#LOLTORTURELOSEZ #1663

[Wade Moor]

“I look up into the night sky
I see a thousand eyes staring back
And all around these golden beacons
I see nothing but black
I feel the weight of something beyond them
I don't see what I can feel
If vision is the only validation
Then most of my life isn't real”

- Black and Gold (Sam Sparro)

Prologue: Andover, Massachussets, 1663

A downtrodden women sits by the dimming glow of a half burnt candle. Her face clamped shut in her hands, but her tears broke the levy, and dripped consistently on the worn wooden table. A quill dipped in ink lay splattered across a dried slip of parchment, obviously thrown down in a fit of temper. She wiped the tears from her beautiful eyes, gripped the quill in her shaky hand, and continued writing.

"...perhaps you may never understand why this had to happen. But maybe when you're older, and the seasons have been kind, you will begin to see. You will begin to know why your mother, your father, and your six siblings were taken from you so suddenly, under cover of the night without even the stars to keep her company.

All that is left to say now is...I love you. I love you James William Moor. You are my blessed Son. The Chosen.

- Your Always Loving Mother"

She signs the letter and seals it with a hot wax seal. She slips it into the overcoat of a sleeping lad and hands the boy to a man waiting in the corner. They immediately leave the cottage and the man mounts his steed, boy asleep in his arms. He bucks the horses haunches and they take off at a rapid pace without so much as a goodbye. As the man dissapears from sight, an aura of torches shine in the distance.

---

CYHNK-REEGGHHHERST
*buzz static*

"How do you want to do this Torture? Should we kick it old school so you have a chance of keeping up? Give me that WSeaF backdrop and drop haymakers on you left and right - Rest In Pieces Scarecrow. Or should I go all out and leave you laying in the dust? Either way this goes down...you still lose. Ten times out of ten, you will lose. And you can argue, and you can debate...but I would save my breath if I were you. You're going to need it for Slam. Can't have you gassed out on me. I want you as fresh as a spring chicken when I put you down for the three count. That's all I'm after in this match. A third successful title retention and that sun kissed Torture rub. It would make me...if I wasn't already a made man.

"If you think you're going to win the World Championship from me...then you're as big of a fool as you come off. You peg me as the kind of guy who has a hard time learning a lesson and keeping it. If you weren't that kind of guy, then you wouldn't have started a team with Jayson Price: your arch fucking nemesis. This is life one oh one man. You two have been butting heads and fighting ever since he first showed his stupid smarmy face in the WSeaF.

“What made you think it was a good idea? I mean, you had to have a reason to want to stand at Jayson Price's side, right? Other than trying to be the most controversial name in the business? You must have thought somewhere that he had changed, or maybe you thought two wrongs would make a right? Whatever option I assume, it ended exactly the way everyone thought it would...with one of you shoving a knife in the other's back.

“Maybe you didn't see it coming. Whichever way, you're still an idiot Torture. Willful or blissful ignorance are one in the same. It's just a feeling your chasing...but none of it has any ground in reality. Just like you coming after the World Championship. The writing was on the wall. I should have known this day would come really: the day one of the old timers got anry, decided to poke the Leviathan and come after what he has. It's a simple idea, really. It's the cycle of life in the wrestling world. A younger, more intelligent, stronger male comes into your territory and you start having this...feeling.

“You want to know what that feeling eating away at you is Torture?

“It's fucking jealousy. It's written on the walls. It's written on your face. It was written in your desperate bid for one last shot at the World Heavyweight Championship...because, just like Jayson Price. after I'm finished with you this will be your last shot at the World Championship as long as I carry it. It's nothing personal, really. That's...that's just the way this has to go, Torture. The way it was always supposed to go. If you think it's supposed to go any other way, than you are a damn fool.

“Do you know what your most fatal error was? Believing that there is some good in people. All humans are monsters, Torture, and you know this better than anyone. The only reason you're upset that Jayson Price turned on you was that you didn't have the chance to do it first. You're a snake in the grass, still trying to choke your rattler and hide your fangs from the world...and this match for the championship? That's just you coiling, making sure your prey is within reach.

