Post by Kyle on Nov 13, 2015 15:33:48 GMT -5
It was only mid-November but the city of Minneapolis, Minnesota had already been blanketed by a thin, beautiful layer of snow. At least, the snow untouched by man glistened beneath the street lights on this evening. Was it evening; it was hard to tell on this eve of the dark winter. Not that the man wandering the street, his face shrouded by a black scarf, his frail body bundled in layers upon layers of winter attire, seemed to care. He crunched over the black snow, the perfection tainted by the presence on man, as he ducked through the empty streets of the city, searching, looking.
Only the eyes of the man, bright blue, could be seen between the mask of scarfed fabric and the winter cap, looking down alleys, around corners, in search of the marker. He had grown up on the streets of LA, where he known nothing but the sun's kiss. Here, in the hell that was Minnesota, he barely known the sun's presence. But he had been given a task, a mission, by one who you did not refuse. They had found him, a visitor, a guest just looking to take in the sights of Portland. An innocent who had been shown his imperfecton, shown the black snow he had created in his life that he had once thought beautiful. They showed him, so now he returned to them.
Suddenly he drew short on a dark alley, knowing that this was the one he sought; footprints, as white as the day they had first walked, mark the path they he now followed, upset that himself had not achieved that own perfection. A door awaited him there, a simple door of cold, red metal they he pushed his gloves hands against, stepping through it in silence. It opened in utter silence, its hinges well-oiled, yet when it shut, it seemed to shatter the ears with its slam. The man looked back once, a hint of hesitance in his human eyes.
Convicted, he moved deeper into the building.
Down the hallway the youth went until he came into a open room, dark save for the candles flickered around the room. He immediately felt the looming presence of the giant Legion, who watched him with crossed arms in his brooding silence. A little further into the room was the newcomer Bernie McCalister--who had usurped the hierarchy that had been so rigorously established a year ago--simply by the men, nay the Gods, who had known in his youth; Bernie looked at him with the same human hesitance, the only real light in this room. It spoke to the man's soul, the one that despite the manipulation, still resided deep within him. But the stare from Atticus at the foot of the throne snuffed out the man within him; he was just the one with the mission once more. So he stepped forward, dropping to a kneeling position before the God who watched him. He was not fit to look his Lord in the eyes, ever much that he wished.
Atticus spoke above him, but the youth had ears not for such rabble; oh, he registered the things spoken, but they were lost on him in the presence of divinity. He even replied, though what words he spoke, he did not know save that they were right. And then, to his delightful horror, he heard the creak of the wooden throne as the esteemed figure rose to his feet, moving closer to him.
Feet appeared before him, within his vision, a mere moment before he felt the heavy, physical presence of a hand--his left hand, he knew--upon his shoulder. And then God spoke to him, words decipherable only to him: Look into my eyes. So he gazed upward, called, destined for this very moment.
The youth, the blessed youth, caught a single glimpse of his lord, with his pale, scarred face and cold, brown eyes, before a clubbing blow struck him across the nose. And then, darkness.
One, two, three moments of utter silence. And then.
"Hello, Jeff."
The scene returns, though now viewers find themselves not at the feet, but at the head of Nathan von Liebert, who stood over the body of the youth whose single mission was to be a message.
"How long I have awaited this encounter, my old friend. The last time we danced this dance, I had been but a confused soul, thinking that going by another name and aligning myself with a man who should've my equal, not my superior. But you brought me out of my shell, didn't you, Pursey. You weren't fooled by that, though, were you? You knew just what was beneath the facade and eventually, inevitably, you drew it out. And now, a year later, I have returned for another go at it."
Nathan backs away from the body, never taking his eyes off the camera, as he finds his chair once more. Gesturing wide, hand and stump held out in this Jesus-esque pose, he smiles.
"And look at what I have accomplished, Pursey. I'm a God. And do you want to know how?"
A short pause as Nathan stares.
"Because I have simply said I was."
Nathan nods.
"I stopped subjecting myself to such notions as friendship and mentorship, Jeff, and look at how detached, yet in tune with the world I have become. I am not seen or heard from for a year, but it takes but a single red hand to turn your world upside down. Whisper my name once, by wind or by messenger, and your neck hairs bristle, your innate desire to defend yourself and your family kicks in. I have done nothing, Jeff, nothing towards you despite the many chances I have had, yet this has become your entire world once more. Like I knew it would, like I hoped it would. And soon, oh so soon, we get to dance and sing our little love duet once more."
