#FuckingShipWrekThisMiserableSoul

[Wade Moor]

M Y
H O L D M E D O W N
U N D E R W A V E S

R I D E A N D B E W H O L E
L I F T A N D BE G O N E

LIFT PART 3 (ROSETTA)



Prologue: Faces

The hard ring canvas pressed against Wade's open mouth with the taste of dripping sweat and the grotesque aura of rotting flesh. Every hand put to the canvas felt like quicksand under Wade's aching body. Price fought like a man possessed, as if this match were his very last. He stayed off the executioner, and flipped the script on him entirely, dropping him with his Downfall (which Wade had to admit it hurt like a son of a bitch.) His head had never hit the mat so hard in his life.

What had Wade done? What had he done to himself?

He built this match up like it was Price's very last...and in turn created his own worst enemy. Jayson would not have it. He wouldn't taste defeat tonight...but Wade was going to shove it down his throat, whether he liked it or not. Wade pushed himself to his feet...just as “Master of Puppets” hit the P.A.

And the world around him tetra formed into something out of a nightmare. The ring peeled away underneath his feet as ground cracked and split the Earth in two. A neat stack of bodies rose in it's place, flames licking and lashing around him. Beyond the wall of fire, Wade saw Seth walking towards him, his eyes a crystal hue of black shining as bright as the moon. Wade fell to his knees as Seth passed through the wall of fire.

Seth's body begin to twitch and spasm as his mouth opened wide. Skin ripped away from his chest as a large talon shot forth from it. The husk gave way as the head of a demon with the eyes of an Owl took it's place. He smiled at Wade, baring a long set of fangs underneath his beak shaped mouth. His claws twist and turned as it's talon-like feet walked slowly towards Wade, who's sanity was beginning to slip away.

T A S T E M E Y O U W I L L S E E
M O R E I S A L L Y O U N E E D
Y O U R E D E D I C A T E D T O H O W I M K I L L I N G Y O U

“HELLo Wade”, the demons snake like tongue lashed across Wade's back, sending a searing pain through his body and mind, “I've been waiting to MEAT you.”

Wade attempted to look up, into the face of the demon...but he felt weak as it's empty Owlesque eyes slashed, burned, blistered. Wade's skin crawled and he clawed at it with dirty fingernails, ripping away large portions of it and tossing them to the ground.

“No pound of flesh will save you, Moor”, it screeched from the bowels of Hell itself, “I'm going to kill you. I've been waiting a long time for this...but I like to play with my food before I eat it. We have that in common, don't we?”

The demon sniped a laugh that resembled a guttural roar. It shook and rent the ground even further as flames lapped up from the fresh tears. It's left wing expanded nearly twenty feet as the audience begin to chatter around them, an army of skeletal beings with scraps of flesh hanging from their brittle bones. It rolled it's right wing around and dropped something in front of Wade.

A body.

A body of a boy.

Jeremy.

Wade fell to the ground, coming eye to eye with Jeremy. The gun wound in his head still dripping fresh blood and brain matter..

TICK

TOCK

TICK

TOCK

“That's the sound of your life running out”, it spoke again as it came even closer to Wade, “First, I will take everything from you. Those who look up to you, like Young Jeremy here. Then, I will rip your World Championship from you and thrust it into wanting arms. I will take those you surround yourself with, the ones you call your family. Kemp. Beaver. Aquarius. Rabid. Holmes. Then...”

It stopped and suckled in the savory sentence it spoke.

“Then I will take her. The only girl you've ever loved, Wade. That will be the sweetest sensation of them all. This is what happens when you cross me. This is what happens when you make a deal with the devil.”

Wade pushed himself up, using the stack of decaying bodies as leverage. He crawled first, towards the demon, until he felt his strength returning to him. He got to a knee, pushed himself to his feet, and leaped at the demon with that ALMIGHTY BROSEIDON PUNCH!!!...

Just as the world around him changed to what it once was. The sound of the crowd gasping around him was deafening as his fist made contact with Seth Lerch' face. Seth fell to the apron and Wade looked around dumbfounded. He turned on his heels right into the waiting arms of Jayson Price's Downfall. His head hit the mat once more and Wade saw no more.

