The Man Who Sold The World, Pt II
May 5, 2017 19:39:53 GMT -5
God King Dune, "Hacksaw" Jim Thuggin, and 6 more like this
Post by 6ix God on May 5, 2017 19:39:53 GMT -5
The sound of her husband’s voice caused Thursday to turn in surprise, not noticing in the slightest as she sat back in the puddle of her stomach’s contents. Her husband stood in the doorway, framed by the Void. He wore a black collared shirt, the sleeves rolled up and the hem hanging loosely from its previously tucked position, black leather gloves, and black patent leather shoes sitting beneath the cuffed hem of black dress pants. His sandy blonde bangs hung loosely before his face, a mask of blank emotion save the thin smile on his lips. As he leered over her like a cresting wave, her body shook.
Thursday Holmes: J-J-Jared, I-I…
Jared Holmes: Long ago in a small little village there was a nobleman called Bluebeard for the strange color of his hair. He had been a privateer who’d made a fortune working for the King and had built himself a magnificent mansion in the country after his retirement from the high seas. But poor Bluebeard was a lonely soul. He wanted company and someone to share his home, so he took a wife.
But tragedy struck. One day Bluebeard came to town and explained his beloved wife had passed from disease. So he began courting again and found another woman. But she, too, soon died. After several years, the solemn Bluebeard courted, married, and buries seven wives for various circumstances. In the evenings, he’d come to the tavern in town, sob into his beer, and cursed his misfortune. The people of the town were broken-hearted; Bluebeard was a liked and respected member of the community who’d always done well by his neighbors. After asking around, the town found a beautiful young peasant girl, both beautiful, good, and – above all – healthy. At their encouragement, she met the enigmatic nobleman, and soon the two fell in love and were married.
Thursday placed her hands behind her, slowly inching in retreat from her husband. Behind her, she could feel the innumerable eyes of Joseph Malignaggi boring into her. Jared followed in slow steps, matching pace.
Jared Holmes: When he brought her to his home, a beautiful three-story manse with numerous rooms and delightful corners, he showed her where he kept the keyring. Placing a hand on her shoulder, his demeanor was charming and happy. “My beautiful wife,” he said, “my home is your home. You may explore almost every inch and nook and claim them as your own. However…”
Jared paused. His eyes shined as he leaned down and lowered his voice.
Jared Holmes: “…under no circumstance can you ever go in the fourth room of the third floor. That is strictly forbidden.”
The Six God pivoted on his heels, turning to pace the room as he spoke, his hands waving through the air with a Shakespearean flair.
Jared Holmes: Now the young wife took her time to explore her new home. She found wonders and luxuries she’d only ever dreamed of! In the library were uncountable books of all sorts of topics and subjects and stories! In the garden were hundreds of beautiful and exotic plants which Bluebeard cultivated from his travels! He even had a private zoo – a ZOO! – full of strange and wonderful beast! Every day was like heaven to the young woman… and every night, she lay beside the man whom had given her this perfect new life.
His voice lowered. With his eyes fixed away from her, Thursday braced herself against the wall and pushed herself up, each crinkle of a picture beneath her hand sending her skin crawling. Were the walls covered in maggots or spiders, she’d be less afraid and disgusted.
Jared Holmes: But you know what they say: people want things they can’t have. It was only natural that the forbidden room of the third floor – one room she’d honored and avoided – would peak her interest. After all, people like the forbidden. It’s fucking erotic to learn secrets. So one day, while Bluebeard is out, she takes the keys and walks up to the third floor. Standing before the door, she hesitates. Does she really want to know? Paralyzed with fear for who knows how long, she finally makes up her mind and puts the key in the lock. And when she opens the door…
His voice dropped to a venomous whisper.
Jared Holmes: What she finds horrifies her.
Jared spun on his heel again, once more facing his wife as the thin smile returned to his lips. His eyes were dark with malevolent glee as he took a step toward her, his hands folded behind his back.
Jared Holmes: Inside the room was a shelf and eight hooks. On the shelf, seven sets of eyes from seven heads stared glassily back at her, their mouths open in silent horror forever. And from the hooks, of course, hung the rest of them. Well… all but one hook.
Jared lowered his head as his eyes stayed locked on hers.
Jared Holmes: That one was empty.
He spun from her again, his attention turning to a picture on the wall. Joseph Malignaggi stood beside Alessandra on their wedding day – perhaps minutes before Dune entered the church on that fateful day. Joey’s face had been torn out and affixed over that of his bride. A picture of Jared’s own face occupied the missing space. Raising his hands, he gently gripped the tip of the gloved middle finger and removed his right hand its sheath. With the skin exposed, he placed it delicately upon the face of Bride Flash, stroking it as he would a kitten.
Jared Holmes: When she turned, there was her husband behind her. But he was not angry – he was sad. He shook his head as he drew his sabre from its sheath. “I love you more than all the others. Every morning waking up beside you and sitting across the table from you and chatting by the fireside before we fell asleep in each other’s arms was a true joy. I truly hoped you’d be different.” And with that… well…
Thursday crossed the room to the man she married. Her body shook – her mind reeled and begged for release. For Jared to smile, laugh, and reveal it was all some sort of sick, poor taste joke.
Thursday Holmes: Jared, please, you’re scaring me.
As she reached to place a hand on his shoulder, he wheeled swiftly, dealing her a backhand across the face with surprising intensity that sent her crumbling to the floor. She stared up at him in horror as her hand came to her burning cheek. Jared smiled cheerfully as he looked down at her. His voice was loud and manic, dripping with faux affability.
Jared Holmes: And the moral of the story is…! Well, there is no moral. Not to this story. There is a stupid little girl, and a man who was using her. Was.
Thursday crawled away from him, the doorway blocked. He paced after her as she scrambled to a corner, her body curling defensively as tears rolled from her eyes and she began to sob. Jared’s smile faded once more to thin amusement. His voice was soft and calm.
Jared Holmes: You stupid fucking bitch. I make one little brain fart and use my regular email, and here you are. What did you expect, huh? A bunch of used condoms and model panties? Maybe a rare pet collection? Proof that aliens exist or a few embarrassing photos of Swagrid from the Christmas Party?
Jared waved a hand through the air, as though introducing the faces on the walls in dramatic fashion.
Jared Holmes: Congratulations. You opened Pandora’s Box and let all the evil out into the world. You feel proud? You want a fucking trophy?! Hey everyone, Thursday Kerrigan solved the mystery! Everyone give her a big round of applause and three cheers!
Jared clapped his hands together wildly as his eyes darted around the room to the unmoving pictures, stopping to motion to them and urge them on.
Jared Holmes: C’mon! Don’t be shy! Give the lady the applause she deserves!
Jared turned back to Thursday, his hands clapping together in wild fashion as he stared holes through her, his mouth twisted into the crazed grin of a hungry shark. His voice lowered low and dangerous as he slowly ceased. Thursday’s sobs echoed in the room.
Jared Holmes: Well, you’re here. Now you’ve had a taste of the real Jared Holmes. Not the goofy young heir you met at some party – not the man you cared for in a hospital bed – not even the man you stood across the altar from. I’m curious; how does it feel to realize you’ve been delusional, stupid, and blind for over a year now? I mean – fuckin’ aye, Kerry – I think even those Zero Tolerance dipshits picked up on it. Maybe not in the right way, perhaps, but could you really be that arrogant and retarded to think you were the sole object of my affection? You dumb cunt, I was spitting in Lilith’s asshole a few months before our wedding! You weren’t even the fucking center!
Uncurling, Thursday finally looked up at the figure of her husband. He stood above her with fists clenched, his face a twisted mask of fury and disgust. Black make-up surrounded her eyes and smeared in lines down her cheek, her nose red and eyes misty as she pleaded with him in a shuddered whisper.
Thursday Holmes: P-P-Please, Jared. I l-love you.
The fury from his face dissipated as his hands slackened. He tilted his head to the side as he stared down at her, his face a blank slate. She looked back at him with pleading, desperate eyes wide with pain and terror. He looked back with bemusement. After a moment of silence between them, a familiar few phrases left his lips; lines from a song Thursday remembered him expressing a fondness.
Jared Holmes: “I am my father’s son. I am no one. I cannot love. It’s in my blood.”
He turned and walked to the door. With the reality of the situation occurring to her, Thursday rushed after him. It was too late – the door closed behind him as Thursday found herself trapped and forsaken. From every corner of the room, Joey Flash watched stoically.
