Zealous Killer by Zebulon Kosted

Out of thin air Utryn materializes in the Imperial Palace on the Emperor's home world of Vrozlyd unarmed. The Ephialtes Brigade, the super advanced robotic personal guard of Vrozlydian Emperor Zebulon Kosted, spring into action and surround the bio-mechanical intruder guns drawn. He is not attacked immediately because his intentions are not known. While the King of Synthos waits in the grand ballroom dressed in darkly colored formal military attire, His Imperial Majesty, as if aware this would happen, slowly descends the winding golden stairs leading from his upper antechamber wearing his ornately stitched green ceremonial robe within seconds of his arrival.

Once at the bottom of the staircase the Emperor addresses the King in his characteristic royal accent, an affectation meant to impress commoners. "The Poison Eater Quivox informed me of your teleportation attempts one minute ago. As always he was compensated well, and shall be kept on retainer." An expression of amused contempt curls his lips.

"I would have expected no less Your Majesty..." Utryn replies in a somewhat digitized sounding but otherwise normal tone with a hint of derision, "Quivox is a well known agent of yours, his abilities are unparalleled." The King slowly begins to move forward towards the human Vrozlydian Emperor. The Ephialtes troops match his steps.

"Thats close enough son of my servants" replies His Majesty, "Oh, did you not know I was aware of your ancestry?" An even more smug smile brightens the Emperor's somehow still young face. His stance and physical demeanor suggest preparation for combat in the most calm and extremely subtle of movements. Disciplined action may soon be required.

Visibly angry but still subduing outright rage, Utryn replies, "Honestly, no, I was not informed of your awareness of these facts by my staff. They shall be reprimanded for their laziness Your Majesty." He then gave an ever so slight bow and lowered his gaze.

The Emperor hesitates while considering the King's words. While watching this upstart he wonders, why does he continue to address me formally? His majesty thinks to himself, this is obviously deception of some sort, but what is the purpose of continuing with the royal decorum?

"Why have you entered my palace unannounced Utryn, what is the meaning of this intrusion!?" His artificially young 44 year old face, kept vibrant by some as yet unknown technological sorcery, with brown hair and long nose, betrays frustration at having given the King a tactical advantage by invoking his anger and confusion.

"I propose a series of battles among champions, of our mutual choosing, on planets neutral to our current territorial claims, Your Majesty." Utryn's bio-mechanical forehead would be sweating, if it were necessary, from the stress of trying to control this situation. The much younger being, with jet black hair and pail skin, inexperienced in direct statecraft between rulers, has to admit deep down that he finds the Emperor to be quite intimidating.

"The formality with which you address me is adequate, however I will not return the favor, would be king! I have been lured by imposters many times in the past. The first step in avoiding a trap is knowing of its existence. We both enjoy the art of death I presume. Are you not a zealous killer as well? I accept your proposal on the condition that I choose the first location and the time of hostilities. If those terms are not met you may scurry back to your pathetic planet with your tail between your legs."

Utryn knew this would be the outcome and has planned accordingly for it. The Emperor had wanted this and made it known in a long winded and roundabout way through spies intentionally captured on Synthos and interrogated, but what is his end game? Can it be anticipated correctly? "I accept your conditions Your Majesty. I await word of your decisions on the matter."

With the final letter of the final word spoken King Utryn, ruler of the Synthetics of the planet Synthos, bows to the human Vrozlydian Emperor Zebulon Kosted, touches his thumb to a transmitter on his palm, and disappears. After all the bluffing and aggressive gestures during his performance are finally over the Emperor softly whispers to himself, "If this goes as well as I expect it to, perhaps he will be a suitable successor to my throne after all..."

Experimental Black Metal, Doom Metal, Dark Folk, Space Ambient and Experimental Electronics.

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