---

Part I: Done Did Dag Dead

Dag stood in his opulent manor bedroom, face to face with a mirror. He flexed his squirmy muscles and scratched the pubic hairs he glued to his chin. He pulled the hood of his jacket over his head, but took it back down again. Real men don't wear hoods, he thought. He flexed again and imagined himself wearing drag for just a moment.

“No!” he shouted into the mirror, “Dirty thoughts get out of my head! God damn liberal media poisoning me with it's faggotry. I can't abide it! How dare they subplant homoerotic ideas into my cranium!”

He slapped himself for good measure before assuring himself that he was, indeed, a man's man and wouldn't be caught dead wearing lingerie.

“I blame those god damn niggers”, he spat as a thousand cats mewed around him, “Those god damn niggers and their black lives matter campaign. Fucking horseshit is what it is. Luckily those teenagers that jumped me weren't black or I would have given them the old one two and the what's what, I tell ya.”

He shadowboxed in the mirror, imagining himself beating the everloving crap out of every black man on the planet. They scared him with their superior athleticism and their gigantic penises. He imagined, for a moment, some black man sneaking into his house late at night, apparently to rob him of all his finest possessions. The marble dragon and wizard he purchased from Spencer's Gifts. Those were his most prized.

He imagined the man slipping through his window, sliding into bed with him, and thrusting deep into...

#DagFagFiction

“NO!” Dag shouted while slapping himself once again, “REAL MEN DON'T THINK THAT WAY! I'M A REAL MAN! I HAVE A CAT NAMED BEOWULF! I OBJECTIFY WOMEN, GOD DAMN IT! I HATE NIGGERS AND SPICS AND ALL THEM OTHER RACES THAT AREN'T WHITE! FUCK YEAH! I AIN'T SOWUH, STAND UP AND FEEL THE WHITE POWUH!”

Dag flexed again as he shouted the phrases that helped him sleep at night. The thousand cats mewed again at their abrasive owner. They felt nothing but pity for him. Their pity turned to sorrow turned to hunger, and that was the circle of life in the Riddik household. Dag pulled his phone out and tweeted to his fans.

@riddikuler Vote Trump or I'll spitshine your asshole.

“Oh shit”, he said aloud.

@riddikuler Ignore that last tweet. Account was hacked.

“That's better”, he sighed.

Dag was feeling it now. He was feeling like a man...but then the infinite terror began to sink in. He knew who was waiting for him on Sunday and he almost shit his pants upon realization. He paced furiously around his room, stomping on cats every step of the way. Big game hunter, indeed. The double oak door downstairs slammed shut and Dag's butthole puckered a little bit.

“DAG!” his mother shouted from the bottom of the stairs, “DID YOU CLEAN YOUR DAMN ROOM LIKE I ASKED YOU TO?”

Dag was infuriated. No women was going to talk to him like that, he reckoned. Not in his own damn house. Women needed to know their place was in the kitchen. He cracked the door to his room and shouted downstairs.

“SHUT UP MOM BITCH!” Dag yelled, “OR I'LL COME DOWN THERE AND PUT MY FOOT IN YOUR ASS! NOW MAKE ME A SANDWICH BITCH!”

Dag felt good about telling his mom to shut her mouth. He begin to flex his muscles, scratch his chin again...until something hard connected with the side of his head. He fell to the floor, and through hazy vision, spotted his mom standing over him with a rolling pin the size of a BBC. Dag imagined it sliding into him, thrusting deep...

“No!” Dag shouted as the rolling pin cam down again, beating him within an inch of his life.

“No faggot ass undercard son of mine is going to talk to me that way!” she shouted, bringing the rolling pin down one more time, “Fucking disgrace. I wish those teenagers woulda killed ya, yes I do!”

“No mommy no!” Dag shouted again and held his arms up, but the beating stopped, and he thanked his lucky stars that she didn't take his life this time.

He stood up from the ground, poop and blood seeping from his stretched out B-Hole, and tried to brush himself off. Tried to tell himself that he didn't get pinned. It ain't losing if you don't get pinned...but then he remembered that rolling pin coming straight down on his crackuh face and realized that he did get pinned.

“Fuck”, he murmured while shoving his hands deep in his pockets, “My life fucking sucks.”

And it was only going to get worse. Sunday he had Wade Moor. Sunday, he was faced with his own mortality. Sunday would be the day that he finally ate that all elusive pin that had been his bread and butter since day one. He knew how it was going to happen...how it had to happen...but he wasn't going to go down without a fight. Naw. That's not the way Dag rolled, you feel.

