A low snicker of high pitch and animalistic fervor comes from the corner of a small darkened antechamber underneath the stands, an evil sound. Any in the chamber with enhanced vision would see a man dressed in only black leather trousers with long dull grey coloured hair that is matted together thickly, like rhino horn, squatting in the darkness mashing his hand into the face of a dead mortal child, and laughing as it does not respond.

Dead, dead, dead. the man says like a child then snickers.

Suddenly the door to the chamber opens and light floods in.

It's time to go kid. A silhouette from the bright light of the doorway says, causing the man to look up.

The man stands and heads to the door, and the silhouette jumps out the way, but not fast enough to avoid the razor taloned hand that rammed into its chest and killed it before it heard the chuckle of joy that came form the mans lips.

The battle arena was lit spectacularly as he stepped out into the light, the countless gathered viewers cheering. He gazes about as the fans watch him, some applauding others jeering, he snickers, then raises his hand and a lance of light shoots through the air and destroys a sizeable chunk of the stands on the opposite side of the ring, killing thousands. He snickers and heads toward the ring as the other viewers look on in shock, some former champions in the crowd get to their feet and move forward as if to attack, but their friends hold them back, knowing they stand no chance of surviving a confrontation.

Meeting the gaze of the one standing in the centre of the ring his stare hardens, the black pools that are his eyes and the ruby red irises show reflect nothing that remotely resembles morality or conscious consideration, only soulless antipathy, and animal ferocity.