JARED HOLMES: I’ve been waiting for this, Frank. Not this match particular match, per se. Certainly not another fight in the ring with you – which I already know the outcome of. I’m talking about this chance. I’ve been waiting for my time to strike and lay claim to this championship since I stepped foot in this company two years ago, and all the while I’ve been picking scraps and moving pieces into place and doing whatever necessary to ensure the failure simply isn’t an option. It hasn’t been easy, Frank. Not everything has gone completely according to plan. I didn’t forecast #BeachKrew failing to win WAR two years ago – an admitted bout of early arrogance after the incredible wave of success I led that group to in our first two months. I also didn’t expect Jim Thuggin’s implementation of Johnny Rabid as leader and my subsequent injury at the hands of Dune. I didn’t even necessarily expect Wade to successfully claim the World Heavyweight Championship, though that was an obstacle more than easy to overcome with my bets hedged in the right direction. All that matters is I’ve waited and adapted, never letting a second pass where I wasn’t using or positioning a situation to my benefit. And now here I am. And here you are as the sacrificial lamb on the altar of the Six God.
Yet still, this is not the most ideal situation for me. On the crux of my greatest victory – of the finishing touch of my master design – I feel bored and apathetic because I know deep inside of me that this will be a fight of no consequence. There is only one foreseeable outcome, your absolute destruction, and I task you with finding anyone who believes that you’ll leave this match with the championship around your waist. In every encounter we’ve had, the popular vote prediction has been repeatedly in your favor, and successively you’ve failed. This time, people won’t be as stupid. There’s a pattern, Frank, and the definition of madness is repeating the same thing while expecting different results. At this point, we both know exactly what happens when we step in a ring together: I win and you lose. And no matter how much time you spend pouring over tape or studying and practicing, you will never reach the level I’m at. I’m better than you, Frank. Every measurable is comfortably in my favor. This is demonstrable and quantitative.
But that’s unsatisfying. That isn’t earned or hard-fought. And that’s why I’m sending you this tape right now, Frank. Because perhaps more insulting to your pride and sense of ego than merely destroying you at Aftermath, I want you to understand exactly how I get here and why. Because I gave myself the path of least resistance and now openly regret it.
I have always been perfect. From the day I was born, I got everything I ever wanted and could do anything I set my mind to. The only thing I couldn’t do was fix my parents’ marriage – but that doesn’t matter, all things considered. In spite of relying on a nanny and private school teachers to raise me, I had the world at my fingertips. I’m a natural. I always have been. Anything I put my mind to, I could do with relative ease. Things that got me what I wanted or took a little effort – those kept my attention. But I had no higher aspirations. I had no goals, heroes, or role models.
[PAUSE]
JARED HOLMES: Then I saw Joey Flash on TV for the first time.
[PAUSE]
JARED HOLMES: I have never seen myself as anything less than perfect. I was the pinnacle of the genetic lottery, a boy who was dealt a royal flush by God when he popped out a cunt. There was nothing I ever saw that ever convinced me that this was anything short of the truth, until I saw him on TV for the first time. He was beautiful. Graceful. His form was flawless. He was strong. Fast. Haughty and backed it up. I watched him bury faggoty losers like Gemini Battle, Howard Black, and Jay Omega weekly. It was all I ever wanted. I wanted to be that man on TV who made a living inflicting pain on all the fuccbois and losers and midgets in this world. I wanted to having a career breaking the faces of all the Gollum-looking dweebs like you, Frank. That he was so GOOD was the icing on the cake. He was untouchable. I wanted to be just like him. No, fuck it, I wanted to BE HIM.
[PAUSES, LONG BREATH]
JARED HOLMES: So I joined this company. I recruited an elite team of the most capable people I could. It was only too fortunate I just happened to be living with them at the time. Maybe that’s what Thuggin planned all along. He brought us together, after all. I had the vision, but Thuggin started the connections. Maybe it was his goal all along. I’m not sure. All that matters is when given control of steering the ship, I steering it into the WCF. I NEEDED to be near him. I NEEDED him to notice me. To adopt me and teach me. I saw people like him. Like Fly. They were perfect. They were adored and worshipped. I wanted that. And I knew I belong in that fraternity. This was what every step of my life – every moment of perfection – had led me towards. And do you know what happened when I met my hero, Frank? When I finally reached a level where he could see someone who was his EQUAL? Who could MATCH HIM in a way Johnny Fly NEVER could?!
[LONG PAUSE, LOW SNARL]
JARED HOLMES: He LAUGHED in my FACE! He MOCKED ME! He took it upon himself to call me RAT BOY and RIDICULE ME!
[LONG PAUSE, HEAVY BREATHING]
JARED HOLMES: I want you to consider that, Frank. Everything you’ve done up until this point just got shit on by the person you cared about most. They say don’t meet your heroes; I learned that the hard way. And I dedicated myself to a single goal. I wanted to destroy Joey Flash.
[PAUSE]
JARED HOLMES: I turned over how to do it for a long time. He was stupid and slovenly and arrogant, even if he was so fucking beautiful. It was easy enough to just lay my cards on the table, be the sycophant, and let him waddle in like the egomaniac he was. And soon enough?
[LAUGH]
JARED HOLMES: IT WORKED! I was going to dinner with him and his wife. I was his confidant. I got him to put on a leather vest and ride a moped to Mexico with me! I won the Trilogy Cup and everything was ready. All I had to do… was wait.
[PAUSE]
JARED HOLMES: Then Logan happened. Then, for as perfect as he was, Joey FAILED! And fighting Logan for the title was unacceptable. So the very next night in Mexico? When I had a chance to help Joey avenge himself and his pride? I took the long way. I hit the reset button. I waved my hands… and Mexico happened.
And then, suddenly, everyone disappeared. No more the Pride. No more Andre Aquarius. No #BeachKrew. No Dune. No Joey Flash. I let Seth pick up the pieces. I let the company regestate. And when that fat idiot redneck was fighting for the belt against Corey – two easy enough competitors – I made my move and unleashed The World. Everything went just as planned. He formed a group around him, just as he does – and just as I do. He won WAR with ease. At ONE, he killed Orange Julius with minimal effort. The man who cost him in belt to Logan. Everything in a perfect circle. The only problem… was David Sanchez.
[CHUCKLE]
JARED HOLMES: Thank you, Frank. I don’t think anyone actually expected you to beat Dave. I didn’t. Hell, I lost money on that bet. It seemed like such a laughably clear-cut curb stomping, that I was ready to write off your whole career for losing to Sebastian Knight, me, and Sanchez in such short order. But that’s Dave for you: professional choke artist. WAR? Choke. US Title run? Choke in the end. If anything, actually winning the Final Destination briefcase was more of an exception than a rule for him. So, I suppose, it was only too appropriate when his defense ended in a loss. Dave was neutralized as a threat. If anything, you gave us a boon. We probably would’ve allowed Dave to remain in Pantheon if he didn’t form Everest. But, again, his own failures precede him. And that’s a different topic for a different day.
What matters is you came into the picture. And then came O’Neal. Two people I’d easily crushed. And if I could easily crush them, why couldn’t Joey?
[PAUSE]
JARED HOLMES: And he could have. But by this point, I was finally getting angry. You wake up every day, and you hear the object of your desires praised. You hear Johnny Rabid praised. You hear a bunch of aliens call Joey “the Destroyer” and quake in fear of him, and finally you decide you’re tired of waiting. And you’re tired of abuse. And you’re tired of doubt. Because even though your faith was once shaken in your own perfection, you know that no one… NO ONE… is allowed to doubt your perfection but you. So you make an impulsive decision. You spring the trap early. Surrounded by the wolves, you cut off your prey’s life lines. Then you give the signal and fucking BURY HIM.
[ANGRY PANTING]
JARED HOLMES: Where’s the great Joey Flash now, Frank?! Where’s “the World”? Where’s that greasy little beautiful fucking wop faggot who could take anyone?! HUH!? He KNEW I wanted this. He KNEW he could handle it. It didn’t MATTER the numbers. He should have SURVIVED. Instead… he… he…
[PLEASED SHUDDER]
JARED HOLMES: He fucking fell. I busted the myth and shattered the illusion. Joey Flash was vulnerable. He could bleed. All that was left to do was kill either you or O’Neal and earn my rightful place on the throne which I’d machinated. And now that I’m on the cusp of that victory, it’s occurred to me… that this isn’t motivating.
[LONG PAUSE]
JARED HOLMES: This isn’t SATISFYING. I spent years obsessing over first being alongside Malignagi and then being the one to personally ruin his reputation and record. I wanted to be the biggest tally in that L-Column. Instead, out of anger and wanting to demonstrate power, I gave it to Jason-fucking-O’Neal. And now that I have you in my paws, I feel lazy. I just can’t convince myself that this is a worthwhile match when I could actually be facing off with Joey Flash. When I could have the chance to prove myself against the best competitor in this company. Much in the same way that everyone silently ridicules your title victory behind your back by earning it by destroying Jason O’Neal, no one will take my victory seriously by destroying you. Much in the same way that everyone knew Jason O’Neal was a level beneath you, everyone knows you’re a level below me. And any claims to the contrary are fueled by nothing but petty jealousy or dislike. Not everything is a matter of opinion, Frank. Not all opinions are made the same.
