Post by Wade Moor on Jan 27, 2017 19:29:14 GMT -5
I: New Jalaxaritkatusa
The chilling calm of the ocean spray hitting the side of a fishing boat swayed Wade to and fro the twilight between sleep and awake. His soft eyelids fluttered as he contemplated where he might be. He had only received one simple message:
“Meet me at port.”
Then he was bound, a sack thrown over his head, and captured aboard this vessel. He felt as if he he sailed the water of the diseased River Styx. Death quickly approached in his hazy vision, hand outstretched awaiting his two pence for crossing...but his sight became clear as the shrouded figure approached.
“Cairo...”, Wade barely uttered.
Cairo placed his firm hand on Wade's shirt, lifting him from his seated position and motioned him forward. Moor's legs, moving of their own accord, carried him – among the rocking motion of the ocean – towards the helm of the ship, where none other than Hacksaw Jim Thuggin stood, arms crossed and his slits for eyes gazing out on the foggy horizon.
“It would appear we've arrived”, Jim Thuggin spoke, his voice slipping through Wade's conscious faux pas.
“How can you be sure this is the place?” Cairo inquired.
Jim Thuggin took in a long drag of air through widening nostrils, a shiver releasing through his body as he did. He placed his hand on the bow and looked over the edge of the boat.
“Because there's no place like home, Master Cairo”, Jim Thuggin answered, “The time is now for prophecy to call. See to it that it is done.”
Cairo placed a half witted Wade along the railing of the ship as Thuggin approached. He ran his spindly fingers against his cheek before motioning with his hand. Cairo lifted Wade underneath the leg and tossed him overboard. He span in the air before crashing against the surface and the wrath of the ocean took him underneath.
“What kind of world is down there?” Cairo asked.
“A self fulfilling Heaven or Hell, Master Cairo”, Thuggin responded, “A construct of his wirings, what can only be seen by the minds eye. All of his innermost crippling fears and doubts will come to pass. This world beneath will make him or break him. It's time the prophecy is realized. Much time has been wasted with adolescent fretting. It is time for my Earth Children...to grow up.”
Thuggin placed his hand against his own cheek as a green mucus substance drooped from his eyeball. He wiped it away with a stroke of his wrist as Cairo approached him and placed his hand on his shoulder.
“I know them feelz, my man”, The Godfather stated, assuring Thuggin that he was doing the right thing, “I know them feelz all too Pops.”
Beneath the destructive force of the Brocean below, Wade sunk
further
further
further
further
further
Bubbles began to release from his opening esophagus and nostrils as the pitiful amount of air he took in started to fade from his lungs. He extended his hand up towards the dwindling light, but he felt the pressure take hold of his insides...as something slithered against his leg. His head edged downward, though he could see nothing in the incapacitating darkness.
There are no fingerprints
deep under water
Nothing to tie one to a crime
deep under water
Nothing to tie one to a crime
Back aboard the fishing boat, Thuggin sighed with relief as he felt his Son enter another world, New Jalaxaritkatusa. Bobby felt Jimophy's tension subside and he clinched his meaty hand on Thuggin's bony shoulder as a need of assurance...though they both were fraught, and wept silently for their charge in the depths.
II: Murmaider
Wade gagged and choked as a bevy of sweet water rushed into his open mouth. His eyes wavered against a slip stream of growing and receding water. He struggled to lift himself off the wet sand beneath him, tripping over himself as he did. He fell face forward, his vision blacking out every so often, nearly hitting the ground before him, but extended his arms out to catch himself.
He sat there, on his knees, vomiting the excess water from his gullet and cleansing himself of his poisoned journey. Free from the shackles of the ocean, he turned his head upward to take bearing of where he landed. His eyes were met with a white, sandy beach, beyond it lay lush greenery and woodland as far as he could see...but something marched toward him in a savage hurry.
Something shrouded, flanked on either side by five cloaked figures. Wade stood to his feet, preparing for a fight, but bracing himself only for death. He was defenseless and would rely solely on his prowess in hand to hand combat...though each of them brandished blades as long as their arm. He took a defense position as the figures came ever closer, ready to come out swinging against the fiends.
They halted synchronously and dropped their blades into the sand. The one at the forefront of the group removed his hood and revealed himself a man, face scarred thickly with the wounds of many battles. His eyebrows furrowed as his lips split, gnashing gnarled yellow teeth in a vicious grin.
