The Roman governor went flying, crashing hard against the arena floor.
Before he could recover, Judas was on him, raining down punches with a fury born of two millennia of pent-up anguish.
"This is for every moment of doubt!" Judas cried, his fist connecting with Pilate's jaw. "This is for every sleepless night!" Another blow, this time to the stomach.
"This is for every time I relived that moment, wishing I could take it all back!"
Pilate tried to defend himself, to summon his shadows, but it was useless.
Judas's assault was relentless, driven by a force that went beyond mere physical strength.
With each blow, Pilate's face became less recognizable, a ruined mask of blood and bruises.
Finally, Judas paused, his fists raised for one final strike.
Pilate lay beneath him, barely conscious, all pretense of authority stripped away.
"And this," Judas said, his voice suddenly quiet, "this is for him.
The one we both failed."