Nathan taps the chair, the throne, he was perched upon.
"And this time, for the first time in so long, I enter this fight alone. Gone are the days where I lived in the shadows of Oblivion, yet outshined him around every bend. Gone are the days of Bravado, of Remus Micayle, of every man and every child and everyone who thought them the better of me. Four years, Jeff, four years you and I have walked separate paths that crossed ever so often, allowing use to reevaluate just what we had done in our times apart. These meetings used to disappoint me, for I often brought little to the table to show for my efforts and my superiority. While I turned Kid Phantasm's life upside down, you went and achieved the Triple Crown here in the WCF in less than a year, so my destruction was outshined by the glimmer of your gold. While I conquered FPV and made Waylon Cash fear my name, you and Pantheon were off ruling the world you had crafted, fear outshined by supposed success."
Nathan sighs.
"They were disappointing times, where my effort was overlooked, weighed down, by those who I aligned myself with while your own friends, your own brothers of blood and choice, achieved magnificent things. The years went on and I began to harden against this. I won Ultimate Showdown and the World Championship in two months after returning two years ago, but quickly forgotten after Jonny Fly stepped into the picture. I, in my confused state, dominating the tag team division last year, until ICE Beckman swooped in and stole the show. I have done great things, Pursey, that even you won't dismiss. Oh, but you're excuse them for this or that, for this person or that person. No, I can honestly say I haven't been my own man since you and I were on the grandest stage of them all, Jeff. Do you remember it? One Invitational, 2012, where I asserted myself as the better man while you could only watch. That, more than anything, is the man I am, Jeff, and for three years I haven't lived up to the potential.
Today, that all changes."
Again, Nathan looks around him.
"This in my Church now, Jeff, and it is my time. I could've returned at any point, I hope you realize that. Legion was but a formality, a throw-back to a man who two thousand years ago heralded the arrival of another God. It seemed only fitting that I followed suit, allowing for another who had played a role in my life, in my ascension to this pedestal, to play this role in inevitability. But none of that matter, Pursey, did it? A single message, spread through the media oh so social, had you biting at the chain, looking to free yourself from all other engagements. Nathan von Liebert was back and he wanted that hand, so you thought it best to lend yours. The rash naivety, Jeff.
I cannot say I was surprised."
Another pause, as Nathan shifts positions in the throne, leaning forward as if to draw his presence further into the lens.
"Because in the year that our paths diverted from one another, Jeff, you haven't changed a single bit. While I lurked in the shadows, building my kingdom and achieving my divinity, you have sheltered yourself beneath the shattered remains that were once your own temple, your own Pantheon. And look how far it has fallen. Jonny Fly has disappeared as flies tend to do in these cold times. Corey Black and Steve Orbit are at each other's throats. And Scarecrow, poor Scarecrow, seems to not have received the brain in time to prevent his utter demise at the hands of one Wade Moor. The pillars that were the foundation have all but crumbled away, leaving only you, Alex Richards, and a peon far too minuscule to even care for to uphold the stable that had once been the grandest of them all. A lot has happened in a mere year, Jeff, since I last saw you in the remains of a table in Mexico City--do you remember, Pursey, please tell me you remember--and yet you still cling to such dead ideals.
And not only do you cling to them, you shake their lifeless corpses in hopes that such friction will somehow revive them. You so valiantly stood up to the dreaded ocean that has over taken us all, only to find out you're just not strong enough to handle it. A mere ocean, Jeff; how can you withstand, then, the might of a God?"
Nathan suddenly bursts from his chair, filling the entire screen with his hard face.
"Tell me Pursey! Tell me how you're going to walk into our match this week and overcome a God who has ruled over your life for years! How are you going to protect your wife? Your kid? How, Pursey, FUCKING HOW?"
The long pause, followed by the words all expected, even Jeff Purse himself, deep down inside.
"You won't, Pursey, you just won't."
As if exhausted, Nathan collapses on the ground in a seated position. He sighs, resting his hand, his left hand, on the body while he composes himself.
