I stand behind bars of iron and my shadow stands behind bars of light. All I can hear in my ears, my head is consistent drumming. I close my eyes and try and see past the swirling patterns. If I am a criminal, I ask, what are the people that are doing this to me. The arena is filling. Here, in the bowels of it, I can feel the vibrations of a thousand footsteps and I lean back and stretch out. I intend to enjoy my death. The crowds that have come to see me massacred plan for entertainment which I refuse to render to them. Beyond the drumming, beyond the insistent pouding, I am almost looking forward to the bloody mess I will become. I will wallow in the pain as in ectasy.

I suppose I deserve this fate. I’ve killed, taken lives, sent souls on their way. No euphamism softens murder. I’ve tasted another’s blood, and it has forced a lust into my spirit that I cannot feed.

The guards have come to take me out to fulfil prophecies. I must go willingly, or how will I show my true nature. Let the game begin.