The night in the Abyss was eternal. There, time wasn't measured by clocks but by the sound of chains, the screams of the defeated, and steel meeting flesh. It was a place of despair and violence, where only the strongest survived — and where Madman thrived. However, even in an environment seemingly tailored for his brutality, he carried a single emotion that burned like embers in his chest: hatred.
The Abyss was an underground arena, a hidden hell where the most despicable gathered to watch enslaved gladiators fight to the death. Madman, the undisputed champion, was an essential part of this blood spectacle, but he was no mindless pawn. Every blow he struck, every life he took, he did with purpose. Not to entertain the spectators, but to fuel his plan. A plan for revenge.
He had never forgotten the man who brought him there. The mysterious figure who ripped him from the streets and threw him into the heart of this inferno. This man was not just a dealer of human flesh. He was the architect of Madman's pain, the one responsible for everything he had lost. And Madman, with a patience that would surprise anyone who knew him, had been building his revenge since the moment he stepped into that arena.
Madman knew he couldn't act on instinct. His physical strength was undeniable, but the Abyss wasn't just an arena; it was a prison controlled by a complex system of overlords and masters. He spent years observing, silently studying every aspect of the place. He memorized the guards' shift schedules, the weak points in the bars, the underground paths leading outside. He analyzed the overseers, the slave merchants, the sponsors — especially the man who had brought him there.
The man, known only as Korman, was more than a trafficker. He was a powerful figure with connections in all the right places. Korman didn't just organize the fights; he controlled the profits from the bets, ensuring his fortune grew at the gladiators' expense. Madman knew that defeating Korman would require more than brute force. He would need strategy.
---
In his cell, under the flickering light of a distant torch, Madman mentally mapped out the steps of his plan. He divided his revenge into three stages: destabilizing the system, exploiting its weaknesses, and destroying Korman.
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Madman knew the gladiators as intimately as he knew his own hatred: viscerally. They were his tools but also his emotional ammunition. He understood that to rise against the Abyss, they first needed to believe they could.
During the stifling, silent nights, when the gladiators were dragged back to their cells after bloody battles, Madman began his work.
— "Don't you feel it?" — he whispered to a gladiator nearby, a gaunt man with scars covering half his face. — "The rage inside you, burning like a flame?"
The man initially ignored him, but Madman persisted.
— "They treat us like cattle. Like toys. But what if we turned our claws against them?"
Sometimes he spoke to women too, gladiators who had lost children, parents, families. One of them, a cold-eyed woman named Kyra, looked at Madman skeptically.
— "You talk like you have a plan," — she said, crossing her arms as she stared at him. — "But words don't break chains."
Madman gave a faint smile.
— "Not yet. But actions do. Wait and see."
The spark began to appear. Madman didn't need everyone's trust; he just needed to plant doubt. He wanted fear to start losing its grip on them.
---
Madman orchestrated small acts of defiance, simple actions that, done individually, might seem insignificant but together would lay the groundwork for rebellion.
During one fight in the arena, he deliberately let his opponent, a larger and stronger gladiator, wound him lightly on the arm. As blood dripped, he shouted at the spectators:
— "You like this, don't you? Blood! Pain! Is this what you need to fill your emptiness?"
The crowd's cheers faltered briefly, surprised by his audacity. The guards, irritated, dragged him out of the arena before he could say more. But he noticed the other gladiators watching. They had heard.
Another time, during a fight, Madman used the chaos to attack a guard. He wielded a rusty piece of metal he had hidden to slash the man's armor, leaving a superficial but painful wound. The other gladiators watched wide-eyed, but Madman simply smiled as he was beaten in retaliation.
— "See? They bleed like us," — he said to a nearby gladiator as he was dragged back to his cell.
This act set the wheels turning in the prisoners' minds.
---
While sowing seeds of courage among the gladiators, Madman began working on the guards. He wasn't just a fighter; he was a strategist. He knew the system was rotten, and even the executioners had their price.
Gerrik
Gerrik was a wiry man with yellowed teeth and nervous eyes. He was greedy but also cowardly. Madman had observed him skimming small amounts from the betting profits and hiding coins in his boots.
— "You're smart," — Madman whispered, startling Gerrik as he patrolled the cells.
— "What do you want, scum?" — Gerrik snapped, though his voice betrayed his fear.
— "I want to make you richer. I know where the 'special offerings' the nobles give Korman are hidden. Help me, and you'll get a share."
The greedy glint in Gerrik's eyes was enough to confirm he had taken the bait.
Rael
Rael was different. Young and idealistic, he hated the system but didn't know how to escape it. Madman saw it in the way Rael hesitated before whipping disobedient gladiators.
— "You hate this place as much as we do," — Madman murmured one night as Rael stood guard near the cells.
— "Shut up," — Rael hissed back, glancing around to ensure no one was listening.
— "You don't have to be like them. When the time comes, help us, and I'll make sure you get out alive."
Rael didn't reply, but his doubtful expression showed he was considering the offer.
Bran
Bran, on the other hand, was easy to manipulate. Tired, drunk, and disillusioned, he needed little convincing. Madman simply handed him a small piece of gold he had pried from an arena ornament.
— "This is just the beginning," — Madman said. — "There's much more where that came from."
Bran laughed and took a swig of his drink.
— "You've got guts, kid. Let's see how far this goes."
With some guards partially corrupted and the gladiators beginning to believe, Madman moved to the next phase of his plan: chaos. He knew the Abyss was a well-oiled machine, but even the most perfect machines could break with a grain of sand in the right places.
