could at the monster.
He was only released once he was dragged past the threshold of the castle. The scorched head whined and retreated towards its body, but Vlad quickly understood why. When he’d left the guardian to Fright Knight and his three clones, it had been a formidable but otherwise ordinary foe. Out-powered, out-smarted, and out-numbered. Now at least a dozen pairs of eyes were fixed on him and several sets of razor-sharp teeth were bared. On the other side of the dragon (Hydra, Vlad corrected), Fright Knight and Vlad’s single remaining clone fended off several heads.
“Stop decapitating them!” his clone howled when Fright Knight executed another flawless beheading. “Are you blind?!”
“I relish a challenge, Plasmius, what little this beast can offer. ‘Tis poor sport to not let it have a chance.”
“Oh yes, you’re so gallant, letting this dumb dragon keep its honor by toying with it.”
“It matters not.”
“It matters so—stop doing that! You’re going to get us—”
“—Killed!” Vlad snapped when his clone disappeared in a fiery blast, returning a few scraps of ectoplasm back to its source. “You know, when I said two heads were better than one, I meant it.”
Fright Knight only grunted in response, wrestling with the jaws locked around Soul Shredder. Vlad phased through the flames spat his way and returned fire one-handed, trying to spot an opening while he had the chance. He counted ten heads in total before he shielded himself from a barrage of attacks, using his cape a shroud. “Just drive your sword through its heart and be done with it! We’ve got what we came here for.”
His order fell on deaf ears. As soon as Fright Knight freed Soul Shredder he gripped it double-handed and cleaved the head in two before turning to the next. He landed several easy hits. Most of the hydra was turned towards Vlad, eyeing the stolen relic in his arms.
Of course, they paid attention.
“Fright—” Nightmare landed on the closest head and only had time to stomp twice before abandoning her prey and Vlad. It seemed that every head was falling upon him, snapping or breathing fire. Vlad turned intangible once more and snarled, “Cheese and crackers!” when the ossifying star slipped from his arms. A tangle of hydras vied for it while Vlad phased through their necks and skulls, muttering under his breath until he saw an opening. He returned to the world of matter just in time to blast his prize through the dense forest of dragon scales and followed it in his incorporeal form.
Nightmare gave it a kick when a head strayed too close, sending the now-hardened rock soaring through the air and careening into her master. Swift as both Nightmare and Vlad were, both were entirely unprepared for the interference of the other and by the time he realized she was there, it was too late to phase through her. Ghost and horse sprawled hoof over heel and they only just detangled themselves in time to dodge a blast of ectoplasm, though both did spare an extra second to strike at the other out of frustration.
The hydra appraised Fright Knight warily, hissing and keening in anger. It hardly seemed to mourn the loss of its counterparts but eyed Fright Knight with keener contempt all the same. Only a few eyes kept tabs on Vlad. Not that a surprise attack from him would do much good, but the blatant favoritism still stung. Or it would have if he weren’t berating Nightmare for her ill-timed heroics and less developed problem-solving brain rattling inside her cranium. Legendary swordsman or not, Fright Knight would soon be outnumbered and the meteorite lost.
Fright Knight narrowed his eyes at his foe and paid Nightmare no heed as she slowed to a trot to his side. She growled back at the hydra and bared canines of her own, dripping green and sizzling ectoplasm. Slowly, long necks extended further and began creeping about the pair, out of swords reach. Instinctively rider and steed shifted to face their opponents and leave their backs to each other. They refused to press closer and give the advantage of ground, but it was only a matter of time. The hydras would surely constrict into a nest of coils and strangulation.
Somehow, between the necks and heads, Fright Knight caught Vlad’s eye. He brought the star from a cradle underneath his arm to a hold in the palm of his hands, fingers wrapped tightly where they held. The hydra froze at the movement, eyes trained on its target. Fright Knight, as keen a warrior as he was, took full advantage of the delay.
