In a cave beneath the world, they say, King Arthur sleeps.

They say he will wake again when Britain’s need is greatest; that he will return to lead and protect this land. But fifteen centuries have passed, with countless disasters: wars and plagues, famine and fire and flood—and still, King Arthur has not come to us.

But I ask you, what sort of man was King Arthur? A man with the skill or strength to pluck a sword from a stone when nobody else could move it even an inch. A man whose most trusted advisor was a legendary wizard. A man who sleeps for over a thousand years without dying.

Maybe such a creature is not a man at all.

Yes, King Arthur sleeps, and waits for Britain’s darkest hour to reawaken. But not, as the legends claim, to help us. He waits for a time when we are too weak to resist him. Then he will emerge, and he will feast.