Chains rattled. Feet stumbled. Some fell. Some were caught — a beast lunging, jaws closing around a shoulder, a leg, a throat. Screams. Blood. The wet, crunching sounds of feeding.
The prince laughed. His guards laughed. They watched from the wall, safe behind the formations, as the beasts hunted the slaves. It was entertainment. Sport. A way to pass the time in a backwater posting.
The prince fired another beam. This one struck a running man in the back, vaporizing his torso. The man's legs kept running for two more steps before the body realized it was dead.
"Ha! Good one!" a guard cheered.
The prince grinned. He fired again. Another slave. Another kill. He was herding them, using the beams to drive the slaves toward the beasts, to control the direction of the panic, to maximize the entertainment.
Then his beam hit the woman.
And nothing happened.