“Plasmius! Go long!” With that Fright Knight wound up and threw the meteorite with all his might. A mess of heads snapped at the stone only to find themselves exposing their necks to Soul Shredder. Letting Nightmare handle their navigation, Fright Knight divided his attention between his foes and the course of his projectile. Given the herculean effort of the throw (all the might of the Spirit of Halloween was no small feat), Vlad was forced to expose his own back in his sprint to make the catch. He didn’t have time or energy to spare in making clones to guard him. Instead, he ruefully left his defense in the hands of Fright Knight.
Several of the farther heads, likewise trusting their counterparts to guard their blind spots, stretched their necks as far as they would go. Their jaws snapped at Vlad’s cape and veered him off course. Other maws gaped wide, though whether they were hoping to catch their stolen charge or devour Vlad whole wasn’t clear. When Fright Knight slew a fellow head, the rest didn’t even shudder. Aside from Fright Knight delivering deathblow after deathblow and Nightmare guiding him towards his victory, all attention was on the falling star, once again blazing through the black and shrieking with renewed, if fleeting, life.
Whether the hydra was failing or Vlad drawing on energy he didn’t know he had, the ghost light of the star landed in Vlad’s outstretched hands. Though he staggered under the weight of it, Vlad flew on and didn’t look back. Pride screamed at him to turn around and face the beast like a man but more than anything Vlad wanted to be past this. Have his treasure safely secured in his mansion for future research and maybe have a few hours alone to collect his thoughts and fraying nerves. He’d come back and slay the hydra properly another day, assuming Fright Knight didn’t eventually weary and finish the deed himself.
Vlad was squinting into a microscope when the portal opened, welcoming Fright Knight with a maelstrom of ectoplasmic glow. He stopped to tug at his cape when it caught in the vortex while Vlad continued to mutter and adjust the magnitude settings. When Fright Knight’s own mutterings and vows became too distracting, Vlad called, “Are you sure it’s actually dead this time? I’d hate to be eaten again because you were too sure of yourself and I foolish enough to believe you.”
“The beast shall rise ne’re again.” With a scowl and vicious yank, Fright Knight recovered his cape and stalked from the portal before it could inflict further harm or humiliation. “And trust I will emerge victorious.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I was hardly worried about you. My clones, on the other hand—”
“—are of you, not you themselves. Pawns, not bishops or rookies.”
“Rooks, Fright Knight, rooks. How many times do I have to—nevermind. Far be it from me to contradict the lord of barbaric, simple-minded slaughter but the entire operation could have been accomplished with only a single casualty. And one not of my own likeness.”
Fright Knight strode across the lab and folded his arms. “Is it vanity or fear that compels your anger?”
“If that clone had been me—” Vlad bit his tongue and scowled into the microscope. His eyelashes blurred the edges of his vision but he didn’t bother looking up. Not yet. To his credit, Fright Knight missed his mark by a few degrees. Vlad hadn’t been scared, necessarily, but the realization that his clones had been disregarded so completely by his boyfriend during battle stung in a way he didn’t expect. Resentful as he was to receive help, they had a partnership.
“Yet it was not.”
“That’s not the point.” Pretending to continue to work was more than effort than it was worth. Vlad straightened and massaged the bridge of his nose and temples. “It didn’t bother you in the slightest watching your boyfriend get eaten in front of you? Three times?”
“You are not them. Not your heartbeat nor your soul are shared between you and your puppets. There is more in common with your human self and ghost form.”
True to his style, Fright Knight reduced layers of emotion to single-pane logic with an added coat of condescension. He wasn’t crafty or manipulative and that made it all the more difficult to orchestrate Vlad’s own attempts to manipulate. He may as well be a cat trying to herd a bull; certainly Fright Knight was obstinate enough for the comparison. So, Vlad continued to press his point from every angle he could think of, whittling away while Fright Knight maintained his stance that since the clones were not the one true Vlad Masters himself there was obviously no need for any form of sentimentality or concern.
There were times when Fright Knight’s simple and clear view of the world was grounding, even reassuring. Right now Vlad wanted to rip out his own hair, at least until he changed his angle one last time and Fright Knight conceded he would have felt differently if it were Vlad himself who had been eaten and scorched (and, since that was not the case, might they at long last carry on?).