"Because if you think this match, this mere match, is the finale of our long and storied history . . . well's just say, you'll be sorely mistaken. For four years, you and I have called this place our home. You have accepted it as it is, just like it has accepted you. But I, I am this perpetual outsider, one respected, fear, but never loved. Man has never wanted me hear, they have cried when I succeeded, rejoiced when I failed. And amongst it all, you and I have crossed paths too many times to count. Slam, Ultimate Showdown, War, Hellimination, even One. And now, we add this next chapter, chapter XIII if you will, to a story that never seems to cease.
Nor will it, Jeff, but you will never rid me of you. One cannot have Jeff Purse with Nathan and, to a point, Jeff, neither can have me without you. The thing is, Pursey, is that I achieved divinity, I became a God, in the year I spent away from you; only imagine how much stronger I shall become with you beside me, my hand resting on your cold body once more. I am your history, Jeff Purse, not just a part of it, and you just cannot say goodbye to your history, without saying goodbye to yourself. And you're not ready for it, are you, Jeff? Who will look after Kari and little Patrick? I am but a single man, and half a man at that."
Nathan gazes at the stump he bore in a moment of solidarity, before around him, Atticus, Legion, and even Bernie step into the picture. What a sight it was, four looming figures over this body that, in its scarf winter hat, and layers upon layers could've been anyone. The message was simple.
"But even half a man, Jeff, I shall conquer you. And then, with the help I have around me--I won't call them friends, for that they are not--will show everyone in your life just what real strength, real resolve, reality actually looks like."
Nathan pats the body beside him.
"No, I can say that you've been my only friend, Jeff, because unlike so many others, you have stuck around the longest. You still get excited whenever I show up. You love to tell your family all about me. And here in Minnesota, you're going to put me in this biggest hug possible, hoping I just pat you on your back in acceptance, right Pursey. What is that, but a friend?
It kills me to think that this might be the last time I get to say hello, though.
Not as much as it'll kill you, though of course.
But this isn't a goodbye, heaven forbid, Jeff."
The scene cuts out.
"This is a 'I'll see you soon, buddy.'"
And total fade.
"I really can't stay - Baby it's cold outside
I've got to go away - Baby it's cold outside"
I've got to go away - Baby it's cold outside"
Only the eyes of the man, bright blue, could be seen between the mask of scarfed fabric and the winter cap, looking down alleys, around corners, in search of the marker. He had grown up on the streets of LA, where he known nothing but the sun's kiss. Here, in the hell that was Minnesota, he barely known the sun's presence. But he had been given a task, a mission, by one who you did not refuse. They had found him, a visitor, a guest just looking to take in the sights of Portland. An innocent who had been shown his imperfecton, shown the black snow he had created in his life that he had once thought beautiful. They showed him, so now he returned to them.
"So really I'd better scurry - Beautiful, please don't hurry"
Suddenly he drew short on a dark alley, knowing that this was the one he sought; footprints, as white as the day they had first walked, mark the path they he now followed, upset that himself had not achieved that own perfection. A door awaited him there, a simple door of cold, red metal they he pushed his gloves hands against, stepping through it in silence. It opened in utter silence, its hinges well-oiled, yet when it shut, it seemed to shatter the ears with its slam. The man looked back once, a hint of hesitance in his human eyes.
"The neighbors might think - Baby, it's bad out there"
Convicted, he moved deeper into the building.
Down the hallway the youth went until he came into a open room, dark save for the candles flickered around the room. He immediately felt the looming presence of the giant Legion, who watched him with crossed arms in his brooding silence. A little further into the room was the newcomer Bernie McCalister--who had usurped the hierarchy that had been so rigorously established a year ago--simply by the men, nay the Gods, who had known in his youth; Bernie looked at him with the same human hesitance, the only real light in this room. It spoke to the man's soul, the one that despite the manipulation, still resided deep within him. But the stare from Atticus at the foot of the throne snuffed out the man within him; he was just the one with the mission once more. So he stepped forward, dropping to a kneeling position before the God who watched him. He was not fit to look his Lord in the eyes, ever much that he wished.
"I ought to say no, no, no - Mind if I move in closer?"