“AND CLEAN YA DAMN ROOM YOU PUNK AZZ JOBBER!” she shouted from the bottom of the stairs, causing Dag to cringe in his boots.

Dag slammed his door, locked it shut, and went over to the computer to beat off to Hentai. He clicked that Google bookmark and went to type...

---

Part II: #LOLBEACHKREWWINZ

It was an early Tennessee morning. Too damn early for most, especially them #BeachKrew boys after a night of debauchees partying without exception...but early to rise was the name of the game today, for those boys had work to do. You think Kyle Kemp would be up early on some early morning HUV lane bullshit? What about Beaver? Do you think he'd be trifling away that early morning toiling, wasting his time for no damn reason kind of shit? Better check your facts, bruh.

And Wade Moor? That Leviathan? Jared? LOLNOPE. Eleven forty five and that shit was still too early. Sleeping until two o clock in the afternoon is what you would call “White Privelage”. Dag certainly knew about “White Privelage”. He was the living embodiment of said word. He believed that he didn't have to work for what he got, instead that shit would be handed to him on a silver platter by folk that he deemed lesser than he...but there was no one worth less than the Dag Riddik's of the world. Fucking straight up #fuccboi on that for real-Z tip.

But, this narrator digresses. There was work to be done, and this chestnut haired, broad shouldered man isn't trying to hold up your time with bullshit. Back to the good part.

#BeachKrew was trolling for ass through the local Memphis mall, waiting for Sunday until they could commit some #fuccboigenocide live on your television set. It was what they lived for. It was what they breathed for, bled for, fought for. Everyone knew Slam would be coming to you straight from FedEx forum...Dag getting that ass whoopin' delivered to him overnight. Free of charge. Don't say Wade never gave you anything BOI.

Wade moved behind his bruhs, his True Family, at a pace befitting a God of his size and stature. But wait, you say...didn't Wade just lose that WHIRLPOOL Championship just a few days ago? Yeah, that's true. Wade lost. It could happen to anybody – ammirite Dag? - it could happen to anybody any day of the week, for real. But the biggest difference? When Wade lost, that BOI was making history at the biggest event this side of One. When somebody like a Dag Riddik lost? Shit, that was just the straight up norm. It was to be expected, in his case.

Andre Aquarius – that fresh Young Lightskin with a penchant for smashing white bitch poon – hung back a little bit. He had a gift, signed, sealed, and delivered for Wade. Most folk thought that Andre Aquarius was an abrasive, militant negro...but that was what the world wanted from Andre, when in fact, that negro was one of the most intelligent men on the planet. A degree in Technology from Tulane was mounted on the wall of the WINO-bago, one of #BeachKrew's most prized possessions on the up and up.

He approached Wade with a giddy childish gleam in his eye, his phone in his outstretched hand.

“Ay yo, Wade”, Andre exclaimed, “I got something for ya. It got to do with that fuccboi you gonna wrek at Slam.”

“More specific please, Andre”, Wade replied.

“Dag Riddik”, Andre informed.

“Ah yes”, Wade replied, “Of course. The king of all fuccboi meta nerdbombers. What news do you bring me of the unholiest?”

“Yeah, so I got Dag Riddik's browser history pulled up on my phone”, Andre said as he passed it towards Wade.

“These are glorious tidings you bring, Young Lightskin”, Wade replied as he took the phone from Andre, “May I ask how you came across these? Perhaps you hacked the young ladies IP address? Pulled some tech savvy shit and came across his browser history?”

Andre smirked, his crystallized eyes gleaming in the light – most likely from the fat blunt he toked on the way in.

“Nah son”, Andre laughed, “I smashed the white bitch at the Apple store. She just straight up gave it to me...the puss, I mean. I had to go rooting around for her master password after I knocked that bitch out cold with this big black piece, ya feel?”

“I feel, Andre”, Wade replied, “I definitely feel. Some bitches don't want to give it up. Like they got pride or some shit. Damn shame, really. Anyways, let's take a look at what this #DagFag is looking up in his spare time.”

Wade began to peruse the information bestowed upon him by Young Lightskin, and they laughed aloud as they noted his search terms.