He’d chalk that up as “Check,” for now. Plus, they had work to do. Ten minutes later and Vlad’s worktable was covered in maps and associated notes with a computer on the desk next to him and several extra notebooks of intel just in case. Once he uploaded the latest data from his drones, Vlad turned on the projector and allowed his incomplete, three-dimensional map for the Ghost Zone flicker to life before them. He shifted the paper map on his table until it was properly aligned and frowned at the model, chewing his lip. He had yet to invent a way to add a much-needed fourth dimension to his map, or at the very least a way to track when certain pockets of the Ghost Zone migrated. Even with an x, y, and z axis he couldn’t explain to a computer program how to delve deeper than the center coordinate. The best he’d come up with was allowing the floating doors to contain their pockets of their own meta data and allowing them to appear in multiple locations.
Ruefully, he dropped a pin at the last identifiable landmark before he and Fright Knight strayed into the hydra’s forgotten lair. Thorough notetaking would have to suffice for now. While Vlad edited the information, tapping away at keyboard keys and squinting at the coordinates, Fright Knight appraised the floating map and flagged new interests, highlighted threats, and crossed out areas of little value. Fright Knight added his own knowledge to the mix; the Burnt Library, boasted in legends for the unparalleled wisdom that smoldered on charred shelves; the Caverns of All The Lost Things, where many a treasure and trinket had been found; and the Ironsmith’s Domain.
Vlad scoffed at that one. Though he was sure he’d look dashing with a sword, he preferred his own inventions and weapons.
The last thing on their to-do list was uploading the feeds of black hole measurements. It was Fright Knight’s turn to scoff but Vlad insisted it would only take a few moments and then they could go. Really, he didn’t see any good reason for Fright Knight to show such a marked disinterest in the ever-hungry pits of dark ectoplasm. Knowing their rate of growth helped him plan and kept them from being caught off-guard. Nevermind that one was encroaching, very slowly but surely, on the borders of his own kingdom.
“A trouble for later,” Fright Knight declared with a wave of his hand. “We have more pressing imports at hand.” Undeterred by Vlad’s own shooing motion, Fright Knight lifted him by the back of his coat and began prodding him toward the stairwell when a rapid beeping interrupted. “Plasmius—”
Vlad shrugged out of his boyfriend’s slackening hold and checked his watch, eyes scanning the message it flickered across its screen. After pulling up the hologram of who lingered on his metaphysical doorstep, Vlad sighed and stepped back towards his computer. The virtual map flickered and vanished. “Sorry, Fright. Duty before pleasure; I do have a business to run after all.”
“Whom—”
“Masters! Are you home?”
“Ah, yes. Come in.” Vlad straightened his tie and opened the Plasmius Portal. “What have you brought today?” he called over his shoulder while clearing the table of papers with a single sweep of his arm.
“Weapon designs,” came the predictable answer. Skulker shifted the box of blueprints and gadgets from his shoulder to carry it in both arms as he floated across the room. “I have new prey and I’ve been thinking about upgrading my—” He balked at the sight of Fright Knight, all suspicion and dark, flaming mantle. “Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all. Skulker, this is Fright Knight. I’m sure his reputation precedes him. Fright Knight, this is Skulker, a hunter and a contractor for VladCo.”
“The Fright Knight?” The ghost in question nodded. “Huh. You’re his client, too?”
“His partner.”
Skulker glanced back to Vlad. “VladCo went public?”
“In a manner of speaking.” At Vlad’s gesture Skulker passed over the cardboard box and Vlad gave it a once over just to ensure a certain tone-deaf, rotund hitchhiker wasn’t planning an ambush. Satisfied it was Box Ghost-free, Vlad set it on the table and rummaged haphazardly through the contents. “Adjustable drills, injectable toxins, fixable polar magnets…what did you say you were hunting?”
“Mostly gastropods.” Vlad rolled his eyes at the numerous blueprints and swore he saw Fright Knight try to do the same. He caught his eye and smirked. Fright Knight scowled back, neither one bothering to listen to Skulker’s earnest descriptions of his new hunt. One look at Skulker’s designs told Vlad all he needed to know; near-impenetrable defenses, shells to harvest for trophies, maybe a bivalve or two thrown in the mix. Really, Skulker was devolving from apex predator to technologically advanced echinoderm at this rate.