“Name yourself!” Wade called from the shore.
The man all stood, whispering incoherently in unison as the leader of the group cracked his neck.
“Do you wish to know the name of the man who will ultimately kill you?” the leader called back, his accent unthick and unknown to Wade's idiom or vernacular.
Wade sneered as he started to close distance between he and the group.
“You don't look a man to me”, Wade replied, “Where I come from, a man isn't afraid to square one on one.”
The specter only laughed, showing his silvery white tongue as he did. He bit down hard on his own lip, blood speckles splashed from his mouth to the sand beneath. Wade stopped as the man's eyes glared directly into his own.
“That man won't be me, regrettably”, the ghoulish man snarled, “Fortunately though, you will fetch a beautiful coin.”
His soldiers all picked up their weapons and methodically approached Moor. Wade's eyes narrowed as they surrounded him, waiting for an opportune moment.
Ill-fated for them, they didn't know who exactly they were dealing with.
The first one took stance and swiped his sword at Wade...but he sidestepped the blade, took the man's wrist in his hand, and drove his shoulder into the man's elbow. He felt bone and sinew snap as the man groaned in pain. Another approached and drove his blade down on Wade, but another quick side step allowed him advantageous position again as his weapon's tip split his companion's throat. A quick headbutt dispatched his attacker as he took the blade from the now dying man.
Deadly and swiftly, Wade dispatched the rest of his offenders with well placed slices and stabs. He felt the blade natural in his hand – and as the last of the man's attackers hit their final resting place at his feet – the leader of the group grit his teeth. Wade turned towards him and jabbed his sword into the sand.
“I say again, 'man'”, Wade called, his enemies fresh blood dripping from his body, “What is your name?”
The man groaned in anger, hatred. How could this fresh-ling be so natural a warrior? It had taken him years to become as great as he was...the fresh-ling had only just entered this land.
“I am called Gravedigger”, the man answered, his mouth grating and gritting.
This time it was Wade's turn to laugh.
“And why would I be afraid of the groundskeeper?!” Wade asked, laughing through his teeth, “You're only the one who digs the holes...I'm the one who fills them.”
He rubbed his hands across his face, smearing his opponents blood into his skin, fresh war paint. Wade inhaled as his mind recalled his previous life, The World Before, above the darkened surface.
“I imagine that this is another fight you won't be able to win, Gravedigger, not for lack of trying of course. You try...oh, do you try, John. But there is a very distinct line between trying and failing, and you do more than toe it. You jump headlong into failure after miserable failure, a glutton for punishment it would seem. Don't worry, I shall seek to abate your needs, by the sharp pierce of my tongue and the focused strikes of my inerrant strength.
“So this is where we meet, is it? Rise Up, they call it. I have no need for such trivial names. I have done more than Rise Up in my time in WCF. I have plundered. I have destroyed. I have conquered. Everyone that has stepped to me has been felled by me in some form or another, and your case won't be any different Gravedigger. Rise Up is just a when and where for me, another inevitable among your crushing defeat by me this week.
“This will be the match that separates the men from the boys. At the end of the night, nobody will be talking about the unrelenting Hardcore Championship match, the singular focused World Championship match, or the cancerous riddling of the Internet division...no, the only words they will let loose from their tongues is of Wade Moor painting the ring with Gravedigger's blood, as we inscribe legend Sunday Night.
“These men and women all fight to keep gold around their waists, a respectable enough posit yes...but what do men like us fight for? We step out there in that squared circle and we etch our legendary careers into the skin of our enemies, stamped with bruises, leaving our mark on this world and our opponents. Men like you and I, though we have carried and defended countless Championship belts, they mean very little to us in the long run.
“I guess this is the part where I dissect and divide you, to make for easier humping Sunday Night when I bend you over and make you a maiden in the eye of The World. What have you done recently that would strike fear into the heart of men willing to treat you as I will since your return? You've stood toe to toe with Joey Flash, got put in check, then turned your anger on it's intended target, David Sanchez...and yet, he got the best of you as well.
“Now it's my turn, Gravedigger, and after this is over, you will have to reconsider your decision to return here. This is not the land you once knew, a land of stooges and daisy pushers...this is now a land of the wicked. The cruel. The heartless. You get straight jacked the fuck up here, no GodNilla Damn exceptions, and this next beating promises to be absolutely rending.