- Katherine Pheonix nudes
- Katherine Pheonix tranny nudes
- hello kitty pregnancy test
- Harley Quinn cosplay
- Harley Quinn hentai
- Harley Quinn tranny hentai
- Harley Quinn tranny porn
- amazonian women
- Sarah Twilight nudes
- Sarah Tiwlight tranny porn
- gay man seducing straight
- train parts
- what are dank memes
- how to make dank memes
- how to give up on life
- paintings by hitler
- white is the master race
- Katherine Pheonix tranny nudes
- tool lyrics
- consequences for not speaking in group therapy
- amazonian tranny porn

“Alright, I've had enough”, Wade spat, “God damn. I'd almost kind of feel bad for the guy, you know...if he wasn't a straight up #fuccboi who deserved to be erased from this planet.”

“Ja feel, Swagrid”, Andre replied, “Ja feel. Anyways, I thought you would get a kick out of that shit. I'm gonna head over to the food court. There was some latina bitch eyeballing me from the Orange Julius and I think we're gonna smash. Love, peace, and chicken grease.”

Andre bailed, leaving Wade to himself. Solitude was a bitch, especially after Wade found himself on this side of a loss - especially one as daunting as losing the World Championship. He started questioning if there was anything he could have done differently, or if he really put his all into that match. Maybe he had just gotten too comfortable with where he was...and it all slipped away from him.

"Hey Swag!" the familiar voice of his best friend Jared rung out as he slapped him on the back, "Long time no see bruh!"

Wade found himself smiling. He couldn't help but be elated when Jared was around. These last two months that he had been out on injury had been...difficult, to say the least. Wade knew something was missing - after the failed coup by Rabid to take leadership of #BeachKrew from Jared - Wade had discovered that #BeachKrew was missing it's leader. Wade knew that Rabid felt it as well...that nobody else could lead this group of misfits like Jared could. It was ingrained in his DNA, the ability to lead.

"Yo Swag?" Jared said again, "You high or something? You know we got shit to do mayn."

"Sorry, I was just thinking", Wade replied in a reflective pensive voice, "Hey...I'm glad you're back Jared."

Jared laughed.

"Damn gay", Jared replied through his guffaws, "Don't make me start calling you Fagrid now."

They two moved like they were going to strike the other, but they both laughed and embraced in a hug. If it had been anyone else trying anything like that...well, let's just say that shit wouldn't be pretty. Jared and Wade were an unexplainable entity. The two almost existed as one, and when they were together? They were damn near unstoppable. That's how #BeachKrew had started it's initial dominant run in the WSeaF, striking an unorganized enemy with a united front. It was textbook war. Some Sun Tzu shit, if you would.

Now, they had snakes slipping through the grass, trying to kill what they percieved to be a weakened #BeachKrew...but now that they were all together again? They were inconcievably stronger than they were before.

"Tell me about a Team of Treachery, Jared", Wade asked of his brother from another mother.

"Fuccbois", Jared replied, always quick with the knowledge, "The god damn lot of them. Their opening gambit? The enemy of my enemy is my friend? Tell me how many have deployed that philosophy successfully? The closest you're going to get is Pantheon, and look at them! They're dead in the water. It's a fucking joke. A power move, if anything...but it won't last. Especially after we crush them like the plebs they are."

"And I have that piece of shit Dag Riddik this week", Wade replied, "I know how you wanted me to go to Seth and secure this match on Sunday. He gave it to me because he owes me. I can't believe that shit he pulled at Fifteen. I had it...handled until he came out."

"Don't worry Swag", Jared assured, "We'll get that World Champion back. It's only a matter of time...but first, we have some purging to do. This Team of Treachery redux..."

"Is that really how Logan wanted to make his way back into the Dub SEA Eff?" Wade asked, "Come in, win Final Destination. Good on you, man...but then, your second move is to rejoin with Kat Pheonix? Like that shit has worked out the last million times you've tried it? And then your fucking grand plan is to snag up Charon and Dag Riddik?! That was your big power move?! That was your epic reformulation?! Damn, you might as well have snatched BioWalker while you were at it.

"What a fucking farce. Damn Dag...do you even know what you've got yourself into? Chances are no, because you don't know a god damn thing. You think you're about to hit the big time with this Team of Treachery nonsense? The only thing you're going to hit is my fist when your face collides with it and you're sprawled out on the mat, waiting like the bitch you are.