And a talkative one at that. Being an enthusiast as well as an expert, Skulker possessed intricate knowledge, wild imagination, and a passion for his craft. Unfortunately for Vlad, Skulker also possessed no shyness in sharing his enthusiasm and few friends to share with. Not that Skulker was bad company; compared to his peers, ghostly and human, Skulker was refreshingly modern and keen. Vlad could respect someone dedicated to and proficient in their profession, though like all ghosts Skulker’s single-tracked fixations could be wearisome. But they could hold an intellectual conversation, grow wistful for the “good old days” neither one had truly experienced but believed they’d yearn for all the same, and scoff at younger generations as they beta-tested weapons and equipment.
Still, there was a time and place for everything. And a quick glance at his watch and boyfriend told Vlad it was time to be in another place.
“…and they have more rows of teeth than your sharks…”
“Fascinating. I’m sure they’ll prove to be most challenging and rewarding.” Vlad tipped his chin to Fright Knight and received a nod in response. “Apologies, Skulker, but I’ll have to attend to this later. I have prior commitments.”
“Another hunting expedition?” he asked hopefully, following Vlad and Fright Knight as they turned intangible and flew up from the basement and through the vast hallways of Vlad’s mansion. The last time Vlad had invited him for a weekend retreat, Skulker had had so much fun he’d left Vlad with enough material to re-decorate the entire parlor of his summer home.
“No, no, nothing quite so hands-on. We have tickets to a football game.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. I must enjoy my copious wealth somehow.” They lighted on the main hall floor, turning tangible once more. “And what better way than to enjoy a little friendly competition?”
“Blood sport,” Fright Knight clarified. Vlad scoffed, turning his coat rack until he found one he deemed suitable. “Deny it not for what it is, Plasmius. Gladiatorial combat is a time-honored tradition.”
“For the last time, Fright, it is not combat.”
“They are warriors of the state who sustain admirable injuries. Human blood is not supposed to pool in the skull,” he insisted when Skulker shot him a quizzical look.
“A concussion here and there hardly constitutes it being a blood sport,” Vlad argued, slipping his sleeves into the fur-lined coat Fright Knight held for him. “It’s not the pits of Rome.”
“There are ferocious beasts prowling the arena.”
“We’ve been over this; those are mascots.”
“They strike fear into the hearts of many with their soulless eyes.”
Vlad rolled his own eyes and fished his ponytail out from under his coat, draping it across one shoulder. “In any case, Skulker,” he said carelessly, ignoring the utterly perplexed stare his arms dealer was casting on the two of them, “you’d best be on your way. My security system actives as soon as I leave the mansion and it’d be a shame for you to be caught in it.”
“Sure. When can I expect the prototypes for my designs?”
“Oh, check back in two weeks from now. Though I disdain your use of the word ‘prototype,’ you know. When have I ever delivered a product that wasn’t fully satisfactory?”
Several incidents of explosions, jammed gears, faulty wiring, and Vlad’s specific designs demanding that no other entity repair broken equipment flashed through Skulker’s mind, but he pretended to concede Vlad’s point. Repairs cost much less financially and emotionally when Vlad thought Skulker’s enthusiasm or negligence were the cause. He could be quite gracious when flattered and given the opportunity to be smug.
His natural predatory instinct whispered at him to follow the pair as they departed in Vlad’s limo (how on Earth the chauffeur didn’t bat an eye at Vlad’s unusual guest was a question for another day) and take note of any observed weaknesses or angles to play at a later advantage. His well-tuned survival instincts, however, advised let them be. Vlad was too valuable a resource to risk estranging and Fright Knight’s reputation did precede him. Professional curiosity was not worth living a nightmare for eternity.
Ultimately, though Skulker could never know it, he paid heed to the keener of his instincts. He had accepted Vlad’s enthusiasm of sports and was ready to write it off as a silly human endeavor. He wouldn’t have been certain how to rectify Fright Knight’s paralleled enthusiasm or the giant foam finger he brandished with vigor the entire game.