#TheTidalWave

[Wade Moor]

"There was thunder
There was lightning
Then the stars went out
And the moon fell from the sky
It rained mackerel
It rained trout
And the great day of wrath has come
And here's mud in your big red eye
The poker's in the fire
And the locusts take the sky
And the earth died screaming
While I lay dreaming of you"

- Earth Died Screaming (Tom Waits)

Prologue: Fellow

The moon hung overhead, mouth agape in a silent scream, casting a blood red shadow on the Earth below. Wind whipped through bushels and trees, a cacophony of sound echoing through the hollow suburban street. An owl flew low, skimming the treetops and cutting through the wind as if it didn't adhere to the laws of physics as we know them. It landed gently, perched on a tree branch adjacent from an open window.

Somewhere across the street, a pair of dull black eyes watched it meticulously...but it didn't appear as an owl to him. It flew in it's true form, an owl winged humanoid with a sturdy pair of ivory horns adorning it's cranium. He watched the demon seduce it's target through the window, using the gentle hoot of an owl call to dull it's demonesque roar. The eyes shifted as the owl disappeared from sight, almost out of nowhere...

It was in that moment that "The Nacho Man" Sandy Ravage - Nacho for short - knew that the demon had sunk it's teeth into the large neck of it's prey. He cursed under his breath, unable to do anything now but wait...wait and see if it's victim would fight back. He knew it was a fools errand, standing one on one with this demon. They were amazingly powerful for such obsequiously petty creatures. It still hadn't realized that Nacho had been fallowing it for days now while it searched for it's intended.

That poor boy in the parking lot that The Arbiter spoke with was chosen, all because of who he chose to idolize. The demon's petty nature thought it would be fun, like taking lives was some kind of game. Nacho spat a luminous yellow goo to the ground that lined his respirators thinking of the disgusting and irreprehinsible acts the demon would commit...

Not as if his own kind were any better. The Jalaxaritkatusans were just as much of demons as those they sought to oppose. There liberation of the planet Earth would not be a friendly one. They seek to take it by force...

But Nacho envisioned a world where the humans and the Jalaxaritkatusans lived side by side, advancing both of their societies through harmony and cooperation. It would be what most of his kind considered a pipe dream, but Nacho was a dreamer...plus, he had a secret weapon.

The Arbiter, Wade Moor.

He held the power to sway the balance of the fight in either direction. Wade's continuance of aiding the Harbinger - the Celestial Shark - would spell disaster for the human race, and allow the Jalaxaritkatusans race to reap another planet for their own harvest. History would repeat itself, it was only a matter of time.

Those in the Court of the Owls hearts were in the right place, but they've struck an accord with a force outside of their control. These demons seek to fulfill the prophecy for their own needs and whims, and those in The Owls were only puppets to further their cause.

Nacho knew now that Muloch had control of the boy, and he would start harvesting the souls necessary to gain his true form, roast this Earth, and leave the planet uninhabitable for either humans or Jalaxaritkatusans. He had to find Wade Moor, The Arbiter, and convince him to put up arms against his own kin. His #BeachKrew. It wouldn't be an easy pill to swallow for the man, but he would have to see reason.

Nacho bowed his head and whispered a quiet wish for the boy Jeremy, hoping his death was as swift and painless as possible. His death wouldn't be in vain. Nacho left the bush and disappeared into the shadows, hoping against hope that he wasn't too late.

---

Part I: A League Of Their Own

The WINO-bago was as empty and as silent that it had ever been. Wade sat alone, plucking the strings of his guitar to a whimsical tune, one that had come to him in a dream or a nightmare while he slept. No matter how hard he closed his eyes, no matter how drunk or stoned he got, these days he couldn't get Jeremy's eyes to quit haunting him. Those eyes followed him everywhere he went, those dead eyes like some macabre painting in an old manor. Every time he turned around, they burned the back of his neck like a hot iron.