“This might be an unpopular opinion...but you do not impress me, Gravedigger. Your posturing is nothing but simian chest beating in a monsters grotto. You're a legend in this company? This is also the same company that touts Lilith as a legend, so don't go getting ahead of yourself. Every day is a test, the past means nothing to me family.
“Got me thinking about the past actually, and family...remember when we called you Wavedigger? When we mockingly accepted you as one of our own, only to snub you at every twist and turn? You were probably sitting at that announce table, living vicariously through us as we set out and accomplished what you could only ever dream of doing, or recall upon memory fondly. Winning matches, Championship gold, having a successful career...these are all things that left you in the mud a long time ago. A bountiful sea of accomplishment, only for you to be stranded upon that desert island, waiting for an extended olive branch, surrounded only by sweaty dullards and wife beating morons. Your biggest accomplishment in the last year was pissing in Jayson Price's IV bag, and you roll it out so much that I want to dig my ear drums out of my head every time I hear it.
“You're fucking ridiculous Digger. A fool among warriors. A bitch among men. This is what your career has been reduced to; a footnote at the rise of Pantheon, a namesake you absolutely loath. I'm sure the thought stings at you, to have been defeated by a third of the elite warriors of Pantheon. This ain't your daddies Pantheon, bitch. This name no longer instills laughter, or comfort at the promise of an easy win. This is Pantheon reborn, helmed by #BeachKrew, and it's most dominant name in Wade Moor.
“Most people might think I have an uphill battle to wage ahead of me, but it is in fact you that is striving to impress. It's you that must Rise Up to my level. In my first year, I have far exceeded anything you couldn't have even believed possible in yours. I won the World Championship. I main evented One. I carried the fucking torch and men followed in my footsteps while, in your time, you were covering your face with a mask and pretending you weren't Gravedigger – don't worry, if I was you, I would pretend to be somebody else as well. Makes my own life seem a little less wretched by comparison.
“I ask this of every one of you cowardly fools who pulls covering down over his face – why the mask? Are you REALLY afraid of people knowing your identity? Or is it more of a self aware slash self loathing kind of thing? You're ashamed or is it really some vindication of all the horrible things you've done. Take away the face, take away the name...but the actions yet remain. I have never been ashamed of who I am, John, because I am a winner. You're an old fool searching for glory in an ever dwindling life and the wreckage of a once fine career.
“You sat by the way side and let life pass you by. The sands ran down as you sat in your chair, watching, and waiting, and loathing, and killing yourself to climb back in the ring for one last shot at glory. You want to bleed for WCF again, Gravedigger...and bleed you did, when Flash super kicked your head up your own ass. Now it's time for you to bleed for WCF again, Legendary Gravedigger, and you're going to fucking bleed, my man.
“So which Gravedigger am I going to get this week? The bumbling incompetent fool blathering on about Jayson's urine veins, the WCF legend striving to have one last blowout, or one that's actually worthy of my time and contention? Spoiler alert; none of them will be good enough to defeat me. I'm not the man everyone and you seem to think they know; I am more than their eyes and mind can conceive.
“I make weaklings like Jay Omega quiver in their boots and piss their pants on the way out the door. I smack fat retards like Crazy J around just for the fun in it. I step up to men like you and Odin so that I may destroy you and take my rightful place in the Legends Hall of the WCF. These are no small bones to make, no doubt about it, but I'm the only one ready, willing, and able to do so. So when the sea parts and the clouds make way, and the horrific story of how Wade Moor tore Gravedigger limb from fucking limb is told, just know that you helped another succeed where you could only fail.
“THAT is your legend, Gravedigger. Take solace in it, because you won't receive any from me. As I'm beating you within an inch of your life come Sunday, remember these words I let utter from my mouth. Consider them a heralding of the future, and all that is to come.”
Wade exhaled fire from his nostrils as his diatribe came to near close.
“Now, I say again bitch...fucking bow down.”
The man pulled his own blade from the sand and rushed Wade in combat. Wade held up his sword in defense, parrying the man's strike before laying boot into his gut. A wet, sandy footprint remained as the man fell backward, rolling into a standing position as Wade charged him. Their blades met yet again, coiling around each other as if becoming one.
“You think you actually have what it takes to make it of Legend here?” Gravedigger asked through gritted teeth, “You're nothing but a fat little bitch.”
