The nightamares begin part 1

Basil Blackheart is lying on the bed in his cell. It appears he is sleeping. He is frowning in his sleep as if something was bothering him. “And the winner is Damion MacSteele” echoes in his head. The man starts moving in his bed is if he was trying to turn over. An image of the bloodied MacSteele standing on the ring while Blackheart is lying powerless on the canvas flashes in the armored man’s head. A series of images of the match follow in Basil’s mind. The mysterious voice from before the match joins his nightmare whispering - “you are weak Basil Blackheart”. “No” – the man mumbles in his sleep. “ The winner is Damion MacSteele” echoes again in his head. Blackheart move more nervously in his bed as his face is showing how disturbed he is in his sleep. The scenes from the match start repeating. His defeat is playing over and over again. The voice continues announcing his defeat. The mysterious voice completes the mess in Basil’s head by repeating “weak” in his ears. The images start changing quicker and quicker, the voices become louder. Suddenly Blackheart appears in the dungeon, chained by his hands, as the guard with the whip was about to strike his back. “YOU DIDN”T PROVE ME WRONG, WEAKLING” the mysterious voice screams in his head as he turns over and falls from his bed. The man awakes instantly, covered in cold sweat. With a sigh of relief Blackheart looks around his cell. He appeared preoccupied. Slowly he got up on his feet and sat on the mattress. He covered his face in his palms, trying to shake of the nightmare he had. “Am I weak?” he asked himself. Images of his match with Damion flashed in front of his eyes. Although he couldn’t feel the pain his body was still hurt badly from the match. “How will I meet the Queen, when I will be of no use to her?” – He spoke to himself – “Why would she want to meet me?”. Blackheart took a deep breath and looked up for a moment. “Am I a worthless weakling?” – he asked himself as his face for a first time showed an expression of desperation. Once again the man put his head in his hands as images from his recent defeat were playing in his head. It was as if he was not in his cell, he was in some other place, other… darker place. Suddenly the hinges of the door to his cell made a screeching noise, as the door opened.

Guard: Basil Blackheart, you are scheduled for the training room.

Basil picked his head up and looked at the guard with a hollow gaze. Blackheart barely noticed the other guards standing outside of his cell.

Basil Blackheart(mumbling) – What’s the point?

Guard: What? Usually you are excited about this.

Basil just made an annoyed “humph” sound and once again rested his head in his hands.

Guard: Anyway that was not an option, it was an order!

Blackheart looked at the guard again. “That weakling giving ME orders?” – sounded in Basil’s head as a little bit of life came back in his eyes. “It… it sound appropriate for someone as me…” – he spoke to himself as the light in his eyes died out. The armored man stood up, as if his body was three times heavier than he could lift. With sluggish pace he dragged himself out of the cell, following the guards to the training room.