Everything he has said to the boy...he wasn't ready for them. Wade struck a match against his gauntlet and lit a joint that was hanging from his lips, taking two puffs before continuing his song. Every chord struck resonated inside of him, bringing forth some buried memory that Wade only wished to keep shoveling dirt on top of.

But still, he struck that tune, subconsciously deciding to bring the thoughts to the surface, because feeling that sting of loss, of suffering, of nye on defeat...that was what kept Wade moving forward. He could let that dirt pile on top until eventually, he was buried underneath it as well, or he could nick away at it piece by piece until the memory was out in the open like a festering wound.

Wade kept playing his guitar as the door to the WINO-bago burst open. Kyle Kemp and Johnny Rabid, his tag team partners for this week, shuffled in the door worn out after three hours of straight batting practice. Kemp collapsed on the couch as Rabid pulled a couple bottles of water from the fridge and tossed one to his partner. Kemp caught it one handed and thanked Rabid in an exhausted voice.

"Are you two ready for this weekend?", Wade asked from his seated position while leaning his guitar against the wall.

"Of course we are big guy", Kemp replied, "I for one am excited to be teaming with you. This will be the first time we got into the ring together since you won the World Heavywei..."

Kemp stopped as if he suddenly realized what he was saying. Rabid cleared his throat as he took a sip of his water bottle.

"Sorry bruh", Kemp said, "I wasn't thinking."

Instead of getting angry, Wade smiled and stood up.

"No worries Young Kemp", he replied, "I wasn't the only one to suffer defeat at Fifteen. I know how much those Tag Team belts meant to the two of you, how much they meant for #BeachKrew...but sometimes you have to lose it all to put everything into perspective. In my eyes, there haven't been two finer tag team champions than the men who stand before me. Sometimes...even the best get tired."

Wade and Rabid locked eyes for just a moment.

"I have no doubt in my mind that you two will be wearing those belts around your waists once more...it's only a matter of time."

Rabid looked away, smiling from the edge of his mouth. He took another sip of water and sat next to Kyle.

"I never had the chance to congratulate you Wade", Rabid spoke, "Your defeat of Dag Riddik was resounding and a shot across the bow of this Team of Treach reformulation. Ever since, they have been falling apart at the seams, it seems."

Rabid chuckled at his own whimsical play on words.

"Thank you, my friend", Wade replied in a casual tone, "But that victory alone was a speck, just a mere taste of what the WSeaF has in store for it. Let me put it in the simplest of terms..."

Wade cleared his throat and cracked his neck.

"Anyone who seeks to oppose #BeachKrew is going to lose. Period. If you think anything else, than you're as delusional as a Dag Riddik."

Kemp held up a hand to Wade.

"Wait...do you want me to record this? It sounds like some fire is on it's way."

Wade smirked and chuckled from his throat.

"Of course not Young Kemp. My words have a way of reaching their desired target. Anything otherwise would be implying people 'ignore' us, which just wouldn't be stating facts. Truth of the matter: When #BeachKrew speaks, people listen. They like to pretend otherwise, that when we roast them we didn't just set fire to their souls. They play it cool on the outside, but inside they're burning alive. That's what leaves them faltering in the ring, why it took most of these men so long to catch up with us.

"When you have teams created with the intention of ripping us apart, brick by brick? That's when you know you're doing something right. People envy success. They look at us and sea men who are holding them down, when in reality...we are. We are holding them down because we're just that much better than them. Right Kyle?"

Kyle laughed.

"Fuck yeah Swag. God Damn wretched #fuccbois. Unwashed swine."

Rabid and Kemp's knuckle met in a bro fist bump.

"We have one bad night at Fifteen and everyone wants to shout from the rooftops that #BeachKrew is dead. Buried under the weight of their own success...but that's just their plebeian minds luring them into a false sense of security. You notice the men who ACTUALLY defeated us aren't saying these things?"

Kemp and Rabid's faces shifted to that of a sarcastically inquisitive nature.

"It's because they've actually stepped into the ring with men of God-like caliber. They know that if they were to step into the ring with us again, the outcome might be different this time around. It takes talent to know talent...and the fodder we face on the way back to our rightful spot at the top of this federation just can't measure up to us. You notice how I didn't call them our 'opponents', correct?"