"This Team of Treachery...how long do you think this shit is going to last? You think because Katherine Pheonix is all in that you guys might have your shot at the big time? Bitch, just wait five minutes and she'll find something else to latch on to. She's like a fucking insect, chasing bright lights with her empty head swiveling in every single direction. I could mention something like cookie mountain and she'd probably be up on my nuts trying to ride my coat tails to fame, trying to find that elusive stardom.

"And you're caught up right in the middle of it...and the whole thing is ironic really. You're a hate mongering political bigot and a racist. A stable forms consisting of three transvestites and a black man...and the first thing you do is run out and join that shit?! What a fucking moron you are, Dag! You're so blinded by your own fucking idiocy that you can't even stick to your script. You done went and killed your gimmick...I'll give you something though, you didn't kill it as fast as I'm going to kill you come Sunday. That's a straight up fact.

"I heard you say that this is going to be 'easy' for you. That you'll polish me off right quick...only for your own teammate to tell you how fucking stupid you are for thinking that shit. God damn, what an utter disgrace to humanity you are man. I got a secret to tell ya though Dag - even if you did bring all that you got to this match, it wouldn't be enough.

"I'm a former World Champion, and there's no shame in losing to another World Champion...it's the cycle of life around these parts. Three months as WHIRLPOOL Champion is a healthy reign. I'm sure you think you'll outlast me somehow, that this is 'your fucking time' or some other noob bullshit like that. I could sit here and predict everything you're going to say...but I won't, Dag. I'm going to enjoy watching you flounder.

"You think you're gonna be the man someday? Hoist that World Championship over your head and call it a day? I don't think so Dag. Why don't you open wide. I'll piss down your throat and that will be the only taste of gold you'll ever get in the WSeaF. You don't have what it takes, my man. You beat Luciuos Starr. Congratulations on your tune up match. Sadly, it had to come at one of the biggest WSeaF events in history...that's when you know you've fucked the pooch. When your greatest claim to fame is beating - in your words - a jobber.

"God damn, Dag. I bet you're already wishing this verbal tirade would end? Or maybe, in your infinite ignorance, you still don't think a damn word I've said carries any truth to it? There's a point when your 'no sell' bullshit does more harm than good, and your mouth has already dug your own grave. Shit is ridiculous that pops out of your mouth. You think you're some hot target for a heat seaking missile with the shit you spout, but really you're just showing the world how much of a miserable plebeian you really are. You're Archie Bunker without any redeemable qualities. You're Dr. Cox without half the talent or knowledge he carries.

"And I heard you like the Spin Doctors?"

Wade scratches his head in confusion, laughing as he tears into the fuccboi.

"Wait, no...you like Tool, don't you? Yeah, you and ten million other people, like that shit makes you special or something. Way to go! You're part of the most widely hated musical fan base this side of Insane Clown Posse! You know what I really hate about Tool fans? Literally everything. The amount of zealotry surrounding Tool fans is just legendary, and you're all a bunch of self-righteous dimwits. The way you all think that listening to Tool puts you in some special club and everyone else who can't bare to listen to such trash quasi prog-rock 'just doesn't get it'. I hate the way you fuccbois act like there's some spot reserved for you at the end of the world, but for some reason can't get a women to notice you because they 'don't like nice guys'.

"I hate the way they make fuccbois like you believe they're smarter than they actually are by preaching high school level phschologies, obscure religious references, and random meaningless bullshit. If there is something to 'interpret' or 'figure out', then it's going to make some fuccboi like you feel smart.

"I'm sure there's more to like about Tool besides their pseudo-intellectualism that toes the line between indulging their fanbases intelligence and insulting it? Maybe it's their lead singers grungy lyricism? Or their barely passable guitarists? Maybe it's their shitty drummers ability to do that prog-rock thump shit that makes nerdbombers like you cream their fucking pants? Maybe it's their godlike ability to have a bunch of subversive clones like you defend them to the grav?

"Stop me if this sounds familiar: 'Tool is rad because they have that clay video and Maynard is my god!!!!!' or 'that song isn't really about fisting in your moms minivan...there's like, a whole other deeper level to it man!!!'. I'm sure you've said that once or twice in your pathetic life, right? I just couldn't defend seventy nine minutes of primitive, non listenable, time filling crap. I'm glad the band loves their fans enough to include German cookie recipes and answering machine messages on their albums. So edge, bruh. If you disagree with my feelings Dag, I invite you to keep your plebeian mouth shut for once in your whiney, self involved existence."