There are some people who are over-hyped, quantitative losers: Gemini Battle, Spencer Adams, Steve Orbit, Polar Phantasm, Sarah Twilight, Bonnie Blue, Alex Richards, Teo del Sol, Eric Purse, Thomas Bates, Jeff Purse, Jayson Price, and you. Each and every single one of these people will garner the adoring reaction and support of the crowd and internet, but each and every single time they face stiff competition, they under-perform. They choke. They’d be the top of the company in anywhere else but WCF, but when you’re up against the best, you pale in comparison. You are, ultimately, a B player. In a world full of Adam Youngs, Dion Necurats, Crazy Js, and Vinnie Joneses you are God. In the land of the blind, the man with one eye is king. But you can never stand to a person with both eyes. You are inferior. Beyond a shadow of a doubt.
And now I’m not sure I want inferior, Frank. Suddenly, as I find myself forcing myself from a sitting position or preparing for this match, I realize that it’s such an absolute walk in the park that I can hardly find myself willing to put forth the effort. I intrinsically understand that could be my undoing, but I’m not even willing to call it arrogance – it’s so self-apparent to me that I’m going to win this match, I can’t imagine it going any other way. Even if you radically over-performed, it would STILL take an incredible underperformance on my behalf for you to take me. That’s how big the gap between us is. I have to completely shit the bed while you have to smash your proven ceiling beyond everyone’s wildest imagination. Anything less than that is a guaranteed body bag.
I hope you’re ready Frank. The match we have on Sunday is not going to be like our match for the Television Title, where I simply toyed with you. It’s not even going to be like our match at XIII where I dominated you. This is going to be the Six God at his peak. Making the statement he needs to make. You will not receive me on an off-week. Even as bored and uninspired as I feel, I’m going to tear your throat out. The Galactic Prophecy is nigh. And as for the question “What’s a God to a non-believer”, I’ll give you the answer: everything. I don’t need you to believe for me to exist. And when the bell rings on Sunday, if you’re still even breathing, you’ll believe. I only wish that the face I stared down at as I raised the belt was Joey Flash. So I could look him in the eye and say, with full intention, that he was face to face with the Man Who Sold The World.
The clock had struck midnight. Her crown had disappeared, her happiness and her fortitude had been ripped out of her soul. The Queen in Yellow was simply a broken, scared girl, stranded alone at sea and treading water. Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink. As bloody broken nails raked the door once more she fell back onto her haunches in light headed weariness.
Thursday Holmes: Jared... Please…
The hours had coagulated into one solemn eternity of broken hearted confusion. She had not heard from the man she had loved, the man who had brought the broken girl out of the gutter and placed her on a throne of lies and false promises. A kingdom built on deceit and death. You may now kiss the bride. She hadn’t heard from Jared in what seemed like an eternity when a soft voice spoke from the other side of the door.
Jared Holmes: I’m here. Hush now.
Thursday gasped in a paradoxical inhalation of hope and dread. She crawled toward the door, her eyes were starting to grow heavy as she rested her head on the door.
Thursday Holmes: Please... Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone, I won’t tell –
Jared Holmes: I know. I know you won’t. I’ve never worried about that with you, never once. You were so perfect. You were an aesthetically pleasing woman, someone who was amiable with people, someone who was a great public face. You were a passable fuck and required minimum effort on my part, you fulfilled my base needs. You were loyal - to a fault. You even killed for me.
A dry sob wracked her body in a shudder. She beat the door weakly as she forced movement through her vocal chords in a desperate please.
Thursday Holmes: I love you, Jared. I love you. Please – please – just let me go.
Jared Holmes: You thought you knew me. You fell in love with me. Now you know me.
Thursday Holmes: I don’t underst –
Jared Holmes: He has beautiful eyes, don’t you think?
The voice of the Six God never raised above a monotonous drone, like the hypnotic hiss of a Cobra. It was oddly comforting – like a blanket wrapped around her on a cold night. For a moment, Thursday fell out of consciousness before the last statement snapped her back again.
Thursday Holmes: W-what?
Jared Holmes: I said, you have seen something you shouldn’t have. Something that the Six God does not allow anyone to see. You stepped into my temple. You have defiled it, Thursday. You stupid, stupid cunt.
He spoke with a serpentine whisper, the couple separated by two inches of door; each resting their head against it. Thursday slumped forward in weariness.
Thursday Holmes: The police will find you, people are looking for me…
Jared Holmes: No they won’t.
Thursday Holmes: They-
Jared Holmes: No, they won’t. You will die here, in this room, alone and unloved like the rest of them before you. I’m still here, aren’t I?
Thursday Holmes: The...the rest? I-I don’t –
Jared Holmes: The story of Bluebeard. It wasn’t a fable, it was an accurate description of your predicament. Do you really think you were my first ever Thursday girl?
It was then, in that moment, that Thursday Holmes realized the truth of her predicament; the true horror of the man she had married. Her head swam and strength failed her once more as she began to go under before being awoken by her own violent coughing fit.
Jared Holmes: You’ve been without water for sixty-five hours now. I think it’s about time.
Raising an arm felt like a herculean effort for Thursday as she pressed a bloody palm on the door. Her breaths were growing short and shallow as she felt her eyelids grow heavier...and heavier.
Thursday Holmes: Jared.
Jared pressed his own palm against the door and whispered back, his callousness replaced by a gentle softness.
Jared Holmes: Yes, darling?
Thursday Holmes: I’m...I’m dying.
He voice was weak and labored. Feeling was beginning to leave as her head was growing foggier. The final tear her body had left to shed slid down her cheek. As it plinked against the concrete beneath her, her husband’s voice surfaced through the mist.
Jared Holmes: Is it blissful?
Thursday felt her eyes close once more. She remembered their first kiss – their first dance – the first time they made love – the first time Jared told her he loved her. She’d begun to feel herself slip beneath the surface.
Thursday Holmes: It’s...
And as she opened her mouth, death flooded in like a crashing ripple. She slid down the door and lay sprawled on the floor, her final breath leaving her body.
Jared held his hand for a moment and took a deep breath, closing his eyes.
Jared Holmes: I want to dream.
He sat in the back of the Sazerac Bar, a lone figure in a solid black suit nursing a drink and staring quietly ahead. Jared noticed him the moment he stepped into the room – it was hard to not notice John Rabid when he desired his presence felt. The gaze of the Ripper was cold; he drummed his fingers impatiently along the edge of his martini glass. As he crossed the room, Jared looked down at the watch on his wrist. When he came to the table Rabid occupied in the corner, he noticed a drink already waiting for him. Jared smiled behind Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses as he sat down and picked up the drink.
John Rabid: I see we’re both the Men in Black today. Somehow, I believe for different reasons.
Jared lifted the amber-colored drink to his lips and took a sip; straight Bourbon. A few months ago, he’d have never accepted a drink Rabid poured without his careful observation. Things had changed.
Jared Holmes: So what’s the occasion for you?
John Rabid: To mourn the passing of men who died on the battlefield and Frank Venable’s relevance. I’d generally assume the latter for you as well, but the smell on your skin suggests otherwise.
Jared removed his gaze from Rabid, his smile falling as he peered at himself in the mirror that lined the back of the bar. He was quiet.
Jared Holmes: I did what I had to do.
John Rabid: I warned you that your obsession would cost you.
Jared shook his head, turning back to Rabid.
Jared Holmes: No. You’re wrong.
He lifted the drink to his lips again and took another sip.
Jared Holmes: It drove me. And now I’m stronger than ever.
The two men exchanged a look before Jared reached up and removed his sunglasses, folding them and placing them on the table.
Jared Holmes: Update on Creeping Death?
John Rabid: Crow and Bishop are in pursuit. It’s complex, suffice to say. This will end, one way or another.
Jared Holmes: And Corey?
John Rabid: Still missing. If everything goes according to plan, we’ll get him back. Minus Creeping Death.
Jared smiled. His voice was low and excited.
Jared Holmes: This has worked as beautifully as you said it would, Rabid. We’re so close.
Rabid smiled in return, raising his own drink to his lips for a sip.
John Rabid: They’re all weak. Softened up. And I trust you’ve been using this time to prepare and stay rested?
Jared rested his cheek on his curled hand.
Jared Holmes: One big extended vacation.
John Rabid: Then I’ve bought you the advantage you wanted. And now it’s time for your end.
Jared nodded, his smile expanding to a grin.
Jared Holmes: I’m thinking about dedicating this one to Adrian Archer. Maybe I’ll send his family a fruit basket and condolences letter.