Kemp was quick with that knowledge.

"Of course."

Wade clapped his hands together and locked his fingers tight.

"I didn't call them 'opponents' because that would mean they were equal to us, or at least coming up enough to oppose us and stand a semblance of a chance...but regarding the fodder we face this week? That would just be an outright lie...and Godnilla doesn't abide lies.

"These so called men? Where do I even start? How about with the perpetual bottom rung of the ladder, Adam Young. Adam, you fucking troglodyte. Where do you get off BOI?! Where do you get off stealing my spot against Jayson Price for that World Championship match Wednesday Night? You done fucked up bruh, and now I've got to fuck you up. For good measure. You understand, right?

"What am I talking about? Of course you don't understand. Your intelligence barely outweighs a toddler, which is funny considering you still act like an overgrown toddler. I heard you bitching and moaning on Twitter, throwing a fit over a title shot you believe you've earned...man, that's some straight up #fuccboilogic. What, in your eight year WSeaF career, have you EVER done to earn a World Championship match?

"Oh? You've 'shown up', you say? It doesn't actually count when you're doing a job week after week. By that logic, every two bit dirt that's ever put ink to paper for the WSeaF should be promised a World Championship match, right? You can't refute this because it's your very own logic. Yung Adam, my little puppy munkey baby..."

"Damn, man. Sometimes I search the internet for this picture so I can get a good laugh, you know? I'll be feeling down on myself, then I pop them search terms into Google and realize just how terrible my life could actually be. I could be Adam Young, and that would be some life ending shit. Some Katherine Pheonix on that gum drop suicide kind of shit, you feel me? Of course you don't. You're desensitized to the world around you, living in those boonies for so long. The world done went, moved along, and left your ass behind, didn't it?

“You're primitive, Adam. You think this business still revolves around paying your dues. Coming up wrestling on trampolines in trailer parks just doesn't cut it anymore. You have to have an unquenchable blood thirst to survive in this business now. You think you're some kind of demented psychopath? Some kind of mad man in between those ropes? I don't think you know what mentally handicapped means, Young. You don't know sick until you're on the opposite end of a #BeachKrew #fuccboigenocide. When you're in that ring Sunday Night and you're humbled by your Godnilla, you'll know just what #fuccboigenocide really means.

“It's kind of ironic that your title match is a ladder match, because you've been struggling to make that climb for eight years now. Fucking pleb. Do us all a favor: if Jayson Price doesn't end your abysmal excuse for a career Wednesday Night, go the path of that other Confederate dinosaur Doc Henry and fuck off would you? Or stick around and get your shit pushed in. Whatever you want, because you're not walking out as World Champion, I can tell you that much already.”

Slow clap from Rabid and Kemp, but Wade was only getting started. He held his hand out to silence his brothers before continuing.

“Who's next on the docket?”

Kemp left swipes his iPhone, looking for them soft targets.

“Umm, I think we have a Raymond Hatcher”, Kemp replied.

Wade chuckled, holding his belly as he did. Name put a stitch deep in his gut.

“Raymond Hatcher, eh? This is that guy who's some kind of technical wizard right? Knows a hundred different styles, mashes them up into some kind of super move set when he steps through the ropes? BOI, don't make me laugh. Again. I might bust a fucking gut if I start again. Raymond, you have got to be one of THE laziest #fuccbois on this roster, for real. You've started and stopped so much, you'd give Katherine Pheonix a run for her money on most miserable WSeaF career ever.

“Even your nickname screams #fuccboi. I can go to the Alumni section on that WSeaF website and find five guys who have used the same damn shit to try and get themselves over. Here's a hint: if you have to call yourself 'The Real Deal', chances are you're probably not. It's your own ego tricking you into thinking that you're worth more than the dirt you kick up under your boots. It makes you seem less like 'The Real Deal' when you've got to shout it out to everybody within earshot, doesn't it?