“But I'm prepared for you Torture. I'm as prepared for you as I was for Grayson Pierce, as I was for Preecha Kamon before him. I don't care what the name of my opponent is on the opposite side of the card: I'm going to destroy them either way. It's my niche. My thing...and I'm pretty fucking good at it.

“I know what you will do before you even do it, Torture, because most people with a brain could draw parallels between the two of us. For instance, we both were successful very early in our careers and when people see our name across the card from them, they know deep down in the darkest part of their hearts that they are truly fucked. It's a no contest. An earth shattering realization that they truly have no reason to fight that week.

“But what happens when that unstoppable force meets the immovable object? Something has to give, Torture...and as a man of science, I would have to say that the one with more momentum will win out. Always.

“And look at me, man. I'm coming fresh off of a World Championship victory at One...and you? Well, you beat Jayson Price, something my girl Coconutz is going to do without all the useless hub bub. She's going to go out there and make a man out of the wimp. Jayson Price is the epitome of failure, and a victory over him would be my light work.

“It was everything for you, Torture. A way for you to validate your now midcard existence. You barely make a case for being in line for a Television Championship match, much MUUUCH less standing across the ring from the greatest World Champion to ever set foot in it. You're expecting to get by in this match on name value alone. Ticket sales, merch sales. Righting the sinking ship, correct?

“What's happening with WSeaF financially isn't our fault. Truly. Seth is paying #BeachKrew a decent enough wage, more than any of the so-called 'talent' around here is making...but admittedly, we're the only thing working with this sorry federation. We're the only reason tickets are being bought right now. Ain't nobody line up to see Torture defeat Jayson Price for the hundredth time. They paid to see those #BeachKrew boys get theirs...

“It's not our fault we let them down. That was just talent speaking for itself. We're doing what we've been doing since we popped out of the crowd that fateful night on Mejor Redemption. We crushed them so bad, they never recovered from it...and I don't even need to tell you what happened to Scarecrow.

“Scarecrow was everyone's little pet project. They wanted him to succeed...but not more than they themselves wanted to succeed. You were part and parcel to one of his most legendary victories over the defender of Asgard, Brodin Balfore. You remember that right? Or is your memory slipping from all the wallops you've taken over the skull?

“You made Scarecrow seem more talented than he actually is...and I just can't abide that, Torture. It's sickening....but we all know you didn't do that for Scarecrow. You did it for yourself. Just like you're going after this World Championship for yourself and not 'the fans', no matter which way you try to sling that shit. That was the biggest disgrace in the history of WSeaF, and a robbery of Brodin.

“Who do you think you are Torture? You think you carry enough weight around here that you can just show up and do whatever you want? That you don't have to 'earn your bones' along with the rest of them anymore? You're...you're soft now man. You're masquerading as a top talent because you won three World Championships five years ago?

“Guess what? The pool is a little deeper now my man...and it has sharks in it. Men like Los Tiburones. Men like Dustin Beaver, Kyle Kemp, Johnny Rabid...men like me, Torture. We've taken this broken cesspool and we've transformed it into the crystal clear ocean that it is. We've risen to the top on the salt of our enemies...and a ladder formed from their bodies.

“That's just how we do. I won't suffer you Torture. It's not in my blood. It will never be how I conduct myself. This week I will successfully retain my World Championship again and I will move on to Fifteen.

“And I will do it with aplomb. See you at Slam BOI.”

*buzz static*
CYHNK-REEGGHHHERST

---

Part I: Midnight Drive

Wade drove down the road behind the wheel of an old school Camaro under a pale moon. His hands gripped the wheel tightly and the hole where his thumb used to be ached something awful. He could still feel it there. A phantom limb. A constant reminder of what he lost that night in the Chamber of the Owls.

He looked inconspicuously to his right, towards the passenger seat, and saw Nikita hyper focusing on the rear view mirror. She had been like that since that night in the Chamber, constantly in fear that the Owls would come for her under cover of the night and take her without even the stars to keep her company. Thunder cracked in the distance and brought her eyes back to the road. She noticed Wade looking at her from the corner of her eye, but Wade's vision quickly shifted back to the road.