Rabid did not smile. His eyes stayed locked on the Celestial Shark and his voice lowered.
John Rabid: I’m not in the mood for jokes. We’re too close for you to get cocky and cute – you have one job, and you’d better come through. Do you understand?
Jared’s grin faded. Matching the intensity of his compatriot, he nodded.
Jared Holmes: I’m going to destroy him.
It was Rabid’s turn to smile, swirling his drink in its glass as he leaned back in his seat.
John Rabid: I hope you understand, my reason for sitting on the sidelines and letting you make your move is because I’m legitimately curious what this “Galactic Prophecy” will look like… if it even exists. Otherwise, I prefer expediency and would do it myself.
Jared Holmes: I appreciate the confidence, but I could kill Frank without this. It’s just, ya know…
They shared a smile.
Jared/Rabid: Fun.
With a low chuckle, Rabid finished his drink and placed the empty glass at the side of the table.
John Rabid: Of course. This whole climb to the top could’ve been more herculean, but why bother? We take out Joseph. We weaken the federation. Then we move in for the kill. It’s all Candy Land from that point on. But the point stands: do not fail.
Jared raised the glass to his lips, finishing the contents as well and giving a satisfied sigh before placing it on the table beside Rabid’s finished drink.
Jared Holmes: This is Prophecy, Jason. I’ll lay Frank as the first sacrifice on the altar of our domination.
The two sat in silence, quiet and confident smiles upon their faces. As the waiter approached and picked their glasses up, Jared turned toward him.
Jared Holmes: If you could get me a Sidecar, please.
Within the Void, the door slid open, and Jared stepped over the slumped figure of his deceased wife to enter his temple. He paused to look down at her body – decay has yet to set in. Turning around, he knelt at her side and brushed a few strands of hair from her face. He gripped the finger tip of his right glove and pulled it off, letting it fall to the floor as he placed a bare hand on the face of his lover for the final time. Her skin was cool to the touch – it had paled and begun to show veins. Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on her lips.
Jared Holmes: Good night, sweet princess.
Standing up, he turned to the temple before him. Behind him, Thursday’s figure sunk into the floor and slowly receded from sight or mind. He was far more preoccupied with the shrine before him. He was far too interested in the task at hand.
He approached his favorite picture of the lot: a discreet snapshot of Joey laying sprawled in an armchair, watching Alessandra and her boytoy walk into the room. His beautiful features were atrophied and wracked by time spent in suspension. His expression was nearly blank – his mind must’ve still been recovering from the trauma of his release. How Jared acquired this picture didn’t matter – what mattered is what it represented.
That time he held the fate of The World in his hands. When the object of hislove desire affection hatred had first truly become his own personal puppet. It didn’t matter what chaos he caused Jim. It didn’t matter what Twitter tantrums he went on or the look of disgust and distrust that slut he married would give Jared. All that mattered was Joey Flash being twisted firmly around his finger. Striking him down and giving Jason O’Neal the championship was the final test of how much control Jared wielded over Flash’s career. And the results had been more positive than expected.
Turning to the rest of the wall, his eyes scanned over pictures of Flash squaring up in the ring. Against Jay Omega at WAR. Against Thomas Bates at ONE. Against Steven Singh. Where these men had failed, Jared had succeeded: he destroyed The World. He corrupted him first, but he destroyed him nonetheless. All that was left war the final prize.
A sensation of excitement rose up in Jared’s chest, sending fire up through his throat and down through his groin. A picture of Flash holding the belt after defeated Bates stared back at him. The look of arrogant triumph – the gleam of gold – the flash of cameras; it was all the Six God wanted. Bates, O’Neal, Venable – even Joey Flash – none had been worthy. This was a goal he’d been plotting towards for almost two years. It was no longer time to sit on the bench – it was time for him to sit on the throne. Jared reached up and scratched at the photo, tearing the face of Flash from the picture. He’d find a suitable picture of himself to put in its place at a later time.
Surrounded by his idol – covered in God – the Six God smiled. There was nothing left to do but step in the ring against an enemy he’d faced time and time again – an enemy he’d bested time and time again – and deal an easy killing blow. He’d bring Frank to his knees, take all he loved, and begin the final phase of his objectives. With the title would come fruition of the Galactic Prophecy. And he’d reign until he no longer desired.
Frank Venable was in for a rude awakening. Too often to optimists get caught up in the fanciful notions of epic clashes of Good and Evil where the underdog hero summons muster, moxie, and courage to slay what seems to be an overwhelming foe. Society had been conditioned to accept this trope as unshakeable truth, from when David slew Goliath up to Rey cutting down Kylo Ren. The truth is, this was never the case. No, the underdogs did not win in reality. And any accounts to the contrary were almost always greatly exaggerated. Che Guevara was executed. The Alamo fell. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. Hollywood and Hallmark lived for artificial, saccharine hope. People drank hope like a drug to get through the day and pray they’d find something better. But in the end, there’d be nothing save cold realities and emptiness. No matter how great a statue Ozymandias built, it would erode to sand under a desert wind. All that would ever exist was God.
For Jared Holmes, there was no sacrifice that he would not give. There was no advantage he would not exploit. There was no shot he wouldn’t take. He was a superior opponent to anyone Frank had faced – from Doc Henry to Johnny Fly. WCF had changed. It wasn’t about Vagina monologues or going Back-to-Back. There was no room for heroes – Teo del Sol had taken off the mask, Spencer Adams ran some horrible company, and Vic Venable was back to the shadows of his less talented brother. The Pride had been locked in a shed and tortured to their breaking point, Ethan King only finding success under his tutelage and mirages under alliance to Sanchez. Sarah Twilight was discredited and driven into hiding – Logan was gone – Lilith had vanished and been replaced by another faceless slut he’d banged and kicked aside – Gemini Battle was dead – Thomas Bates was fired. Anyone who had ever stepped in his path had been systematically torn apart and buried. He was the Neon Grim Reaper. And he was in position to take his final head.
But of everyone whom he’d broken and ended, there was none he prized more than the man whose face was splattered across the wall a thousand times before him. No, he didn’t need to feel dissatisfied or apathetic not facing Joey Flash – not when he smiled and twitched every time he remembered the look of horror on Joey’s face before Everest delivered the pile driver that ended his career. He wormed his way into Joey’s inner circle, infected every asset of it, and revealed his hand only when it was too late for anything to be done. Before Joey had a chance to strike, Jared cut his chord. At the snap of the fingers, Jared Holmes had sold The World.
All that was left was to destroy his final obstacle. Frank Patrick Venable. A failure who had stumbled his way into a championship the same way he’d stumbled into the Television Title – on Jared’s whim. Just as he’d put Frank down and thrown the match – to send the message that this was his world – he would destroy Frank again. This time, there would be no intentional disqualification. He would not let Frank walk away with a belt; he actually cared about the WCF Title, unlike the Television Title that his compatriot, John Rabid, now held. He’d tear through like Hurricane Jared and walk away. And there was nothing Frank could do to stop him.
It didn’t matter what Frank said. It didn’t matter if he talked about Jared’s kike father or estranged mother. It didn’t matter if Frank bemoaned Jared’s estranged (re:dead) wife or failed relationships. There was nothing Frank could say to get under Jared’s skin or in his head. He had one focus, both unflinching and pure: the WCF Championship. When Joey fell, it became the new focus of his obsession. The thought of it consumed his mind and heart at all hours as he’d planned and focused meticulously, waiting to strike. And now, it was time. And it was all too easy.
The Six God turned from the room, stepping back through the door and back into the Void that separated his temple from the dingy Ninth Ward apartment. His mind was made up; as the door closed behind him, it sealed close for the final time. There was no more need for its contents – for the consumed corpse of Thursday or the innumerable photos of Joey Flash. No need for destroyed statues or old flames. The future was now. The future was the Six God. His reign on Earth would begin.
In the beginning, the Six God buried The World. On the second day, he conquered the world. And on the final day, the Six God rested. The King was dead. Frank Venable would follow. And Jared Holmes would finally T A S T E H E A V E N.
Thursday Holmes: J-J-Jared, I-I…
Jared Holmes: Long ago in a small little village there was a nobleman called Bluebeard for the strange color of his hair. He had been a privateer who’d made a fortune working for the King and had built himself a magnificent mansion in the country after his retirement from the high seas. But poor Bluebeard was a lonely soul. He wanted company and someone to share his home, so he took a wife.
But tragedy struck. One day Bluebeard came to town and explained his beloved wife had passed from disease. So he began courting again and found another woman. But she, too, soon died. After several years, the solemn Bluebeard courted, married, and buries seven wives for various circumstances. In the evenings, he’d come to the tavern in town, sob into his beer, and cursed his misfortune. The people of the town were broken-hearted; Bluebeard was a liked and respected member of the community who’d always done well by his neighbors. After asking around, the town found a beautiful young peasant girl, both beautiful, good, and – above all – healthy. At their encouragement, she met the enigmatic nobleman, and soon the two fell in love and were married.