“NOTICE ME! NOTICE ME PLEAAASE! The whole things smells of desperation, kind of like your time here in the WSeaF. What are you, in your mid thirties? That's about the time most guys would be winding down, putting the finishing touches on a storied career they can be proud of...but you? You've barely gotten started. How many times were you given the ball, just to irrefutably fail for the entire world to see? Too many that you've started to lose count, I bet.

“A lot of people these days like to tell me 'LOL. YOU LOST YOUR WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP WADE!' without even realizing the irony of the situation. You see, nine out of ten guys won't even come close to accomplishing what I have in such a short amount of time. What I'm trying to say is me losing the World Championship is still greater than any accomplishment you've ever had – in case I had to spell it out for you. You've sniffed around a few title scenes here and there, unable to really win THAT big match. Maybe, just maybe, you're not capable of pulling off said feat? I wouldn't be surprised. You're so terrible, I heard Adam Young denounced you as his Tag Team partner? Shit has to sting when one of THE worst wrestlers in the WSeaF tells you he's done backpacking you.

“Or maybe his Jurassic intellect just caused him to forget that you guys were actually tag team partners? I mean, he goes through them so quick that he must have a jobber assembly line set up on his dirt farm somewhere. 'Big Time Jerks', 'FIST', and next...Raymond Hatcher. Damn, you and Adam get #beachbodied so much that you probably come with your own clean up kit.

“I bet you thought you were about to hit it big setting yourself up as Adam Young's partner, huh? You must have known that he was total shit before you decided to stand in the same corner as him, right? I bet you thought you would look like a polished diamond in comparison to such a terrible wrestler as Adam Young? You waited too long and Adam pulled the trigger on you first. God damn, get #shipwrekt by your own fucking tag team partner, I don't even need to get in the ring with you this week...

“But I am, though. I am going to get in the ring with you, Ray. It's going to fucking hurt, too. I'm sorry to inform you that you won't be walking out with a win this week I know, that deep down, you know it too. You knew it as soon as you saw your name on the card next to an Adam Young and that other #fuccboi, didn't you? You can put out all the mindless, energy drink charged drivel that you call shoot and kid yourself that you made your best effort.

“Maybe you'll pull out the old 'I didn't get pinned' excuse that people in your situation are so fond of? Well, we didn't just beat you. We beat three of your miserable punk asses. The only 'Real Deal' you'll be doling out after this match is that twelve piece legs and thighs at your local KFC, BOI. If they would even have you. You have such a pathetic work history, you'd be lucky to get on at McDonalds. I heard they're giving out fifteen bucks an hour now? That's more than you'll make getting tossed around the ring by me, I'll tell you that much. I'd take that money and run, because wearing a hair net will be a lot less embarrassing than what my #Krew does to you Sunday Night.”

“Wait...hold it! Hold those fire gifs until I'm done dropping it on these plebeian craniums. I still have one more to go. A boy by the name of Lucious Starr. He's a bright young lad with a good head on his shoulders and a promising career ahead of him...said no mother fucker ever! Lucious, I've heard you been around the block a little? Multiple championships in different federations not named WSeaF? Well, I regret to inform you that this is the big time man, and you're a small fish in #BeachKrew's ocean.

“And here there be sharks nilla. You're still finding your Sea legs and those #BeachKrew boys start snipping at your heels. You're bouncing around on top of the water like 'shit them fishy are tickling my toes'...but that was just us messing with you. That was just us playing with our food. Next thing you know, you're being dragged down to the ocean depths, leg a mangled mess, by men that outclass you in every single facet. You're getting #beachbodied and you're still wondering what the hell's happening...but we don't let up. We don't relent, bruh.

“You probably just think I'm being pretentious. Speaking in hashtags and what not. Doesn't really float your boat, does it? Does it look like I give a fuck BOI you #fuccboi? Uh...nah. I don't. And for somebody calling us pretentious, have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately? You don't really have a hill to die on when it comes to calling us pretentious. You looked like you just stepped out of every Twilight fangirls wet dream. You got bangs that don't quit, and that isn't a good thing. Those pants so tight they're squeezing your ass cheeks together? What about that stupid ass vest? That ever help you win any matches? You got that ages thirteen-seventeen fanbase covered...too bad that's only one percent of people that watch WSeaF, considering most of them are in bed by the time the show hits the air.

