The Prize Prisoner

It was the pinnacle of his existence. The Prince was more than elated, almost giddy, as he personally led the new prisoner into the dungeon of death.

This is what he had been working for all these years -- years and years of opposition by the King -- years and years without any respect for his plan or his leadership or his salesmanship skills. And he really was a salesman.

It had been an uphill run the whole time -- from that very first day in the garden when he convinced the two people to choose his way and to eat the fruit.

It was he who got the King�s special unit bogged down in Egypt for 400 years.

It was he who managed to split the kingdom up.

It was he who prompted army after army to wreak havoc on the land that the King had promised to his people.

Not that the Prince really had anything against the people themselves... They often turned out to be his best allies.

But it was really about seizing control from the King.

Now, there is something you need to understand about this prince. He wasn�t really a prince at all. He had simply assumed the title after the King dismissed him from his service and he started the revolution.

Of course, he had other given names but he preferred Prince for some reason. And now with the soul of the new prisoner in custody he was showing that he was worthy of the title.

You see, this was no ordinary prisoner. For he was indeed the Son of the King himself. And his capture had been no small accomplishment.

It took years of incitement. It took years of playing to the fears of the religious leaders and demonstrating to the people the weaknesses of the King and his family. Now, he had to stretch the truth a bit to make it happen. But it was necessary and worth it -- as it often is in politics.

For now he had the prize prisoner -- tricked into giving himself up without a fight for who knows what reason. It didn�t matter. It just showed that the King and his family were weak -- unworthy of ruling the creation.

The very thought of how easy it was fed his ego. He screamed out at the top of his supernatural lungs "I am the greatest..."

Which of course, he truly believed.

So there would be a celebration that night -- an open bar for his guards and operatives -- dancing and revelry. For this was the tipping point in the war against the King. Victory was now a sure thing. For there in his dungeon with the rest of the wasted and past mass of human souls sat the son of the King.

The party lasted all night -- then all the next day -- and even into the third day. The Prince�s guards and operatives had long finished off anything with flavor to it. Now they were just drinking to drink -- and to soften the impact of what they had drunk the day before.

So they were early into the third day of alternating between drinking and sleeping -- sleeping and drinking -- and enjoying the satisfaction from knowing that they were on the winning side.

But early in the morning on that third day -- just as they were getting ready for yet another round -- suddenly from the bowels of the dungeon -- the innermost and darkest hole -- the place where they were holding the Son of the King -- there was a loud hollow creaking and cracking. Then came an explosion of an unimaginable magnitude.

Every single wall vaporized in an instant. A horrible horrible light filled the place which had up to this point only held darkness. It was as though a bolt of unending lightening was striking -- over and over and over again.

The drunken demons screamed in horror as they covered their eyes.

The Prince picked himself up and managed to make his way to the spot where the son of the King had been shackled.

He wasn�t there. The shackles weren�t there -- only a pile of dust. The walls weren�t there. The place was depressingly bright. And the Prince knew that he had been had. It had been a trick -- a nasty trick to ruin his dungeon. The place would never be the same again.

Already a few of the prisoners had wandered out to the outside world. Most, however, just sat there -- as though they were waiting -- waiting for something more to happen -- although in the light they didn�t seem at all worried -- to the contrary.

The anxiety which had defined the dungeon was gone -- out the door with the son of the King. And the Prince slumped over as he wailed and groaned in the light. For he knew that the light had once and for all time ruined his place -- and that there was nothing he could do to rebuild. The damage was permanent. His eternal plan was foiled. Now, the best he could hope for was to pillage and burn on his retreat.