"How does it feel to get hit with that super hot fyah Dag? Are you praying to Maynard that it ends soon? Well, you're not getting off that easy you worthless piece of shit. The day I'm done roasting you is the day I'm dead. I got a few ideas, my man. How about this shit?

“Damn Dag getting roasted EYE ARE ELL by fucking memes. I could roast you with a TI calculator in the middle of the ocean, Dag, that's how good I am at this shit.

“In what world do you get out of this shit alive? In that #DagFagFiction world? I'm sorry, but that's just not feasible bruh. I'm gonna keep going just to show you that you don't have a fucking chance in the world.

“That shit was pretty funny, I have to admit. This Treacherous Team reforms to fight #BeachKrew with tactics that are even scummier than #BeachKrew...or so they think ELL EMM AYE OH. Morrigana said it aloud...turnabout is fair play. You jack our fucking shit, and you don't even have the ability to pull it off. Dag over here like 'kill me if I ever become like you guys...'...and then he tries to be like us. God damn, your stupidity continues to shine through. I guess I can grant you your wish Dag. I'll fucking kill you if you want?

“Like you have a fucking choice. You're a five cent lemonade stand trying to compete with Wal-Mart...and if your financial history is taken into account, you're very much fucked. It's a good thing you get paid in fucking cookies because you handle your money as well as you handle winning a match...and that shit is poorly.

“Let me guess what you're going to say, because you've said it every fucking week since you decided to pick this fight you can't win. 'He's a fat autismo neckbeard midcarder who lost his World Championship LOL. He's a nigger loving drug addict who doesn't register on my radar. I could watch a promo but I don't have time to.' This is code for 'I don't know shit so I'm fucked.'

“And you truly are in every sense of the word, Dag. You're fucked beyond belief. If I don't fuck you and turn you into a mess ready to rage quit at the drop of a dime, then your very own teammates will do that for you. They don't care for you. They only have you around for their own personal amusement, and the moment you don't 'dance monkey dance' is the minute they drop you on your fucking skull and leave you in the dust.

“You're expendable to your team and you're expendable to the WSeaF as a whole. You could leave here tomorrow and two weeks later people would be like 'Dag who?'. You bring absolutely nothing new to the table. The heat you acquire is the cheapest of all. You're a heel who doesn't cheat because that shit hasn't been done before, right? Your stupid ass stable is talking about 'clearing the cancer' like they haven't heard #fuccboigenocide.

“You're a straight up rip off. You ripped off ZMAC, you've ripped us off, and you ripped off every single newcomer on that 'I'm better than you' schtick without having the record to actually prove a damn. You could be two and five, two and three, two and ten, but the fact of the matter is you've lost. You can't deal with the loss and become so backed up with your own bullshit that it's all that spews out of your mouth. You're either the most brilliant troll in the world or you really are that fucking stupid.

“And you don't strike me as the troll type. You're the guy that believes everything he says is absolute law. That's like some fourteen year old boy shit. Kids always think they're right about everything...until they get knocked the fuck out for running their stupid mouth...and make no bones about it, I'm going to knock you the fuck out with a straight up BROSEIDON PUNCH. It's what I do little man. Iffin you knew anything about me, you'd know that's what I do.

“That's where we stand Dag...well, that's where I stand. You'll be lying down at my feet with a hole in your head the size of Roanoke. You're going to learn a lesson this week, whether you like it or not Dag. You're going to learn a little lesson in humility as a I humiliate the absolute fuck out of you on live television for millions to see. Don't say I never gave you anything. I am a humble Godnilla.”

Wade ended his verbal tirade, satisfied with the noetic beat down he just imparted upon Dag Riddik's unwashed cranium. Wade threw his head back and noticed Jared eyeing him from his peripheral.

“What?” Wade asked as he slid his hands along his hair.

“What. The. Fuck. Was. That?” Jared asked, “THAT SHIT WAS TIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!!!”

Jared threw his arms around Wade, slapping him on the chest as the rest of #BeachKrew – that had gathered while Wade was on his tangent – applauded around him. #ShiaClap...nay, #BeachKlap. Fuckin' #shipwrekt your fucking ass Dag, what's up?!

“Now...we have important work to do”, Jared replied while pointing towards the Hot Topic store.