The moonlight reflected off of her pupils and burned a hole in the side of his head. She cleared her throat as she pulled a joint out from between her cleavage and lit it up. She took a few puffs and handed it over to Wade, who slipped it in to his lips and took a few puffs.

“Do you want to talk about Leven?” she asked.

“Why would I want to talk about him?” Wade snapped.

“Because it's been two weeks and you haven't said anything”, she replied.

“Am I supposed to WANT to talk about it?” Wade asked, “Because I can tell you that I really, REALLY don't want to.”

“Then let's talk about anything”, she said, “What about your match at Slam?”

“Don't even pretend to care about that, Nikita”, Wade replied, “It's not really becoming of you.”

Nikita looked stung, as if Wade has just slapped her across the face.

“I do care”, Nikita said, “Because I care about you.”

Wade chuckled.

“Are you worried about facing Torture?” she asked, “He'll probably be your toughest challenge to date.”

“I'm not worried”, Wade replied in a stoic voice.

“Isn't there a stigma to facing Torture?” she asked, “Not many people have walked out of the ring against him with a clean victory, Wade.”

“Not many people have done that to me”, Wade shot back, “In fact, nobody has done that to me.”

“That's one of the many parallels people could draw between you and Torture”, Nikita replied.

“What the fuck do you mean by that?!” Wade snapped, “I'm nothing like that pleb...”

“You two are almost exactly alike”, she cut him off, “You both won World Championships early in your careers. You both lost your parents at a young age. You both had a brother with uh...homicidal tendencies.”

“BUT I HAD WHAT IT TOOK TO GET THE JOB DONE!” Wade shouted, “I KILLED MY OWN FATHER! I KILLED LEVEN! I COULDN'T JUST STAND THERE AND LET HIM HURT THE PEOPLE I CAR...”

Wade stopped himself.

“What?” Nikita asked, “The people you what?”

“Nothing”, Wade replied, “It's nothing.”

But it wasn't nothing. The word hung heaver than air inside the warm Camaro. The clouds begin to split and the moon began to sing. Wade hated the words it spoke as much as he had admonished what he had almost let slip. He couldn't admit that it was true...but there were now people in this world that he truly cared about, principle among them the women who rode passenger in his car now.

“So why are we riding separate from the rest of #BeachKrew?” Nikita asked.

Wade rolled the thought over in his head. He never clearly thought about it, but when he knew that Nikita was no longer safe anywhere but with him, he had cashed his paychecks from WSeaF and bought this Camaro. To keep her safe, but also to keep her separated from the rest of the #Krew.

“We're all pretty tight nit”, Wade replied, “I can't just bring you aboard until they meet you. Until they trust you.”

Nikita nodded her head, but he knew that she didn't fully believe his excuse. Wade didn't fully believe it either, and the more he started thinking about it, the more he realized what the actual reason was: Jared Holmes. The man who had saved his life and became his best friend – his brother. Wade wasn't even sure that he deserved what he had. The world had been slowing handing him something he never expected...a real family.

A group of people that - no matter how depraved they all truly were – actually cared about each other. Had each others back against those who would take away what they had.

#BeachKrew vs The World.

The thought made Wade smile out of the corner of his mouth. He wiggled his phantom thumb once more to remind him of the horrors the world could hold.

---

Interlude: LOL

Seth sits in his office chair, his head slumped down on the desk and a bottle of Beaveater Vodka in his hand. He took a swig, simultaneously loving the vodka and loathing himself at the same time. He began to turn over the reports on the desk, trying his best to turn over the numbers in his head...but no matter which way he spun it, the end result was always the same:

WCF was fucking broke.

Seth Lerch's dominion, his soap opera, all the championships, and the clusterfuck battle royals would all be gone! He didn't know what to do. The Prophecy didn't concern him at the time...all he wanted was to breathe new life into his baby. His WCF.

A throat cleared across the room from Seth caused him to drop his bottle to the ground. He watched it roll and a figure emerge from the darkness to pick it up. A figure approached him and slammed it on the corner of the desk.

“Minerva?” Seth asked, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You know what I'm doing here Seth”, she replied, “There is still much work to do concerning the prophecy.”

