The following occurred thousands of years prior, all the way back to when the Chieftain was still a mortal. Follow him will you, to a land where not everything is what it seems...

"Now now, look who's been trying to escape."

The sound of blood dripping to the ground can be heard alongside footsteps as the man who's known now as Chieftain walks down the stairs into his cellar. Crimson droplets falling from the blade of the knife that's closely tucked into his right hand. His feet dropping onto the ground of the cold underground storage area sends fear into the very essence of his newest experiment.

That experiment?

A "poor" farmer, abducted at seemingly random from his house some 100 km away. However, what no one would report in any time would be the fact that this man had a notoriously short temper. He would beat his wife, his children, no one was safe from him. A terrible, terrible being. Was Kinwrathi doing anything wrong?

You could probably say so, you bleeding heart pussy.

"Now, tell me. What is it that gets you into one of your rages?"

The man's eyes still only show fear, not even registering that he was asked a direct question. His captor stands patiently, awaiting a response. After a few minutes, when it's obvious that he isn't going to answer, the soon to be Chieftain walks over to the captive and kicks him in the arm.

"Ow! What the fuck?"

Kneeling down, all the captor does is look him in the eye. If you knew just how low of a man this one was, you'd clap for the future Chieftain's uncanny ability to not just off him right then and there...

"Yes, get like that. Do you wanna rip my head off right now?"

"YEAH! In fact..."

The man tries to grab Kinwrathi's head, but the chains around his wrists pull him back just inches away from his face. So close, yet so far...

"Excellent. Just keep thinking like that."

The normally fluctuating voice that people are used to hearing from the Chieftain has been entirely monotone and uninterested, as if the man in his clutches wasn't even worth emotion. Which he really wasn't, but still. Kinwrathi stands up and begins to pace around and around the cellar, almost as if he were trying to collect himself.

Finally, he returns to the man and hands him a vial, filled with an unidentifiable green liquid.

"Drink it."

"No way man! That shit'll-"

Out comes the knife, pressed against the captive's throat.

"Drink it, or it'll get messy."

Reluctantly, the man drinks the contents of the vial. He clutches his throat and begins to vomit. Coughing up a blood filled mucus, his eyes roll back into his head.

Mere seconds later, he is dead.

Wiping off his hands with a handkerchief, Kinwrathi walks back up the stairs out of the cellar.

"What he perceived as physical threats triggered him. I must make note of this."


"Dean Moxley McGovern. What is there for me to say that hasn't been brought up by everyone else?

Am I supposed to chastise you for being an alleged pedophile?

If people were to really believe that, then they would also have to admit that the oh so perfect America is fucking lost when it comes to proper criminal trial. However, I see something in you.

You cause anger in people when they see you.

In essence, you're providing me what I desire most without any intervention of my own.

Nice work, jagoff.

You see, while you're busy playing with your underage friends, I'll be busy manipulating everything around you, allowing it to crash down like a house of cards.

A house of cards truly is a fitting metaphor, is it not?

You hold yourself up on the weak structure of approval, something that can be lost as easily as it's gained. With the slightest hint of pressure in the wrong direction, you crumple to the ground. Physically and metaphorically.

The hour draws near, Dean.

Nearer and nearer with each breath you take..."