Jol seethed. “You’re
an idiot a million times over. I’ve never met anyone less deserving of the
breaks he’s been given. There would be little shame if I failed to keep a fool
such as you alive.”
The twinges of fear
Ospar had experience as he’d confronted the security guard disappeared in a hot
wash of rage. He stormed across the floor, to confront Jol nose-to-nose. “Is
that a threat?”
The Nobek’s voice
turned low and deadly. “Don’t flatter yourself that you’re worth the effort.
Get out of my space. Eat your food and wallow in your ego.”
His words reminded
Ospar that he still held his ruined meal in his hand. Too angry to think
straight, he snarled, “It’s garbage now. That makes it more fitting for you.
Enjoy.” With that, he shoved the tray in Jol’s face, covering the dark features
in sauce and small chunks of meat and vegetables.
There was a long
moment of shocked silence from both men. Ospar stopped breathing. What had he
done?
He didn’t have an
instant to consider the matter. The Nobek shrieked, the sound crazed. It was
the most horrific cry Ospar had ever heard. When the tray dropped from Jol’s
face, Ospar didn’t see the red and yellow and green sauces that dripped from
his chin. He didn’t see morsels of rizpah and chafga sliding down the man’s
visage. He saw a monster with glaring eyes. He saw madness. He saw fangs.
It would come as
little solace later when Ospar realized no rational person could have looked at
Jol’s livid expression and not panicked. The Dramok’s anger had led to him
taking temporary leave of his senses, but Ospar was thoroughly sane as he
stared at the terrible creature screaming at him.
He lost control and
ran.
No! No! You never run from an angry Nobek!
Even as his legs
pumped, barreling him out of the room and down the hall, Ospar realized his
colossal error. A deadly error. Every Kalquorian knew it. Fearing the worst,
Ospar darted a glance over his shoulder and wished that he hadn’t.
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