Thursday placed her hands behind her, slowly inching in retreat from her husband. Behind her, she could feel the innumerable eyes of Joseph Malignaggi boring into her. Jared followed in slow steps, matching pace.
Jared Holmes: When he brought her to his home, a beautiful three-story manse with numerous rooms and delightful corners, he showed her where he kept the keyring. Placing a hand on her shoulder, his demeanor was charming and happy. “My beautiful wife,” he said, “my home is your home. You may explore almost every inch and nook and claim them as your own. However…”
Jared paused. His eyes shined as he leaned down and lowered his voice.
Jared Holmes: “…under no circumstance can you ever go in the fourth room of the third floor. That is strictly forbidden.”
The Six God pivoted on his heels, turning to pace the room as he spoke, his hands waving through the air with a Shakespearean flair.
Jared Holmes: Now the young wife took her time to explore her new home. She found wonders and luxuries she’d only ever dreamed of! In the library were uncountable books of all sorts of topics and subjects and stories! In the garden were hundreds of beautiful and exotic plants which Bluebeard cultivated from his travels! He even had a private zoo – a ZOO! – full of strange and wonderful beast! Every day was like heaven to the young woman… and every night, she lay beside the man whom had given her this perfect new life.
His voice lowered. With his eyes fixed away from her, Thursday braced herself against the wall and pushed herself up, each crinkle of a picture beneath her hand sending her skin crawling. Were the walls covered in maggots or spiders, she’d be less afraid and disgusted.
Jared Holmes: But you know what they say: people want things they can’t have. It was only natural that the forbidden room of the third floor – one room she’d honored and avoided – would peak her interest. After all, people like the forbidden. It’s fucking erotic to learn secrets. So one day, while Bluebeard is out, she takes the keys and walks up to the third floor. Standing before the door, she hesitates. Does she really want to know? Paralyzed with fear for who knows how long, she finally makes up her mind and puts the key in the lock. And when she opens the door…
His voice dropped to a venomous whisper.
Jared Holmes: What she finds horrifies her.
Jared spun on his heel again, once more facing his wife as the thin smile returned to his lips. His eyes were dark with malevolent glee as he took a step toward her, his hands folded behind his back.
Jared Holmes: Inside the room was a shelf and eight hooks. On the shelf, seven sets of eyes from seven heads stared glassily back at her, their mouths open in silent horror forever. And from the hooks, of course, hung the rest of them. Well… all but one hook.
Jared lowered his head as his eyes stayed locked on hers.
Jared Holmes: That one was empty.
He spun from her again, his attention turning to a picture on the wall. Joseph Malignaggi stood beside Alessandra on their wedding day – perhaps minutes before Dune entered the church on that fateful day. Joey’s face had been torn out and affixed over that of his bride. A picture of Jared’s own face occupied the missing space. Raising his hands, he gently gripped the tip of the gloved middle finger and removed his right hand its sheath. With the skin exposed, he placed it delicately upon the face of Bride Flash, stroking it as he would a kitten.
Jared Holmes: When she turned, there was her husband behind her. But he was not angry – he was sad. He shook his head as he drew his sabre from its sheath. “I love you more than all the others. Every morning waking up beside you and sitting across the table from you and chatting by the fireside before we fell asleep in each other’s arms was a true joy. I truly hoped you’d be different.” And with that… well…
…You know.
Thursday crossed the room to the man she married. Her body shook – her mind reeled and begged for release. For Jared to smile, laugh, and reveal it was all some sort of sick, poor taste joke.
Thursday Holmes: Jared, please, you’re scaring me.
As she reached to place a hand on his shoulder, he wheeled swiftly, dealing her a backhand across the face with surprising intensity that sent her crumbling to the floor. She stared up at him in horror as her hand came to her burning cheek. Jared smiled cheerfully as he looked down at her. His voice was loud and manic, dripping with faux affability.
Jared Holmes: And the moral of the story is…! Well, there is no moral. Not to this story. There is a stupid little girl, and a man who was using her. Was.
Thursday crawled away from him, the doorway blocked. He paced after her as she scrambled to a corner, her body curling defensively as tears rolled from her eyes and she began to sob. Jared’s smile faded once more to thin amusement. His voice was soft and calm.
Jared Holmes: You stupid fucking bitch. I make one little brain fart and use my regular email, and here you are. What did you expect, huh? A bunch of used condoms and model panties? Maybe a rare pet collection? Proof that aliens exist or a few embarrassing photos of Swagrid from the Christmas Party?
Jared waved a hand through the air, as though introducing the faces on the walls in dramatic fashion.
Jared Holmes: Congratulations. You opened Pandora’s Box and let all the evil out into the world. You feel proud? You want a fucking trophy?! Hey everyone, Thursday Kerrigan solved the mystery! Everyone give her a big round of applause and three cheers!
Jared clapped his hands together wildly as his eyes darted around the room to the unmoving pictures, stopping to motion to them and urge them on.
Jared Holmes: C’mon! Don’t be shy! Give the lady the applause she deserves!
Jared turned back to Thursday, his hands clapping together in wild fashion as he stared holes through her, his mouth twisted into the crazed grin of a hungry shark. His voice lowered low and dangerous as he slowly ceased. Thursday’s sobs echoed in the room.
Jared Holmes: Well, you’re here. Now you’ve had a taste of the real Jared Holmes. Not the goofy young heir you met at some party – not the man you cared for in a hospital bed – not even the man you stood across the altar from. I’m curious; how does it feel to realize you’ve been delusional, stupid, and blind for over a year now? I mean – fuckin’ aye, Kerry – I think even those Zero Tolerance dipshits picked up on it. Maybe not in the right way, perhaps, but could you really be that arrogant and retarded to think you were the sole object of my affection? You dumb cunt, I was spitting in Lilith’s asshole a few months before our wedding! You weren’t even the fucking center!
Uncurling, Thursday finally looked up at the figure of her husband. He stood above her with fists clenched, his face a twisted mask of fury and disgust. Black make-up surrounded her eyes and smeared in lines down her cheek, her nose red and eyes misty as she pleaded with him in a shuddered whisper.
Thursday Holmes: P-P-Please, Jared. I l-love you.
The fury from his face dissipated as his hands slackened. He tilted his head to the side as he stared down at her, his face a blank slate. She looked back at him with pleading, desperate eyes wide with pain and terror. He looked back with bemusement. After a moment of silence between them, a familiar few phrases left his lips; lines from a song Thursday remembered him expressing a fondness.
Jared Holmes: “I am my father’s son. I am no one. I cannot love. It’s in my blood.”
He turned and walked to the door. With the reality of the situation occurring to her, Thursday rushed after him. It was too late – the door closed behind him as Thursday found herself trapped and forsaken. From every corner of the room, Joey Flash watched stoically.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
BE REAL IT DOESNT MATTER ANYWAY YOU KNOW ITS JUST TOO LITTLE TOO LATE
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
TRANSCRIPT: CASSETTE ADDRESSED TO “FRANK PATRICK VENABLE”
JARED HOLMES: I’ve been waiting for this, Frank. Not this match particular match, per se. Certainly not another fight in the ring with you – which I already know the outcome of. I’m talking about this chance. I’ve been waiting for my time to strike and lay claim to this championship since I stepped foot in this company two years ago, and all the while I’ve been picking scraps and moving pieces into place and doing whatever necessary to ensure the failure simply isn’t an option. It hasn’t been easy, Frank. Not everything has gone completely according to plan. I didn’t forecast #BeachKrew failing to win WAR two years ago – an admitted bout of early arrogance after the incredible wave of success I led that group to in our first two months. I also didn’t expect Jim Thuggin’s implementation of Johnny Rabid as leader and my subsequent injury at the hands of Dune. I didn’t even necessarily expect Wade to successfully claim the World Heavyweight Championship, though that was an obstacle more than easy to overcome with my bets hedged in the right direction. All that matters is I’ve waited and adapted, never letting a second pass where I wasn’t using or positioning a situation to my benefit. And now here I am. And here you are as the sacrificial lamb on the altar of the Six God.
Yet still, this is not the most ideal situation for me. On the crux of my greatest victory – of the finishing touch of my master design – I feel bored and apathetic because I know deep inside of me that this will be a fight of no consequence. There is only one foreseeable outcome, your absolute destruction, and I task you with finding anyone who believes that you’ll leave this match with the championship around your waist. In every encounter we’ve had, the popular vote prediction has been repeatedly in your favor, and successively you’ve failed. This time, people won’t be as stupid. There’s a pattern, Frank, and the definition of madness is repeating the same thing while expecting different results. At this point, we both know exactly what happens when we step in a ring together: I win and you lose. And no matter how much time you spend pouring over tape or studying and practicing, you will never reach the level I’m at. I’m better than you, Frank. Every measurable is comfortably in my favor. This is demonstrable and quantitative.