A headbutt sent half of Gravedigger's teeth down his throat. Wade forced him away with the broad side of his sword before clanging the hilt off his eye cavity. Blood spurt from the blunt force as the man fell over in pain, his sword rolling just out of reach of his hand. Wade's boot fell upon his opponent's throat as the shining tip of his blade carved a fresh slice into his cheek, exposing the bone and cartilage underneath. Fresh crimson rolled down either side of Gravedigger's face, creating fresh stains in the once crisp, clean beach head. Gravedigger snarled, pushing his cheek bone forward to the blade's sharp end.
“Do it...” Gravedigger said, his face stalwart, “Kill me then.”
As Wade brought the blade up into the sky, a loud crack of thunder boom as lightning lit the hilly expanse beyond the beach. Dark clouds rolled into view almost immediately as a violent, dangerous waves coiled around them at shore. The clouds parted as a the figure of a man appeared in the clouds as the sand around them began to whip up into the wind. A deep booming sound stretched across the patch of Earth in front of them as a man landed on the shores, shrouded in the darkness from the sky.
Both Wade and Gravedigger both watched, awe stricken, as Odin approached either of them. His frame, massive as ever, garbed in Asgardian irons and furs, a sword as large as his body sheathed upon his back. He stopped in front of the two as Wade's blade pushed further into Gravedigger's skin. Odin only stood, his face a blank slate, eyes narrowed to slits.
“What are you doing here, my children?” Odin asked, his voice rolling in over the hills.
Wade smiled.
“I found this piece of shit”, he replied, “I thought you might want it back?”
This time, Odin smiled.
“You thought wrong”, Odin responded.
And with a quick dash of his wrist, Moor's blade penetrated the skull of Gravedigger, putting him out of his legendary misery. Wade tugged on the blade, pulling Gravedigger's motionless head with it, before completely digging the blade out of his cranium, where it clunked back against the sand with a wet, bloody plop. Odin watched as Wade shook the sword, causing the blade to sever itself from the bonding of the blade and paint the wet sand next to him.
“What are you doing here, Woden?” Moor asked, “Have you come to revel in your victory?”
Odin cracked his neck and crossed his arms, grinning underneath the tangles of his grey beard.
“On the contrary”, Odin replied, “I've come to congratulate you. Not many have gotten one over me, considering I see everything that happens in this realm, but you managed to slip one by me. An impressive feat, worthy of legend.”
“What does that mean, then?” Wade asked, his patience starting to run thin, and his blade thirsting for more.
“I suppose, you'll have to figure that one out for yourself...Wade Moor”, Odin said, before the winds wept viciously once more and he was disappeared from this Earth again.
Wade was left to contemplate over Odin's words, his mind racing with the possibilities of it all. His mind slipped between visions of his past, The World Before, three men on a boat, a blinding flash of light, a butcher's knife gripped in his right hand, a pair of big brown eyes, infinite death and it's numerous causes...
He shook the feelings away as he came back to the present time – was it time? - and the body laying at his feet. His inevitable victory over Gravedigger substantiated in canon and legend all but behind him, he grabbed him by the scruff of his cloak and waded out knee height in the ocean.
“In the sea, we don't dig holes”, Wade said.
He committed Gravedigger's body to the ocean with one last slice upon his breast, and pushed him out to the expanding, boundless horizon. The undertow carried him out to sea, where Wade saw something in the distance. Scaly, spindly hands reaching up from out of the water began to tear Gravedigger into shreds, his body becoming one with the Brocean, his life force injected directly into Broseidon's very own.
Wade let out a guttural roar as he turned and made his way back to shore. As he stepped foot onto land again, he heard the twang of a bowstring as an arrow crunched into the sand at his feet. He saw a scrap of paper connected to the end of the arrow by a string, his eyes scanning The World around him for the arrows owner, but he saw nothing in the distance. He knelt over and disconnected the paper, unfolding it in his hands to see only four words scrawled on it.
“Meet me at port.”
Wade crumpled the note in his balling fist as he stood to his feet. He removed the sheath from one of the dead men and connected it to his own belt, laying his sword to rest for now. But he heard as she sung delicately in the silence, thirsting for more of his enemies blood...and she would have it. Oh, she would have her fill of it, indeed.
After all, this was only but another step in the #fuccboigenocide.
And I say again,
FUCKING BOW DOWN!
Hold your breath, swim and strain
The smell of death, can't escape
The smell of death, can't escape
Blood will cloud, drift away
Attract the murders of Murdmaids
Attract the murders of Murdmaids