Atticus spoke above him, but the youth had ears not for such rabble; oh, he registered the things spoken, but they were lost on him in the presence of divinity. He even replied, though what words he spoke, he did not know save that they were right. And then, to his delightful horror, he heard the creak of the wooden throne as the esteemed figure rose to his feet, moving closer to him.
"You've really been grand - Thrill when you touch my hand"
Feet appeared before him, within his vision, a mere moment before he felt the heavy, physical presence of a hand--his left hand, he knew--upon his shoulder. And then God spoke to him, words decipherable only to him: Look into my eyes. So he gazed upward, called, destined for this very moment.
"There's bound to be talk tomorrow - Think of my life long sorrow
At least there will be plenty implied - If you caught pneumonia and died"
At least there will be plenty implied - If you caught pneumonia and died"
The youth, the blessed youth, caught a single glimpse of his lord, with his pale, scarred face and cold, brown eyes, before a clubbing blow struck him across the nose. And then, darkness.
"Oh, baby, it's cold outside
Oh, baby, it's cold outside"
Oh, baby, it's cold outside"
One, two, three moments of utter silence. And then.
"Hello, Jeff."
The scene returns, though now viewers find themselves not at the feet, but at the head of Nathan von Liebert, who stood over the body of the youth whose single mission was to be a message.
"How long I have awaited this encounter, my old friend. The last time we danced this dance, I had been but a confused soul, thinking that going by another name and aligning myself with a man who should've my equal, not my superior. But you brought me out of my shell, didn't you, Pursey. You weren't fooled by that, though, were you? You knew just what was beneath the facade and eventually, inevitably, you drew it out. And now, a year later, I have returned for another go at it."
Nathan backs away from the body, never taking his eyes off the camera, as he finds his chair once more. Gesturing wide, hand and stump held out in this Jesus-esque pose, he smiles.
"And look at what I have accomplished, Pursey. I'm a God. And do you want to know how?"
A short pause as Nathan stares.
"Because I have simply said I was."
Nathan nods.
"I stopped subjecting myself to such notions as friendship and mentorship, Jeff, and look at how detached, yet in tune with the world I have become. I am not seen or heard from for a year, but it takes but a single red hand to turn your world upside down. Whisper my name once, by wind or by messenger, and your neck hairs bristle, your innate desire to defend yourself and your family kicks in. I have done nothing, Jeff, nothing towards you despite the many chances I have had, yet this has become your entire world once more. Like I knew it would, like I hoped it would. And soon, oh so soon, we get to dance and sing our little love duet once more."
Nathan taps the chair, the throne, he was perched upon.
"And this time, for the first time in so long, I enter this fight alone. Gone are the days where I lived in the shadows of Oblivion, yet outshined him around every bend. Gone are the days of Bravado, of Remus Micayle, of every man and every child and everyone who thought them the better of me. Four years, Jeff, four years you and I have walked separate paths that crossed ever so often, allowing use to reevaluate just what we had done in our times apart. These meetings used to disappoint me, for I often brought little to the table to show for my efforts and my superiority. While I turned Kid Phantasm's life upside down, you went and achieved the Triple Crown here in the WCF in less than a year, so my destruction was outshined by the glimmer of your gold. While I conquered FPV and made Waylon Cash fear my name, you and Pantheon were off ruling the world you had crafted, fear outshined by supposed success."
Nathan sighs.
"They were disappointing times, where my effort was overlooked, weighed down, by those who I aligned myself with while your own friends, your own brothers of blood and choice, achieved magnificent things. The years went on and I began to harden against this. I won Ultimate Showdown and the World Championship in two months after returning two years ago, but quickly forgotten after Jonny Fly stepped into the picture. I, in my confused state, dominating the tag team division last year, until ICE Beckman swooped in and stole the show. I have done great things, Pursey, that even you won't dismiss. Oh, but you're excuse them for this or that, for this person or that person. No, I can honestly say I haven't been my own man since you and I were on the grandest stage of them all, Jeff. Do you remember it? One Invitational, 2012, where I asserted myself as the better man while you could only watch. That, more than anything, is the man I am, Jeff, and for three years I haven't lived up to the potential.
Today, that all changes."
Again, Nathan looks around him.