But that’s unsatisfying. That isn’t earned or hard-fought. And that’s why I’m sending you this tape right now, Frank. Because perhaps more insulting to your pride and sense of ego than merely destroying you at Aftermath, I want you to understand exactly how I get here and why. Because I gave myself the path of least resistance and now openly regret it.
I have always been perfect. From the day I was born, I got everything I ever wanted and could do anything I set my mind to. The only thing I couldn’t do was fix my parents’ marriage – but that doesn’t matter, all things considered. In spite of relying on a nanny and private school teachers to raise me, I had the world at my fingertips. I’m a natural. I always have been. Anything I put my mind to, I could do with relative ease. Things that got me what I wanted or took a little effort – those kept my attention. But I had no higher aspirations. I had no goals, heroes, or role models.
[PAUSE]
JARED HOLMES: Then I saw Joey Flash on TV for the first time.
[PAUSE]
JARED HOLMES: I have never seen myself as anything less than perfect. I was the pinnacle of the genetic lottery, a boy who was dealt a royal flush by God when he popped out a cunt. There was nothing I ever saw that ever convinced me that this was anything short of the truth, until I saw him on TV for the first time. He was beautiful. Graceful. His form was flawless. He was strong. Fast. Haughty and backed it up. I watched him bury faggoty losers like Gemini Battle, Howard Black, and Jay Omega weekly. It was all I ever wanted. I wanted to be that man on TV who made a living inflicting pain on all the fuccbois and losers and midgets in this world. I wanted to having a career breaking the faces of all the Gollum-looking dweebs like you, Frank. That he was so GOOD was the icing on the cake. He was untouchable. I wanted to be just like him. No, fuck it, I wanted to BE HIM.
[PAUSES, LONG BREATH]
JARED HOLMES: So I joined this company. I recruited an elite team of the most capable people I could. It was only too fortunate I just happened to be living with them at the time. Maybe that’s what Thuggin planned all along. He brought us together, after all. I had the vision, but Thuggin started the connections. Maybe it was his goal all along. I’m not sure. All that matters is when given control of steering the ship, I steering it into the WCF. I NEEDED to be near him. I NEEDED him to notice me. To adopt me and teach me. I saw people like him. Like Fly. They were perfect. They were adored and worshipped. I wanted that. And I knew I belong in that fraternity. This was what every step of my life – every moment of perfection – had led me towards. And do you know what happened when I met my hero, Frank? When I finally reached a level where he could see someone who was his EQUAL? Who could MATCH HIM in a way Johnny Fly NEVER could?!
[LONG PAUSE, LOW SNARL]
JARED HOLMES: He LAUGHED in my FACE! He MOCKED ME! He took it upon himself to call me RAT BOY and RIDICULE ME!
[LONG PAUSE, HEAVY BREATHING]
JARED HOLMES: I want you to consider that, Frank. Everything you’ve done up until this point just got shit on by the person you cared about most. They say don’t meet your heroes; I learned that the hard way. And I dedicated myself to a single goal. I wanted to destroy Joey Flash.
[PAUSE]
JARED HOLMES: I turned over how to do it for a long time. He was stupid and slovenly and arrogant, even if he was so fucking beautiful. It was easy enough to just lay my cards on the table, be the sycophant, and let him waddle in like the egomaniac he was. And soon enough?
[LAUGH]
JARED HOLMES: IT WORKED! I was going to dinner with him and his wife. I was his confidant. I got him to put on a leather vest and ride a moped to Mexico with me! I won the Trilogy Cup and everything was ready. All I had to do… was wait.
[PAUSE]
JARED HOLMES: Then Logan happened. Then, for as perfect as he was, Joey FAILED! And fighting Logan for the title was unacceptable. So the very next night in Mexico? When I had a chance to help Joey avenge himself and his pride? I took the long way. I hit the reset button. I waved my hands… and Mexico happened.
And then, suddenly, everyone disappeared. No more the Pride. No more Andre Aquarius. No #BeachKrew. No Dune. No Joey Flash. I let Seth pick up the pieces. I let the company regestate. And when that fat idiot redneck was fighting for the belt against Corey – two easy enough competitors – I made my move and unleashed The World. Everything went just as planned. He formed a group around him, just as he does – and just as I do. He won WAR with ease. At ONE, he killed Orange Julius with minimal effort. The man who cost him in belt to Logan. Everything in a perfect circle. The only problem… was David Sanchez.
[CHUCKLE]
JARED HOLMES: Thank you, Frank. I don’t think anyone actually expected you to beat Dave. I didn’t. Hell, I lost money on that bet. It seemed like such a laughably clear-cut curb stomping, that I was ready to write off your whole career for losing to Sebastian Knight, me, and Sanchez in such short order. But that’s Dave for you: professional choke artist. WAR? Choke. US Title run? Choke in the end. If anything, actually winning the Final Destination briefcase was more of an exception than a rule for him. So, I suppose, it was only too appropriate when his defense ended in a loss. Dave was neutralized as a threat. If anything, you gave us a boon. We probably would’ve allowed Dave to remain in Pantheon if he didn’t form Everest. But, again, his own failures precede him. And that’s a different topic for a different day.
What matters is you came into the picture. And then came O’Neal. Two people I’d easily crushed. And if I could easily crush them, why couldn’t Joey?
[PAUSE]
JARED HOLMES: And he could have. But by this point, I was finally getting angry. You wake up every day, and you hear the object of your desires praised. You hear Johnny Rabid praised. You hear a bunch of aliens call Joey “the Destroyer” and quake in fear of him, and finally you decide you’re tired of waiting. And you’re tired of abuse. And you’re tired of doubt. Because even though your faith was once shaken in your own perfection, you know that no one… NO ONE… is allowed to doubt your perfection but you. So you make an impulsive decision. You spring the trap early. Surrounded by the wolves, you cut off your prey’s life lines. Then you give the signal and fucking BURY HIM.
[ANGRY PANTING]
JARED HOLMES: Where’s the great Joey Flash now, Frank?! Where’s “the World”? Where’s that greasy little beautiful fucking wop faggot who could take anyone?! HUH!? He KNEW I wanted this. He KNEW he could handle it. It didn’t MATTER the numbers. He should have SURVIVED. Instead… he… he…
[PLEASED SHUDDER]
JARED HOLMES: He fucking fell. I busted the myth and shattered the illusion. Joey Flash was vulnerable. He could bleed. All that was left to do was kill either you or O’Neal and earn my rightful place on the throne which I’d machinated. And now that I’m on the cusp of that victory, it’s occurred to me… that this isn’t motivating.
[LONG PAUSE]
JARED HOLMES: This isn’t SATISFYING. I spent years obsessing over first being alongside Malignagi and then being the one to personally ruin his reputation and record. I wanted to be the biggest tally in that L-Column. Instead, out of anger and wanting to demonstrate power, I gave it to Jason-fucking-O’Neal. And now that I have you in my paws, I feel lazy. I just can’t convince myself that this is a worthwhile match when I could actually be facing off with Joey Flash. When I could have the chance to prove myself against the best competitor in this company. Much in the same way that everyone silently ridicules your title victory behind your back by earning it by destroying Jason O’Neal, no one will take my victory seriously by destroying you. Much in the same way that everyone knew Jason O’Neal was a level beneath you, everyone knows you’re a level below me. And any claims to the contrary are fueled by nothing but petty jealousy or dislike. Not everything is a matter of opinion, Frank. Not all opinions are made the same.
There are some people who are over-hyped, quantitative losers: Gemini Battle, Spencer Adams, Steve Orbit, Polar Phantasm, Sarah Twilight, Bonnie Blue, Alex Richards, Teo del Sol, Eric Purse, Thomas Bates, Jeff Purse, Jayson Price, and you. Each and every single one of these people will garner the adoring reaction and support of the crowd and internet, but each and every single time they face stiff competition, they under-perform. They choke. They’d be the top of the company in anywhere else but WCF, but when you’re up against the best, you pale in comparison. You are, ultimately, a B player. In a world full of Adam Youngs, Dion Necurats, Crazy Js, and Vinnie Joneses you are God. In the land of the blind, the man with one eye is king. But you can never stand to a person with both eyes. You are inferior. Beyond a shadow of a doubt.
