I don’t even know how long I sat in the cage. A day? Two? More? Not really “sat”—I lay there, piled up like a heap of bloodied rags. After I killed the emperor and his sons, they worked on me thoroughly, turning my body into something halfway between a cutlet and minced meat.
At least they didn’t behead me. I would’ve been good as a head in a steel cage—like Professor Doueyl’s head. To kill me for real, you’d have to sever that very head and scatter it to all four corners. Otherwise I’d live on, like the immortal Koschei.