Title by Razer Athane XD. Wow, I'm getting crap at titles eh. Anyway. Really short, but enjoy.
Lord
So there you are, sitting on your metaphorical golden chair, dressed to impress, or to kill, or both. The look in your eyes hints at your feeling of superiority, confidence in your ability and your eyes themselves flicker with some wild yet aloof passion. King of the ring, king of the game, a flurry of kicks and a curl of the lips and they're yours – you don't particularly want them, after all they're merely decoration; ornaments for your mantelpiece slash ego you're so fond of showing off to the world. Oh look I'm winning, oh dear I've won. Ever wearing your conceited smirk. Dressed in leather and embroidered with self-righteousness. One smirk. A bat of the eyelids. Your signature laugh, muted. The cheering of the crowd and your not-so-surprised-after-all expression. They know, they know. You show no pity in the ring, no mercy – brute strength coupled with considerable speed – this crowd has watched you many times and they do and will follow, hampering on, because they know they'll get to see a worthwhile fight, they know –
Bulls, humans; it's all sport.
Your opponent tells them self they need not get swayed by your pre-fight goading, your taunt that is hardly a taunt.
But still.
You push back your hair. You get into position. You smirk.
They falter.
They don't stand a chance.