When you’re the plaything of a God, to be done with as the almighty eye sees fit – you don’t have much choice in your life anymore. That’s how it worked out that, from nowhere, a white-hot line of light split the air about six feet from the ground. It rotated clock-wise, and in that moment the whole thing seemed to swirl and swivel until it opened into a four-foot-wide doorway directly opposite the blue guy with the spear and the sword. On the other side was a man in chains, his wrists bound together with a chain run to his shackled ankles. A heavy, metal collar snapped closed around his neck and locks holding them all in place. His head angled down, short hair dirty and unkempt with ripped up blue jeans being the only protective clothing shrouding him. The collar’s chain led behind him, to a four-armed monstrosity with a face of lightning and a voice of thunder. 

[i] “You will fight him.”[/i] 

It wasn’t a question or a concern. It was a declarative. An argument to the contrary didn’t exist. The man in chains simply stood there, unresponsive and downcast. The other planted his foot at the small of his back, and shoved him through the doorway – releasing the collar chain at the same time. 

[i] “You will fight him, and you will win – or you’ll wish he killed you, Frank.”[/i]

The force of the push swung him through the impossible door, and he fell sprawled out on his face in the sand. For a moment he simply lay there, almost as if a dog scolded and beaten into pure submission. Then, as the doorway began to close, his life was given back to him. For now, Azaroth would allow him to face another in glorious combat. For now, Azaroth allowed his life to be his own. He could sense that the other was merely a human, without supernatural powers of any kind – so he too allowed Azaroth to take his power from him, to put them on an even playing field. Most days, his might was enough to break the chains that bound him. Today, though, he was as normal as any other human walking the highway. 

So, it was a good thing that with a wave of his hand as the doorway snapped fully closed, that the chains loosened themselves and fell to the ground, the shackles remaining almost like weapons or guards on his wrist and ankles. The chain that linked from the neck collar, though, he picked up. Wrapping it twice around his knuckles, and still holding two and a half feet of excess for a whip-like weapon, he lifted his hands. Left hand extended in front of his right, feet shoulder-width apart and his body turned ever so slightly. He was commanded to fight. To kill. And that’s what he was going to do.