Madman organized a small group of gladiators to sabotage the mechanisms controlling the arena doors. Kyra was among the first to agree, her fury finally ignited.
— "Make it look like an accident," — he instructed.
Using improvised tools, they jammed the gears, delaying the start of the fights by hours. The nobles in the stands grew impatient, shouting at the guards to fix the problem.
Meanwhile, Madman used Gerrik and Bran to spread rumors among the guards, suggesting some were stealing more than others or collaborating with the gladiators. The result was increased internal tensions, with patrols openly arguing and becoming less effective.
Inside the cells, Madman exploited the chaos to incite controlled fights between gladiators. He knew the internal disorder would further confuse the guards and distract them from his true intentions.
With chaos at its peak, Madman launched the final attack. He knew Korman would be in his office, reviewing documents and organizing bets for upcoming fights.
He gathered Kyra and two other trusted gladiators, a man named Drax and a young woman named Nira.
— "Today, we destroy the heart of the Abyss," — he said, his eyes blazing with determination.
While Gerrik and Rael distracted the guards at the entrance, Madman and his team used a secondary tunnel to reach the office.
When Louco and his gladiators finally reached the room where Korman conducted his business and kept his secrets, there was no hesitation. The guards were taken down in seconds, but Madman didn't want Korman to have the same fate. He wanted the man to feel the weight of everything he had done.
Korman was captured easily, his legs trembling as Madman dragged him by the collar to the center of the room. Kyra closed the door while Drax and Nira searched the area, blocking any escape routes. The atmosphere was oppressive, illuminated only by a flickering torch on the wall, casting shadows that danced like specters across the gladiators' faces.
"Please, I... we can talk!" Korman stammered, sweat already streaming down his forehead. "Money! Gold! I can give you whatever you want!"
Madman let out a cold, humorless laugh. He picked up one of the dead guards' knives and spun it slowly between his fingers. His eyes, shadowed and wild, locked onto Korman's with an almost animalistic intensity.
"What I want, Korman, you can't give," he murmured, his voice low but dripping with hatred. "I want you to feel it. I want you to see what you've caused."
He gestured to Kyra, who yanked Korman by the hair and tied him to a sturdy wooden chair in the corner of the room. The ropes dug into his skin, and he struggled uselessly against them.
"Madman... it doesn't have to be like this! I was just... doing my job!" Korman whimpered, tears now mixing with the sweat.
Madman slowly approached, his knife gleaming in the torchlight. He tilted his head, observing Korman like a predator watching its prey.
"Job?" Madman said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He grabbed Korman's face with brutal force, forcing him to look directly into his eyes. "How many lives did you destroy with your 'job'? How many of us did you throw into this hellish prison to make yourself richer?"
Without waiting for an answer, Madman began. He dragged the blade lightly across Korman's cheek, leaving a small cut. It wasn't deep enough to kill but sufficient to make him scream.
"This is just the beginning," Madman said, his voice calm, almost gentle. "Each cut is for a soul you condemned to the Abyss."
Madman began working slowly, with almost surgical precision. He made small cuts on Korman's hands, carefully avoiding major arteries. Each scream echoed in the closed space, reverberating in the ears of the gladiators present. Kyra watched with a grim expression, while Drax kept an eye on the door, ensuring no one approached.
"You know what this is?" Madman asked, holding up a branding iron he found in the room. It bore the symbol used to mark gladiators who attempted to escape. He heated it in the flame of the torch as Korman screamed and struggled against the ropes.
"No! Please, I beg you!" Korman pleaded, but Madman paid no attention.
He pressed the hot iron against Korman's shoulder, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. Korman howled in pain, the sound high-pitched and desperate, like someone who knew he was at the mercy of monsters.
"This is the mark you placed on dozens of us," Madman said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Now it's your turn."
Madman didn't want to inflict just physical pain; he wanted to break Korman mentally. He began rifling through the man's belongings, finding a small locked wooden box. Forcing it open, he discovered it contained letters from nobles and merchants who had funded the Abyss.
"Well, look what we have here," Madman said, reading some of the letters aloud. He paused to laugh at certain passages. "Seems like your 'friends' don't know how rotten you truly are, Korman. Will they miss you?"
He threw the letters on the ground and set them on fire, watching as the flames consumed the last vestige of Korman's power.
"This is what you are now," Madman murmured, staring into the flames. "Nothing but ashes."
When Korman was on the brink of unconsciousness, his mind shattered by the pain and humiliation, Madman crouched beside him. He placed the knife against the man's neck but didn't press down.
"You know what's scarier than death, Korman?" Madman whispered in his ear. "It's living, knowing that the power you had has been ripped away from you."
With that, Madman slowly slid the blade across Korman's throat in a controlled motion. Blood gushed out as the man's body convulsed, and then he went still.
Madman stood up, wiping the blade on a dirty piece of cloth. He looked at the gladiators, who now stared at him with expressions of respect mixed with fear.
"This is what happens to those who think they can use us," he said, his voice as cold as ice.
---
Chaos spread like wildfire. The gladiators, inspired by Korman's death, attacked the guards with renewed ferocity. Madman led the charge, guiding them through the corridors toward the exit.
The guards' screams, the clash of steel, and the stench of blood filled the air. Madman cut and advanced, every strike fueled by years of pent-up hatred.
Finally, they reached the surface. The moonlight bathed their sweaty, bloodied faces, a reminder that freedom was real.
But for Madman, the victory was just the beginning. He looked to the horizon, knowing his revenge was far from over.
— "Now," — he murmured to himself, — "let's burn the world."