Year two, the beast thought. If the second year was anything like the first, he knew he wouldn't survive his full sentence. He looked up then down again at his bloody and swollen hands. They were trembling, and when he squeezed them he grimaced at the pain. The beast looked up once again, this time focusing on the beaten-up corpse across his cramped cell. Very little light reached down the corridor into the dungeon he inhabits. Even less do living creatures venture deep into these catacombs - only the occasional guard and victim. The beast knew his purpose: to kill whomever was thrown into his cell. Every week, sometimes sooner, the same guard would drag a wretched soul to the beast and order him to "have fun" as they called it. The beast had two options - either kill or be killed. If he decided he wanted to be merciful, he'd either get stabbed in his sleep or die of hunger, whichever came sooner. The beast knew this, and that's why for the past year he had survived. He has grown extremely weary. The last few victims were healthy and strong. The last man they tossed with him found a large rock crumbled from the walls and used it. He charged the beast and, using his full momentum, bashed the beast's shoulder in - narrowly avoiding his head. The beast stumbled back and fell to one knee, screaming in agony as he clutched his now shattered collarbone. His heavy breathing was overshadowed by the cackling of the now advancing opponent. Just as the man raised the stone above his head - ready to dish the final killing blow, the beast quickly rolled to the opposite shoulder and grabbed the man's ankle. The beast yanked the man's ankle with extraordinary strength. The man fell and hit the hard floor with an echoing thud. He had the wind knocked out of him and was struggling to breathe. The beast slowly stood up and let out a deep sigh. With one arm, the beast clenched his massive and swollen hands around the man's arm and flung him against the wall like a whip. The beast heard the cracking of skull and vertebrae before tossing the man into the opposite corner of the cell. Now it was silent. The beast limped to his iron bench, sat down, and waited.

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