"This in my Church now, Jeff, and it is my time. I could've returned at any point, I hope you realize that. Legion was but a formality, a throw-back to a man who two thousand years ago heralded the arrival of another God. It seemed only fitting that I followed suit, allowing for another who had played a role in my life, in my ascension to this pedestal, to play this role in inevitability. But none of that matter, Pursey, did it? A single message, spread through the media oh so social, had you biting at the chain, looking to free yourself from all other engagements. Nathan von Liebert was back and he wanted that hand, so you thought it best to lend yours. The rash naivety, Jeff.
I cannot say I was surprised."
Another pause, as Nathan shifts positions in the throne, leaning forward as if to draw his presence further into the lens.
"Because in the year that our paths diverted from one another, Jeff, you haven't changed a single bit. While I lurked in the shadows, building my kingdom and achieving my divinity, you have sheltered yourself beneath the shattered remains that were once your own temple, your own Pantheon. And look how far it has fallen. Jonny Fly has disappeared as flies tend to do in these cold times. Corey Black and Steve Orbit are at each other's throats. And Scarecrow, poor Scarecrow, seems to not have received the brain in time to prevent his utter demise at the hands of one Wade Moor. The pillars that were the foundation have all but crumbled away, leaving only you, Alex Richards, and a peon far too minuscule to even care for to uphold the stable that had once been the grandest of them all. A lot has happened in a mere year, Jeff, since I last saw you in the remains of a table in Mexico City--do you remember, Pursey, please tell me you remember--and yet you still cling to such dead ideals.
And not only do you cling to them, you shake their lifeless corpses in hopes that such friction will somehow revive them. You so valiantly stood up to the dreaded ocean that has over taken us all, only to find out you're just not strong enough to handle it. A mere ocean, Jeff; how can you withstand, then, the might of a God?"
Nathan suddenly bursts from his chair, filling the entire screen with his hard face.
"Tell me Pursey! Tell me how you're going to walk into our match this week and overcome a God who has ruled over your life for years! How are you going to protect your wife? Your kid? How, Pursey, FUCKING HOW?"
The long pause, followed by the words all expected, even Jeff Purse himself, deep down inside.
"You won't, Pursey, you just won't."
As if exhausted, Nathan collapses on the ground in a seated position. He sighs, resting his hand, his left hand, on the body while he composes himself.
"Because if you think this match, this mere match, is the finale of our long and storied history . . . well's just say, you'll be sorely mistaken. For four years, you and I have called this place our home. You have accepted it as it is, just like it has accepted you. But I, I am this perpetual outsider, one respected, fear, but never loved. Man has never wanted me hear, they have cried when I succeeded, rejoiced when I failed. And amongst it all, you and I have crossed paths too many times to count. Slam, Ultimate Showdown, War, Hellimination, even One. And now, we add this next chapter, chapter XIII if you will, to a story that never seems to cease.
Nor will it, Jeff, but you will never rid me of you. One cannot have Jeff Purse with Nathan and, to a point, Jeff, neither can have me without you. The thing is, Pursey, is that I achieved divinity, I became a God, in the year I spent away from you; only imagine how much stronger I shall become with you beside me, my hand resting on your cold body once more. I am your history, Jeff Purse, not just a part of it, and you just cannot say goodbye to your history, without saying goodbye to yourself. And you're not ready for it, are you, Jeff? Who will look after Kari and little Patrick? I am but a single man, and half a man at that."
Nathan gazes at the stump he bore in a moment of solidarity, before around him, Atticus, Legion, and even Bernie step into the picture. What a sight it was, four looming figures over this body that, in its scarf winter hat, and layers upon layers could've been anyone. The message was simple.
"But even half a man, Jeff, I shall conquer you. And then, with the help I have around me--I won't call them friends, for that they are not--will show everyone in your life just what real strength, real resolve, reality actually looks like."
Nathan pats the body beside him.
"No, I can say that you've been my only friend, Jeff, because unlike so many others, you have stuck around the longest. You still get excited whenever I show up. You love to tell your family all about me. And here in Minnesota, you're going to put me in this biggest hug possible, hoping I just pat you on your back in acceptance, right Pursey. What is that, but a friend?
It kills me to think that this might be the last time I get to say hello, though.
Not as much as it'll kill you, though of course.
But this isn't a goodbye, heaven forbid, Jeff."
The scene cuts out.
"This is a 'I'll see you soon, buddy.'"
And total fade.