Seth laughed in his throat.

“The prophecy?” Seth asked, “I don't really care about that right now. My company is dying. I have to shif...”

Minerva grabbed the bottle from the desk and smashed it against the wall. She shoved her finger into Seth's chest.

“Listen to me!” She said, accentuating each word with a jab of her spindly finger, “The Owls aren't concerned with your pathetic wrestling company! You need to get it together, Seth! Or else HE won't be too happy with us!”

The color seemed to leave Seth's cheeks, as if he had forgotten what was at stake during this sorrowful time. The gears began to churn in his drunken mind. He thought, long and hard, until a light bulb went off in his head...ironically, the lamp bulb next to him burnt out at the exact same time.

“I've got it!” Seth shouted, “I think I have a plan that could benefit the both of us, Minerva.”

“And what is that?” she asked, her interest piqued.

“We both know that Wade can't be killed through means we physically possess”, Seth replied, “But what about something that we intrinsically possess? It's my ace in the hole! The card up my sleeve, the one I forgot was there!”

Seth began to twiddle his fingers, his eyes fluttering, scratching the stubble of hair on his chin.

“What the hell are you on about Seth?!” Minerva demanded to know.

“Why didn't I see it before?” Seth asked as he began to shuffle the papers on his desk.

“What is it damn it?” Minerva asked, “Tell me you fool!”

“You take away everything a man cares about and it kills him from the inside!” Seth replied with a crazy look in his eye, “It's so simple, yet so convexly convoluted that it just might work.”

“Spit it out already, damn you!” Minerva shouted.

Seth looked at her with a stony face.

“LOL”, he said, “TORTURE WINZ.”

---

Epilogue: Andover, Massachussets, 1663

“And we condemn this she-bitch to burn at the stake as many witches have before her”, the reverend spoke into the dead night air.

And of course there were clouds, they take over the sky and hide that pulsing swollen moon that is clearing its throat above them. The slow trickle of its light is there – but any possible glimmer is hidden, invisible behind the clouds that have rolled in low and bloated. Soon the clouds will open up and pour down a heavy rain.

“And we say unto you, Elizabeth Moor, do you have any last words before you are kindled and burned to a very excruciating death?”

Elizabeth began to cry, her hands tied behind her back around a stake from the ground.

“I'M NOT A WITCH!” she yelled, “I'm a widow and a mother!”

“We are not concerned with your lies witch”, the reverend, “What a miserable set of final testimony. Young Jacob?”

“Yes Reverend Lerchlock?” Young Jacob asked.

“Throw the torch on the pyre”, Reverend Lerchlock instructed, “So that we may be done with this and give chase to the hellspawn and church traitor.”

“Yes Reverend Lerchlock”, Young Jacob replied as he – devoid of any emotion - tossed a burning torch upon the well oiled kindling.

Elizabeth screamed as her body began to get engulfed in flames...but a curious sensation overtook her body as the flames reached her. The lapped like a dog's tongue, tickling her to the point of girlish squeals. She looked in front of her, where it seemed the congregated mob had frozen in place. The world turned black as the clouds opened to reveal the thirsty moon, desperate for blood.

“What say you, Elizabeth Moor?” a chilling voice spoke to her from the darkness, “What would your last wish be if it were to come true?”

“Who...who are you?” she spoke back to the darkness.

“I am Everything. I am Nothing. I am your Deepest Desire and your Darkest Fear. I am Eternal. I can grant you a wish in exchange for your very soul. Now tell me your one wish, Mrs. Moor?”

“Just...just keep my son safe. Please.” She replied desperately.

“Your wish...is my command. Now come with me...it's about to get a little messy.”

The darkness opened, and in that moment Elizabeth Moor knew Everything and Nothing. She knew her Deepest Desires and Darkest Fears. She knew Eternity, and the implications that came with it. The darkness consumed her as the flames engulfed her body. Screeches were heard coming from the treeline as a plethora of monsters and beasts made way towards the pounds and pounds of living flesh.

The monsters ripped the humans apart piece by piece, spilling gallons of blood under cover of the night.

The moon went to bed full that night.