It kept him up at night. That eerie purple glow that easily sliced through his poor victims that really, never had a chance. The cut was always so clean, although it was hard to tell with blood and guts gushing out. But he could feel it in the way it moved. The way it was so effortless. He could never control it, and after spending so much time fighting it he just let it happen. Those creatures, people, lives didn't need to be taken. They could of lived. The only way he could live with himself is knowing that their lives would be worse if they had lived. He didn't believe in mercy killing, but he would have to if he were to stay sane in this never ending hell.
Being The Champion came with only a few perks, they didn't really care about his health as long as he could stand up and walk. Sometimes he questioned that though. He got slightly "better" food than some others, so that he could bulk up and have the energy to fight. Which was countered by the lack of breaks he had. A few hours of sleep and then some time to eat, and then he was thrown back into the ring. He also had a room to himself, he would actually rather have others around him to comfort him when he woke from nightmares every night. But he took comfort in knowing that the other prisoners were safer with him away from them. After all, he had become an uncontrollable monster who could take life with a swipe of his arm.
When he saw them go down in the ring though, one clean swipe was merciful compared to mauling they had to go through. Those who died had long painful helpless deaths, and those who lived would never be the same again. They died soon enough anyway.
Nothing was as terrible as when a prisoner he knew from a long time ago, back when he felt human still, was shoved out in front of him. The small alien man didn't move, didn't speak, didn't try to fight back.
The eerie unnatural hand glowed and Shiro, begged and pleaded for it stop, to let him spare just one. He held it back for as long as he could, but just as it had taken its first victim it lunged to take the prisoner's. Shiro cried out in pain as he struggled to keep it back, and in a moment of shock his grip slipped.
The prisoner said with a smile, "End it Shiro, please."
He didn't sleep that night.
The Champion didn't deserve to live, but he also didn't deserve the release of death. This was his mark to carry, a burden he had to learn how to control so that this never happened again. But that couldn't happen if he was still on this ship. It couldn't happen if he kept killing people and creatures who needed to be saved. So he planned, between killings, he planned for an escape and he trained his arm. Grew used to it. If he couldn't control it, then he would learn how to work with it so they could both get what they wanted. It wasn't easy at all, but slowly he could noticed the arm responding to him, slowly becoming apart of him. When he heard some Galra soldiers talking excitedly about the upcoming fight, how this fight was going to proved that The Champion was worthy of being apart of The Galra Empire he knew it was time to leave.
It was time to be Shiro again.
The Champion needed to die tonight.