And now I’m not sure I want inferior, Frank. Suddenly, as I find myself forcing myself from a sitting position or preparing for this match, I realize that it’s such an absolute walk in the park that I can hardly find myself willing to put forth the effort. I intrinsically understand that could be my undoing, but I’m not even willing to call it arrogance – it’s so self-apparent to me that I’m going to win this match, I can’t imagine it going any other way. Even if you radically over-performed, it would STILL take an incredible underperformance on my behalf for you to take me. That’s how big the gap between us is. I have to completely shit the bed while you have to smash your proven ceiling beyond everyone’s wildest imagination. Anything less than that is a guaranteed body bag.
I hope you’re ready Frank. The match we have on Sunday is not going to be like our match for the Television Title, where I simply toyed with you. It’s not even going to be like our match at XIII where I dominated you. This is going to be the Six God at his peak. Making the statement he needs to make. You will not receive me on an off-week. Even as bored and uninspired as I feel, I’m going to tear your throat out. The Galactic Prophecy is nigh. And as for the question “What’s a God to a non-believer”, I’ll give you the answer: everything. I don’t need you to believe for me to exist. And when the bell rings on Sunday, if you’re still even breathing, you’ll believe. I only wish that the face I stared down at as I raised the belt was Joey Flash. So I could look him in the eye and say, with full intention, that he was face to face with the Man Who Sold The World.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
BE REAL IT DOESNT MATTER ANYWAY YOU KNOW ITS JUST TOO LITTLE TOO LATE
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A tear slid down her cheek; his hand came from her waist to brush it aside. From the crowd, a sigh of affection erupted into applause and whistling. Her smile burst into a full grin, her cheeks flushing in an eddy of appreciation and embarrassment.
Jared Holmes: You’re beautiful.
Thursday Kerrigan Holmes: You’re beautiful. And perfect. And you make me the happiest girl in the world.
He smiled – a small half smile that sat just enough in the corner of his lips to be mistaken for a smirk.
Jared Holmes: You’re not a girl anymore…
She cocked her head in puzzlement. The Six God’s smile broadened slyly.
Jared Holmes: …You’re a queen. And a goddess.
Thursday’s bemusement evaporated and her satisfaction returned. She laid her head on his shoulder, his fingers tightening around his back.
Thursday Kerrigan Holmes: From the Queen of Blades to the Queen in Yellow and the Six Goddess. Upon a throne of coral within a sunken iron palace where no light but the pulse of neon glows in New Jalaxaritkatusa.
Jared Holmes: You’re beautiful.
Thursday Kerrigan Holmes: You’re beautiful. And perfect. And you make me the happiest girl in the world.
He smiled – a small half smile that sat just enough in the corner of his lips to be mistaken for a smirk.
Jared Holmes: You’re not a girl anymore…
She cocked her head in puzzlement. The Six God’s smile broadened slyly.
Jared Holmes: …You’re a queen. And a goddess.
Thursday’s bemusement evaporated and her satisfaction returned. She laid her head on his shoulder, his fingers tightening around his back.
Thursday Kerrigan Holmes: From the Queen of Blades to the Queen in Yellow and the Six Goddess. Upon a throne of coral within a sunken iron palace where no light but the pulse of neon glows in New Jalaxaritkatusa.
The clock had struck midnight. Her crown had disappeared, her happiness and her fortitude had been ripped out of her soul. The Queen in Yellow was simply a broken, scared girl, stranded alone at sea and treading water. Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink. As bloody broken nails raked the door once more she fell back onto her haunches in light headed weariness.
Thursday Holmes: Jared... Please…
The hours had coagulated into one solemn eternity of broken hearted confusion. She had not heard from the man she had loved, the man who had brought the broken girl out of the gutter and placed her on a throne of lies and false promises. A kingdom built on deceit and death. You may now kiss the bride. She hadn’t heard from Jared in what seemed like an eternity when a soft voice spoke from the other side of the door.
Jared Holmes: I’m here. Hush now.
Thursday gasped in a paradoxical inhalation of hope and dread. She crawled toward the door, her eyes were starting to grow heavy as she rested her head on the door.
Thursday Holmes: Please... Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone, I won’t tell –
Jared Holmes: I know. I know you won’t. I’ve never worried about that with you, never once. You were so perfect. You were an aesthetically pleasing woman, someone who was amiable with people, someone who was a great public face. You were a passable fuck and required minimum effort on my part, you fulfilled my base needs. You were loyal - to a fault. You even killed for me.
A dry sob wracked her body in a shudder. She beat the door weakly as she forced movement through her vocal chords in a desperate please.
Thursday Holmes: I love you, Jared. I love you. Please – please – just let me go.
Jared Holmes: You thought you knew me. You fell in love with me. Now you know me.
Thursday Holmes: I don’t underst –
Jared Holmes: He has beautiful eyes, don’t you think?
The voice of the Six God never raised above a monotonous drone, like the hypnotic hiss of a Cobra. It was oddly comforting – like a blanket wrapped around her on a cold night. For a moment, Thursday fell out of consciousness before the last statement snapped her back again.
Thursday Holmes: W-what?
Jared Holmes: I said, you have seen something you shouldn’t have. Something that the Six God does not allow anyone to see. You stepped into my temple. You have defiled it, Thursday. You stupid, stupid cunt.
He spoke with a serpentine whisper, the couple separated by two inches of door; each resting their head against it. Thursday slumped forward in weariness.
Thursday Holmes: The police will find you, people are looking for me…
Jared Holmes: No they won’t.
Thursday Holmes: They-
Jared Holmes: No, they won’t. You will die here, in this room, alone and unloved like the rest of them before you. I’m still here, aren’t I?
Thursday Holmes: The...the rest? I-I don’t –
Jared Holmes: The story of Bluebeard. It wasn’t a fable, it was an accurate description of your predicament. Do you really think you were my first ever Thursday girl?
It was then, in that moment, that Thursday Holmes realized the truth of her predicament; the true horror of the man she had married. Her head swam and strength failed her once more as she began to go under before being awoken by her own violent coughing fit.
Jared Holmes: You’ve been without water for sixty-five hours now. I think it’s about time.
Raising an arm felt like a herculean effort for Thursday as she pressed a bloody palm on the door. Her breaths were growing short and shallow as she felt her eyelids grow heavier...and heavier.
Thursday Holmes: Jared.
Jared pressed his own palm against the door and whispered back, his callousness replaced by a gentle softness.
Jared Holmes: Yes, darling?
Thursday Holmes: I’m...I’m dying.
He voice was weak and labored. Feeling was beginning to leave as her head was growing foggier. The final tear her body had left to shed slid down her cheek. As it plinked against the concrete beneath her, her husband’s voice surfaced through the mist.
Jared Holmes: Is it blissful?
Thursday felt her eyes close once more. She remembered their first kiss – their first dance – the first time they made love – the first time Jared told her he loved her. She’d begun to feel herself slip beneath the surface.
Thursday Holmes: It’s...
And as she opened her mouth, death flooded in like a crashing ripple. She slid down the door and lay sprawled on the floor, her final breath leaving her body.
...like a dream.
Jared held his hand for a moment and took a deep breath, closing his eyes.
Jared Holmes: I want to dream.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
BE REAL IT DOESNT MATTER ANYWAY YOU KNOW ITS JUST TOO LITTLE TOO LATE
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He sat in the back of the Sazerac Bar, a lone figure in a solid black suit nursing a drink and staring quietly ahead. Jared noticed him the moment he stepped into the room – it was hard to not notice John Rabid when he desired his presence felt. The gaze of the Ripper was cold; he drummed his fingers impatiently along the edge of his martini glass. As he crossed the room, Jared looked down at the watch on his wrist. When he came to the table Rabid occupied in the corner, he noticed a drink already waiting for him. Jared smiled behind Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses as he sat down and picked up the drink.
John Rabid: I see we’re both the Men in Black today. Somehow, I believe for different reasons.
Jared lifted the amber-colored drink to his lips and took a sip; straight Bourbon. A few months ago, he’d have never accepted a drink Rabid poured without his careful observation. Things had changed.
Jared Holmes: So what’s the occasion for you?
John Rabid: To mourn the passing of men who died on the battlefield and Frank Venable’s relevance. I’d generally assume the latter for you as well, but the smell on your skin suggests otherwise.
Jared removed his gaze from Rabid, his smile falling as he peered at himself in the mirror that lined the back of the bar. He was quiet.
Jared Holmes: I did what I had to do.
John Rabid: I warned you that your obsession would cost you.
Jared shook his head, turning back to Rabid.
Jared Holmes: No. You’re wrong.
He lifted the drink to his lips again and took another sip.
Jared Holmes: It drove me. And now I’m stronger than ever.
The two men exchanged a look before Jared reached up and removed his sunglasses, folding them and placing them on the table.
Jared Holmes: Update on Creeping Death?
