They say all the world’s a stage, right?

Well, if that’s true, then Lambs to the Slaughter… that’s the final act.

This match, this chaos, this collision of flesh, dreams, and desperation—it’s not just a fight. It’s a story, carefully written in blood, sweat, and broken bones. And like every story worth telling, it plays out in four acts.

Act One.

The lights come up. The curtain rises. The characters step forward.

The heroes. The villains. The fools. The monsters.

We’ve met them all. The Tombstones, the Dooms, the Narcissa’s and the Nox’s. Titans cloaked in pain. Wolves in armor. Puppets dressed as kings. They all made their entrances, strutted to center stage, and showed the world who they are.

Rivalries flared. Alliances formed. The audience gasped.

The play began.

Act Two.

The first fall.

Because not everyone makes it to the end. Some burn too bright, too fast. Some don’t have the heart. The fire. The fight.

People like my brother, Albert Lamplight, fell here.

A man who dreamed too big and couldn’t carry the weight of his own ambition. A man who lit the stage with promise… only to disappear before the spotlight could find him again.

Others followed. Some stumbled. Some stayed down. Some just vanished, their stories ending before they ever truly began.

Act Three.

The dark turn.

By now, the protagonist knows who he is. He’s survived the first two acts. He’s seen failure. He’s felt loss. But he’s still standing.

That was me.

I made it through the chaos. Through the betrayals and the blood. But by the end of act three? My world changed.

Because my best friend in the world—Doom—stabbed me in the back.

The one man I trusted. The one man who always stood by me when the lights went out.

He turned.

He became my enemy.

And I was left there, center stage, alone in the dark, trying to make sense of the script I didn’t write.

But that’s what act three is for. It tears you apart so you can see what you’re made of.

And me?

I’m still here.

And now…

It’s act four.

The final curtain. The climax. The moment where everything falls into place.

This is when the protagonist rises from the ashes. This is when the pain and suffering turns into something greater.

This is when the hero, bloodied and beaten, finally finds his purpose.

This is where I win.

Because Lambs to the Slaughter isn’t my downfall. It’s not my tragedy. It’s not the graveyard of my dreams.

It’s the moment I’ve been waiting for.

I’ve stood in the shadows long enough. I’ve been the underdog, the forgotten, the guy with the smile who everyone thought would fade away.

But I didn’t.

I stood tall in act one. I endured act two. I suffered in act three.

And now, I rise in act four.

This is the moment I prove to Arcadia and to myself… that I was always meant for the spotlight.

No more side character. No more second fiddle.

This is my story.

And this?

This is my glory.