“What makes you think you can come in to the Dub Sea Eff with that chip on your shoulder, Lucious? Is it the fact that you've railed through every other fed you've ever been in? Or maybe you think you're like Godnilla's gift to wrestling or some shit? Regardless, that fecal matter you're spouting? It just isn't going to cut it, Starr. You couldn't even beat Dag man? I made him my light work on that 'Road to Redemption' tune up kind of shit BOI. I embarrassed you before we even stepped into the ring together man.

“That's kind of a hard pill to swallow. It has to be, right? I wouldn't know. I've really only had one major loss since I started here, and that was losing the World Championship. Even then, I was making history. You lose and the gears keep spinning, bruh. You think the main event needs you? More like YOU need any kind of meaningful victory at all, and even then people probably still won't be talking about you.

“You're vanilla #fuccboi. Like a soft serve at a Chinese buffet getting slurped up by a chunky kid in an Angry Birds t-shirt. And if I had to choose between you and the kid? Well, I'd probably pick the kid. I just created a more compelling person than you in one sentence. It's no wonder you're being fed to the sharks this week, bruh. This is a sink or swim kind of moment for you, but you've been drowning since you jumped into this WSeaF. We're just going to hold you under until the bubbles stop.

“Now hit em with that hot fire gif.”

“Damn. Got that shit right in the sweet spot. This week? This isn't some major redemption for team #getfucct. It's a ritual killing by #BeachKrew. This week is a message to the entirety of this roster. We're never to be counted out. We're never to be ignored. Don't suspend the belief that #BeachKrew will utterly fucking annihilate you on a whim. These people that seek to destroy us? They have no idea what kind of war they're stepping into. It's not one that they make it out of alive.

“What we do, what we have been doing since we arrived? That shit can't be duplicated. You can't copy this kind of success. Lightning in a bottle doesn't quite fully grasp the situation...because it's not easy catching lightning in a bottle. But we did it. And we did it with aplomb.”

Kemp and Rabid both rose from their chairs, clapping as heavily as they could while Wade took a bow. It intensified until the entire WINO-bago was absolutely shaking from the pure force. The two wrapped it up with “Bravissimos” and the like.

“Damn Wade”, Kyle said, “That was that straight shoot that I do like.”

Wade bowed once more before approaching the two.

“Thank you, Kyle”, Wade said, “Your superiority over all things plebeian means a lot to me. It truly does.”

He put his large hands on each one of their shoulders, bouncing back and forth eye contact between the two.

“This week means a lot. Like I said, this is a message to the roster that we're not to be taken lightly. We've done things they couldn't even dream of doing. Kyle, you're better than everyone else. Never doubt yourself for a minute. Rabid? I know we've had our differences...but all of that is behind us now. This is a fresh start. A clean slate for us. It has to be, otherwise we'll end up just like those fools in The Family. Falling apart at the seams, correct?”

Rabid nodded his head in affirmation.

“In an ever changing, constantly evolving landscape such as the WSeaF, you have to evolve with it. Luckily...we come from the water. No two waves are ever the same...this time, we bring the tidal. No one survives. No one makes it out alive. They fall under our crushing force, the air quickly forced from their lungs. This is the end of the old world...and the beginning of ours. Are you with me?”

Wade held out his fist and waited for the two to respond.

“No shit!” Kemp shouted as he put his fist into the circle.

“Of course I'm in”, Rabid said in his cool, relaxed voice and put his fist into the circle.

The three pulled off one of the mightiest trio fist bumps you've ever seen. Somewhere, the trio of Adam Young, Raymond Hatcher, and Lucious Starr shit their collective pants as the impending dread of Sunday Night's Slam began to descend upon them.