The camera opens to a lone figure sitting in a circle of candles, which barely illuminate his ghastly pale form. There is a slow zoom into the figure's face. Mystica doesn't even look up from his massive book of prayers. Flipping the pages, he speaks out in an almost bored tone.

"Wednesday. Wednesday is the day they throw me to the lions. I've certainly read a bit about circumstances such as this."

He turns a page. His bored expression slowly turns into a harsh frown.

"The Roman Emperors used to throw Christians to the lions. They thought transubstantiation meant that Christians literally ate the flesh of man. Cannibals, they called 'em. Abominations. I'm no cannibal, though I have dined with the shamans of the northern tundras. Can't say I'm a fan of human flesh. Doesn't taste like chicken at all! Much too crispy, yet gamey. Might 'ave been the way the wendigos prepared it, but..."

He flips another page, glancing up at the camera. His piercing light blue eyes catch a glimmer from the candles surrounding him, and for a moment, there is a fleeting glimpse of the man beneath the skin of the Prophet, and he is hungry.

"I can assure our General Manager that I'm a man of God. Not his God, per se, but a man of some god. And I've done my homework on these...lions."

He smirks, looking back down to his book.

"Baron Van Schultz. Surname meaning 'of the shield.' High Germanic origin, maybe Dutch. Fancies 'imself a baron, eh? Last I read, a baron was one of the lowest ranking titles in a hierarchy. Latin term, 'baron.' Means 'soldier' or 'servant.' Servile, indeed. I've seen what he's done. Smacked some meffs upside their 'eads and whatnot. Wants to be the leader of the King's guard. Desperate little beaut, ain't he? If you're listening, Mr. Madison, might I recommend a hint of caution? Guy like that, goin' 'round, hittin' lads around from behind...sounds to me like he's looking for opportunity. The opportunity to kiss your boots and shine your crown and whatnot. But how long before that servitude...that ah...'barony'...turns to a knife twisted in your back?"

Mystica sighs deeply, taking in the ambiance of the room. He holds a hand to his temple, massaging gently as a small headache begins to take form.

"But why would a king listen to a prophet? You likely fancy yourself the king to end all kings. Bit soft headed, I think. As a poet of our time once sang, 'what's a king to a god?'"

He pauses. The headache has subsided, and he lowers his hand back to the book, flipping another page. He mutters short prayer to himself and looks back to the book's pages, scrutinizing the word of Mystica.

"And what's a god to a non-believer? Hope. I am hope to the lost. I'd hope...to extend the hand of friendship and knowledge to my opponents; that they might join me in basking in the glow of the Myst. But I sincerely doubt a man like Schultz would be interested. Much less White Lion. Another lion. Beast. Animal. Man falls to all fours and rips out the throat of man. That is tragedy in its greatest form. But I can admire strength which I may lack. The strength to defy your nature as a man...and embrace the claw. Fancy that, I do. Bound to be tamed eventually, though. As all animals must become. Servants. One lion, already a servant. The other, just waiting in line for the chain."

The camera slowly pans down to Mystica's hands. He slowly but deliberately closes the massive book with an audible slam. With calm, steady hands, he turns the book to the camera. The cover is revealed as a simple, runic M, emblazoned in a metallic pale blue.

"Let me break your chains."

The camera pans back up as distortion and static begins to overtake the signal. Mystica's eyes slowly open, revealing the horrifically deep blue irises that stare intently at the screen, almost looking through the glass, right to the heart of the viewer.

"So it has been spoken in the Myst."

Achievements

• 1x Tag Team Champion
  
• August 2013 Superstar of the Month (Thank you all so much!)
  
• 1x US Champion
  
• 1x X-treme Champion