We find ourselves in a junkyard, the sounds of generators humming only cut off by the sounds of horrified screaming! “No! No! No!” The pleading, however, is short lived before the horrific sounds of hook penetrating skin abruptly silence the poor soul. All that is heard after is the faint sound of pitiful gurgling.

A poor man with a shirt bearing a red falcon lays still on the hook, his pursuer merely watching as spindly black limbs drag the corpse into the sky.

Drewitt.

The Horseman turns around, a bloody blade clutched in his palm. “There’s nowhere left to run, Python.” Drewitt walks through the junkyard, glancing behind debris and examining lockers as he listens for the sounds of his prey.

“The Entity put us into this little game for a reason, you know. She craves the feeling of emotion, of fear. To her, you are nothing more than entertainment, a source of gluttonous indulgence that cannot be denied.” War hears the sounds of a generator being meddled with, rushing to the source only to see foot prints leading away from it made in a hasty retreat.

“You can run all you want, my friend, but there’s no way to get out of this alive. In fact, I’d say it was rigged against you from the start. See, this realm, like Arcadia… It’s not a place for peace and prosperity. No, our battles exist simply for the joy of those above us. Every gash in your skin, every friend whose demise you witnessed… All of it fuels the Entity and her need to see you suffer.” Drewitt slinks into the main garage of the junkyard, eyes scanning the room.

Just as he’s about to leave, a man bearing a yellow python on his shirt rushes through a window! Drewitt, however, merely shakes his head. He rears back, chucking a knife right into his victim’s back! He steps callously over the window, picking the runner up by his throat.

“In fact, even now, you were put into overwhelming odds. While the rest of your friends fell around you, you’ve been put into a trial that you cannot win. Sure, you can run, you can hide, and you can even try to find a way to sneak out a win from our hands. Yet, this is all just an exercise in futility. I’ve been placed in this trial as the assurance that you fail.”

He chokes his victim, walking towards one of the nearby hooks as his hostage wiggles frantically against his grip.

“I am War, I am desolation. Struggle all you like, beg if you must, but at the end of the day, there has to be a winner in this trial. And no matter how one sided, no matter how much you beg and cry… The end arrives nonetheless. When the bell rings, and blood is spilt?”

Drewitt stops in front of the hook, choking his victim brutally.

“Only one of us is going to be hung from that hook.”

The sound of a hook shredding skin once again fills the junkyard.

And then all fell silent.