Warworld.
Arena.
The crowd was chanting Vulkan's name at the top of their lungs. Thousands of alien voices, hoarse or shrill, deep or hissing, united in a single cry that shook the arena walls. "VULKAN! VULKAN! VULKAN!" The Primarch stood atop the Drogorr's corpse, still steaming from the heat of battle, his arms raised toward the dark sky.
But in Mongul's private lodge, the atmosphere was ice-cold.
The absolute sovereign of Warworld kept a face of stone. His cruel eyes stared at the scene without blinking. No emotion filtered through his massive features. He was as motionless as a conqueror's statue.
Behind him, the small alien with brown lizard skin was trembling. He knew his master. He knew this apparent calm was never a good sign. It was the calm before the storm. The silence before the explosion.
Mongul slowly unclasped his hands from behind his back.
"I should go congratulate our victor."
His voice was soft. Too soft. It oozed a barely veiled menace.
He pressed a button embedded in the metallic bracelet on his wrist. A golden light enveloped him. And in an instant, he vanished from the lodge.
---
In the arena, Vulkan was slowly catching his breath. His body still produced steam that rose in white wisps around him. The red flames of the Kratos mark had subsided, returning to their appearance of a simple tattoo. His muscles, which had swelled under the effect of the rage, were gradually shrinking back to their normal size.
He was exhausted. Drained. Every fiber of his being screamed with pain. But he was alive. He had won.
I got a super boost, holy shit! Woohoo!
The thought flashed through his weary mind like a bolt of pure joy. The system had saved him. The Rage of Kratos had multiplied his power at the crucial moment. Without that unexpected aid, the Drogorr would likely have devoured him.
He slowly lowered his arms, letting the noise of the crowd wash over him like a wave. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring this moment of glory.
He didn't get the chance to finish.
A voice rose behind him, icy despite the words of congratulation.
"Congratulations on your victory, Vulkan. Allow me to reward you properly."
Vulkan didn't even have time to turn around.
A powerful blow slammed into his flank. The impact produced a visible shockwave, a circle of compressed air that rippled across the entire arena.
BOOM.
Vulkan's weakened body couldn't really defend itself. The blow folded him in half, driving the air from his lungs. He rolled across the ground, bouncing off the volcanic rock, kicking up sprays of ash.
Mongul followed unhurriedly, his metal boots echoing on the stone.
Vulkan tried to rise. Mongul kicked him in the ribs. The Primarch was launched into the air. Before he could fall back down, Mongul landed two rapid piston-like punches to the stomach.
Vulkan spat blood. His body convulsed.
Then a monumental right cross came crashing down on his head. His skull slammed into the ground with unbelievable violence. The volcanic rock cracked, spiderwebs spreading from the point of impact.
Throughout the entire process, the arena had fallen silent. The spectators watched, dumbfounded, as their tyrant butchered the hero they had just been cheering. The silence was total, broken only by the dull thud of blows and the cracking of bone.
Mongul leaned over Vulkan's broken body. A cruel smile stretched his lips.
"I hope you appreciated my congratulatory gift."
Then he straightened up, pressed his bracelet, and vanished in a flash of golden light.
The crowd exploded again. But this time, it was no longer Vulkan's name they were chanting.
"MONGUL! MONGUL! MONGUL!"
The cries were hysterical, charged with a sick adoration for the tyrant who had just demonstrated his absolute power. The conqueror had taken back control of the show. He had reminded everyone who was the undisputed master of Warworld.
On the cooled magma of the arena floor, Vulkan lay inert. His blood spread around him, black and glistening on the dark rock.
Medical droids arrived, floating silently above the ground. Their metallic arms deployed to delicately lift the Primarch's body and place it on an anti-gravity stretcher. They carried him out of the arena, far from the cries of the crowd, into the cold corridors of the infirmary.
Behind the shield that had finally been deactivated, Orrana and Tsag watched their companion being taken away. Orrana's golden face was tight with fury. Tsag was clicking her mandibles furiously.
There was nothing they could do. Not yet.
---
In Vulkan's mind, at the border between consciousness and unconsciousness, a spark had just been born. A spark of pure hatred. A spark of vengeance.
He had never hated anyone in his life. Bob Wilkinson was too passive, too resigned to feel hatred. But Vulkan... Vulkan was different. Vulkan had faced death head-on. Vulkan had slain a monster with his bare hands. Vulkan had been humiliated before thousands of spectators.
And Vulkan would have his revenge.
Through the pain, through the fog of unconsciousness, he gathered his thoughts.
System... open the surprise box...
Ding!
[Surprise box activated.]
[Accumulation bonus applied.]
[Opening in progress...]
Even in this semi-comatose state, Vulkan held his mental breath.
Ding!
[Congratulations! You have won: the Sonic Screwdriver. Origin: Doctor Who universe. The Doctor's iconic, multifunctional tool. Used primarily for scanning, unlocking, repairing, and interfacing with any technology. Functions via ultrasonic waves. Compatible with almost all known and unknown systems. Item transferred to the Universal Inventory.]
A faint smile stretched across Vulkan's bloodied lips.
Good work.
Then he sank into unconsciousness.
The medical droids took him to Warworld's infirmary, where sophisticated machines began tending to his wounds. They did not know that the prisoner they were healing had just received the key to his freedom.
The Sonic Screwdriver. The tool capable of unlocking any lock. Hacking any system. Controlling any machine.
Including, perhaps, the control collar that shackled Primarchs.
Vengeance would have to wait. But it was now within reach.