There’s something about the Sanctuary that’s always felt fake. It’s a safe haven for the ones that were saved, kept neatly in check by caretakers. Like the lions for example. They live soft lives, put just into the right pieces to create this image of the perfect place. But when you get into it all, really get into it hands deep, you feel it.
That pulse, that need to let loose. The desire to kill or be killed thrums underneath them all like a pulse. Boxes aren’t where they’re supposed to be. The thrill of the hunt, claws and teeth sinking down into the throat of their enemies. Working and fighting among each other to stay just on top. But the box dulls them, the ease of life makes things a lot simpler.
They lose that need to have the sharp teeth, and become a playful kitten more than the beast they once were.
And that takes the cake doesn’t it Jasper? Back in your cage, you were placed squarely away to be forgotten in a box. You had too much taste of the kill, and they locked you away to keep the rest of Arcadia safe from you. And you sat in there, trying to keep yourself sharp. It wasn’t as easy, but when that freedom came, you snapped at it.
But what have we seen from you since the end? You’ve struck here and there, but you’ve grown complacent. The ones that freed you, once the threats you fought, lack that spark you see. So you go searching for challenges more. You see opportunities, and find that any loyalty to the pack suddenly lacks value. For a bigger challenge, something a bit more.
So you break away in your loyalty, appeal to the ones that put you in that box. It wasn’t hard really. Dangle that piece of meat in front of you, have you follow the smell of blood. And then they’ve got you once more. Not a true, proper killer, but another dog on the chain. Just now under the hands of Zeus instead of Hera.
That box hasn’t kept me contained though. I’ve found myself back in the Sanctuary less and less. I’ve been enjoying the freedom of the ring, to fight. I’ve gone tooth and claw with some of the worst of the worst, and come out standing. My fangs are still sharp compared to your claws, honed and prepared.
And when it comes for the lion trapped in the box to face the serpent, it won’t be a fair fight. You’ll posture, and roar like the king of the beasts you once were. You’ll poster, show off your pride and demonstrate while you aren’t paying attention to the small, little python. Then, and only then, will I strike.
Once you land on the mat, surprised and dazed, I will not let up. For I am forged in the rule of kill or be killed. And there’s no room for a has-been killer.