A bunch of fat wannabe goths were hanging around outside of the chain, unable to purchase anything as they didn't protect their 401's whenever the economy went tits up. Or they never had them to begin with because their minimum wage job at the local McDEEZ didn't offer it. Either way, they were the scum of the Earth. Dag Riddik's kind of people, even though he pretended to hate them, though he was a proven self loathing entity.

“We are going to go into that Hot Topic”, Jared informed, “And burn the motherfucker to the ground. I saw them peddling #BeachKrew merch in there and I can't abide it. Overweight goths are not the kind of audience we're trying to reach. They are not part of the #BeachWorldOrder, considering most of them haven't seen the sun in many moons. They are #fuccbois...and we can't close the pool due to their inexpedient horseshit. This is the first step of the Prophecy. Burn the false idols, and their following will crumble to ash.”

Jared lead them into the store on that unservile tip, knocking shit over as he did. Kemp and Rabid stood guard at the door to stop security...if they had a chance to call. Jared flipped the waistband of his sweatpants up and pulled a bottle of kerosene out as Andre lit a blunt in his fingertips.

“Excuse me sir”, the fat cashier with blonde dreadlocks spoke, “You can't smoke in here.”

“Shut yo fat ass up you big dumb bitch”, Andre replied while toking a fat toke of the blunt.

“Don't make me call security”, the cashier replied while picking up the cordless...

But Wade was already there. He pulled the cordless from the man's hand and snapped it in half with his bare hands. The cashier soiled his pants at the monolithic size of the man in front of him. Wade smashed his gauntlet-ed hand through the display case, causing glass to fly around the shop. The fat cashier fell backwards, smacking the back of his head against the wall and knocking himself out. Jared jumped to the top of the counter and began his schpiel.

“Open your ears #fuccbois and heed my call”, he spoke, “This is the call to the #BeachWorldOrder. Your right to live a life you deem fit, as of now, has been revoked. This is a call to revolution...a call to arms! If you wish your life to have any meaning, you will drop these false idols like they're hot...”

Jared began to squirt the plastic bottle of kerosene around the shop and people began to scream in shock, eyeballing the door as hard as they could.

“And believe me”, Jared spoke through gritted teeth, “It's about to get plenty hot in here. Remember my face. Remember my #Krew's face. This is the face of the future. If you don't want to live in our world? Then you're going to burn down with the last of the old one.”

Jared hopped down from the counter as the occupants made for the door.

“Andre”, he said, “Light this motherfucker up.”

Andre finished the last half of his blunt in two puffs as the #BeachKrew boys exited the shop - Wade dragging the fat cashier behind him - then flicked the roach back into the door. The entire store went up in a wall of fire. Smoke billowed from the doors as the fire alarms went off and the sprinklers attempted to put out the heavy flames. #BeachKrew left, escaping notice from the team of security heading towards the store.

---

Part III: Weakness, And The Infinite Hunger

“But master...you've already acquired fifteen child souls”, a female voice spoke, “How many more must die before you are strong enough? Everything will be for nothing, all the work we've put into saving the world, if there is no future left to save?”

A sharp taloned hand shot forth from the darkness, knocking the cloaked women to her back. Her hood fell off of her head and revealed Minerva – of the Court of Owls – underneath it. She writhed in pain on the floor as a voice rent her skull in two.

“YOU DARE TO QUESTION ME?! AFTER EVERYTHING I HAVE DONE FOR YOU?! YOU WORTHLESS BITCH! I SHOULD KILL YOU NOW!”

She closed her eyes and prepared for the worst...but death never came. She opened her eyes as a young man with long brown hair stepped out of the shadows. He dropped to a knee next to the women.

“But I can't”, the young man spoke in a gentle voice, “I need you, Minerva.”

He stroked his hand across her hair, which caused her to flinch away.

“I am much too weak to appear in my true form”, he said, “Every minute I expose myself to this Earth and it's elements is another minute closer to true death I become. I must acquire the souls of children for the Prophecy to come to fruition. This is the accord we struck, is it not?”

Minerva seemed pained to answer the question.

“Y-yes...”, she replied.

“Good”, the man replied, “Then we have an understanding. Find me my souls, so that I may be strong enough to kill the false Gods. The Celestial Shark and The Leviathan must die...or else your world will fall.”