John Rabid: Crow and Bishop are in pursuit. It’s complex, suffice to say. This will end, one way or another.
Jared Holmes: And Corey?
John Rabid: Still missing. If everything goes according to plan, we’ll get him back. Minus Creeping Death.
Jared smiled. His voice was low and excited.
Jared Holmes: This has worked as beautifully as you said it would, Rabid. We’re so close.
Rabid smiled in return, raising his own drink to his lips for a sip.
John Rabid: They’re all weak. Softened up. And I trust you’ve been using this time to prepare and stay rested?
Jared rested his cheek on his curled hand.
Jared Holmes: One big extended vacation.
John Rabid: Then I’ve bought you the advantage you wanted. And now it’s time for your end.
Jared nodded, his smile expanding to a grin.
Jared Holmes: I’m thinking about dedicating this one to Adrian Archer. Maybe I’ll send his family a fruit basket and condolences letter.
Rabid did not smile. His eyes stayed locked on the Celestial Shark and his voice lowered.
John Rabid: I’m not in the mood for jokes. We’re too close for you to get cocky and cute – you have one job, and you’d better come through. Do you understand?
Jared’s grin faded. Matching the intensity of his compatriot, he nodded.
Jared Holmes: I’m going to destroy him.
It was Rabid’s turn to smile, swirling his drink in its glass as he leaned back in his seat.
John Rabid: I hope you understand, my reason for sitting on the sidelines and letting you make your move is because I’m legitimately curious what this “Galactic Prophecy” will look like… if it even exists. Otherwise, I prefer expediency and would do it myself.
Jared Holmes: I appreciate the confidence, but I could kill Frank without this. It’s just, ya know…
They shared a smile.
Jared/Rabid: Fun.
With a low chuckle, Rabid finished his drink and placed the empty glass at the side of the table.
John Rabid: Of course. This whole climb to the top could’ve been more herculean, but why bother? We take out Joseph. We weaken the federation. Then we move in for the kill. It’s all Candy Land from that point on. But the point stands: do not fail.
Jared raised the glass to his lips, finishing the contents as well and giving a satisfied sigh before placing it on the table beside Rabid’s finished drink.
Jared Holmes: This is Prophecy, Jason. I’ll lay Frank as the first sacrifice on the altar of our domination.
The two sat in silence, quiet and confident smiles upon their faces. As the waiter approached and picked their glasses up, Jared turned toward him.
Jared Holmes: If you could get me a Sidecar, please.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
BE REAL IT DOESNT MATTER ANYWAY YOU KNOW ITS JUST TOO LITTLE TOO LATE
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Within the Void, the door slid open, and Jared stepped over the slumped figure of his deceased wife to enter his temple. He paused to look down at her body – decay has yet to set in. Turning around, he knelt at her side and brushed a few strands of hair from her face. He gripped the finger tip of his right glove and pulled it off, letting it fall to the floor as he placed a bare hand on the face of his lover for the final time. Her skin was cool to the touch – it had paled and begun to show veins. Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on her lips.
Jared Holmes: Good night, sweet princess.
Standing up, he turned to the temple before him. Behind him, Thursday’s figure sunk into the floor and slowly receded from sight or mind. He was far more preoccupied with the shrine before him. He was far too interested in the task at hand.
He approached his favorite picture of the lot: a discreet snapshot of Joey laying sprawled in an armchair, watching Alessandra and her boytoy walk into the room. His beautiful features were atrophied and wracked by time spent in suspension. His expression was nearly blank – his mind must’ve still been recovering from the trauma of his release. How Jared acquired this picture didn’t matter – what mattered is what it represented.
That moment.
That time he held the fate of The World in his hands. When the object of his
Turning to the rest of the wall, his eyes scanned over pictures of Flash squaring up in the ring. Against Jay Omega at WAR. Against Thomas Bates at ONE. Against Steven Singh. Where these men had failed, Jared had succeeded: he destroyed The World. He corrupted him first, but he destroyed him nonetheless. All that was left war the final prize.
A sensation of excitement rose up in Jared’s chest, sending fire up through his throat and down through his groin. A picture of Flash holding the belt after defeated Bates stared back at him. The look of arrogant triumph – the gleam of gold – the flash of cameras; it was all the Six God wanted. Bates, O’Neal, Venable – even Joey Flash – none had been worthy. This was a goal he’d been plotting towards for almost two years. It was no longer time to sit on the bench – it was time for him to sit on the throne. Jared reached up and scratched at the photo, tearing the face of Flash from the picture. He’d find a suitable picture of himself to put in its place at a later time.
Surrounded by his idol – covered in God – the Six God smiled. There was nothing left to do but step in the ring against an enemy he’d faced time and time again – an enemy he’d bested time and time again – and deal an easy killing blow. He’d bring Frank to his knees, take all he loved, and begin the final phase of his objectives. With the title would come fruition of the Galactic Prophecy. And he’d reign until he no longer desired.
Frank Venable was in for a rude awakening. Too often to optimists get caught up in the fanciful notions of epic clashes of Good and Evil where the underdog hero summons muster, moxie, and courage to slay what seems to be an overwhelming foe. Society had been conditioned to accept this trope as unshakeable truth, from when David slew Goliath up to Rey cutting down Kylo Ren. The truth is, this was never the case. No, the underdogs did not win in reality. And any accounts to the contrary were almost always greatly exaggerated. Che Guevara was executed. The Alamo fell. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. Hollywood and Hallmark lived for artificial, saccharine hope. People drank hope like a drug to get through the day and pray they’d find something better. But in the end, there’d be nothing save cold realities and emptiness. No matter how great a statue Ozymandias built, it would erode to sand under a desert wind. All that would ever exist was God.
For Jared Holmes, there was no sacrifice that he would not give. There was no advantage he would not exploit. There was no shot he wouldn’t take. He was a superior opponent to anyone Frank had faced – from Doc Henry to Johnny Fly. WCF had changed. It wasn’t about Vagina monologues or going Back-to-Back. There was no room for heroes – Teo del Sol had taken off the mask, Spencer Adams ran some horrible company, and Vic Venable was back to the shadows of his less talented brother. The Pride had been locked in a shed and tortured to their breaking point, Ethan King only finding success under his tutelage and mirages under alliance to Sanchez. Sarah Twilight was discredited and driven into hiding – Logan was gone – Lilith had vanished and been replaced by another faceless slut he’d banged and kicked aside – Gemini Battle was dead – Thomas Bates was fired. Anyone who had ever stepped in his path had been systematically torn apart and buried. He was the Neon Grim Reaper. And he was in position to take his final head.
But of everyone whom he’d broken and ended, there was none he prized more than the man whose face was splattered across the wall a thousand times before him. No, he didn’t need to feel dissatisfied or apathetic not facing Joey Flash – not when he smiled and twitched every time he remembered the look of horror on Joey’s face before Everest delivered the pile driver that ended his career. He wormed his way into Joey’s inner circle, infected every asset of it, and revealed his hand only when it was too late for anything to be done. Before Joey had a chance to strike, Jared cut his chord. At the snap of the fingers, Jared Holmes had sold The World.
All that was left was to destroy his final obstacle. Frank Patrick Venable. A failure who had stumbled his way into a championship the same way he’d stumbled into the Television Title – on Jared’s whim. Just as he’d put Frank down and thrown the match – to send the message that this was his world – he would destroy Frank again. This time, there would be no intentional disqualification. He would not let Frank walk away with a belt; he actually cared about the WCF Title, unlike the Television Title that his compatriot, John Rabid, now held. He’d tear through like Hurricane Jared and walk away. And there was nothing Frank could do to stop him.
It didn’t matter what Frank said. It didn’t matter if he talked about Jared’s kike father or estranged mother. It didn’t matter if Frank bemoaned Jared’s estranged (re:dead) wife or failed relationships. There was nothing Frank could say to get under Jared’s skin or in his head. He had one focus, both unflinching and pure: the WCF Championship. When Joey fell, it became the new focus of his obsession. The thought of it consumed his mind and heart at all hours as he’d planned and focused meticulously, waiting to strike. And now, it was time. And it was all too easy.
The Six God turned from the room, stepping back through the door and back into the Void that separated his temple from the dingy Ninth Ward apartment. His mind was made up; as the door closed behind him, it sealed close for the final time. There was no more need for its contents – for the consumed corpse of Thursday or the innumerable photos of Joey Flash. No need for destroyed statues or old flames. The future was now. The future was the Six God. His reign on Earth would begin.
In the beginning, the Six God buried The World. On the second day, he conquered the world. And on the final day, the Six God rested. The King was dead. Frank Venable would follow. And Jared Holmes would finally T A S T E H E A V E N.
At Aftermath, the WCF Universe would be face to face with the Man Who Sold The World.