Post by Benjamin Atreyu on Feb 21, 2016 15:07:27 GMT -5
"I can't wait to watch their spirit break," Benjamin said as he stared out into the dance floor. He sipped from his drink absentmindedly; no interest in the music, he just stared, his gaze trying to burn a hole through the dense wall of lights, flesh and sweat. The dance floor wass a living thing. It pulsed and gyrated like a human collage, occupying the mind with a kaleidoscopic nest of activity. Benjamin chuckled to himself. He leaned back against the bar with Michael Easton next to him facing the opposite direction.
Benjamin could of sworn he smelled blood in the air.
Easton refused to turn around. He just stared into the wide array of bottles shelved in front of him, mentally planning out his next couple of shots if he was forced to sit in his personal nightmare for much longer. This wasn't their scene, and that fact made him anxious to leave. These were the movers and shakers, the instinctual fate-humpers that let serendipity do the thinking for them. It felt like intellectual death reaching for him, and he wanted out. However, no matter how much he pleaded, Benjamin held firm that they weren't going anywhere. So, Easton sighed, Benjamin stared, and the music throbbed at a frequency that approached somewhere close to twenty hertz.
Easton thought Frank Herbert was wrong, fear isn't the mind killer; incoherent club hits are.
Benjamin had been acting strange the last couple of weeks. Easton couldn't place it, but there was a fraying end to Benjamin's behavior that tickled the edge of Easton's awareness. It might have been the way that Benjamin threw his punches during his training sessions (which became far more frequent as of late), how he talked without regard for reply, or how he walked. Some sort of subtle change managed to grab Easton's attention. When Benjamin took the initiative to invite Easton (as opposed to Easton inviting himself to whatever, as he so often did) to the club they currently sat in, his suspicions were confirmed. Now he was on the verge of a headache trying to figure out why they were here.
"What was that?" Easton asked, unable to hear much over the music.
"I said," Benjamin replied, titling his head in Easton's direction, raising his voice, "I can't wait to break their spirit."
"The dancers?" Easton cocked an eyebrow and shot Benjamin a glance he didn't catch.
"Of course not," another sip, "I'm talking about my opponents."
"Which ones?" In a match made up of almost a third of the roster, it was an honest question.
"Any of them. Life be willing, all of them. From here 'til eternity, my friend."
The mysterious smell of blood stained his nostrils. Infected his thoughts, but he pushed it to the back of his mind.
The way Benjamin said 'friend' made Easton flinch. Ever since he had extorted money from Benjamin, there was no illusions about where their relationship was. That's what threw him off. Who invites their black-mailer out for a drink? Easton didn't bother to look over Benjamin again, he just motioned at the bartender for a shot, pointing at the bottle of choice.
"Whatever you say, Benjyboy..." Easton murmured, hiding it under the wash of booming trap beats.
"A toast to a road of crushed men and ghosts," Benjamin laughed. Easton couldn't help but notice, even through the noise, how broken the laugh sounded. It was like Benjamin hadn't laughed in years and the muscles were no longer there. Part wheeze, part convulsion, all painful sounding. He raised his glass and downed what remained. He turned to face the same direction as Easton. "Easton."
"Yes?"
"That's all its going to be about these coming weeks." He was uncomfortable close to Easton, as if sharing a secret. Something fatal. "You understand that, right?" A smile. A radioactive smile upon Benjamin's face. Easton could feel his lungs growing cancerous.
"'Fraid I don't follow, Benjyboy," Easton attempted to hide his discomfort, but there was no reeling away from Benjamin.
"That road, Easton." Benjamin practically slammed his glass down upon the bar counter, "It hit me a few weeks ago. It's going to be a long road to get what I want. Needed to win a battle royal just to get a spot in the trilogy cup, and now I have to work my way through a goddamn battlefield, and then, WHEN I've walked past every goddamn landmine that this fucking company can set in front of me!...Then I got to put my nuts on the table and bludgeon another fool to put that strap around my waist just so I can properly flip the world the bird. Qualifier, after qualifier, after qualifier! But fuck it (butt fuck it!), I'll take it. I'll carry this on my fucking back and swallow the shit water they give me to drink. No problem. The thing is, with each match I have to go through in order to get to what I want, that is another spirit to break, another ego to assassinate, another will to place under my size fourteen boot and crush with my heel."
"At one point, Easton." Benjamin continued, distancing himself a bit from Easton to sip his newly poured drink, "Not sure I'd have looked forward to something so grueling. A human part of me might have sensed it and fled" Or smell the blood in the air. Wet copper. Older Atreyu would have smelled it and ran back to Japan like all those years go.
"Oh, so there is a human part to 'God Given Greatness'?" Easton interjected, "Must be the one I've got under my thumb paying me thousand each month." He wanted Benjamin to feel that jab. He didn't like that Benjamin was acting like it wasn't happening. Benjamin was puddy not too long ago. A shambling mess of a human being. Now, after winning the battle royal, he was like trying to crack a stone pillar.
"Heh, 'God Given Greatness'..." Benjamin seemed to disregard the rest of the comment, "Seemed like the perfect name at the time. I was an Atreyu, had a name to uphold, that felt like the perfect accompaniment. My whole family, from generations back, embodied that kind of mindset..."
The Atreyu clan, as it were, has a history which seems to counter a lot of American families. While many seem to find that their family is a list of failures, the Atreyu are a list of successes, up until the last two, of course. Artists, scientists, discoverers, businessmen. Might not find much mention in the history books, but as an Atreyu (the few that are left) and they will be more than happy to cram every success deep into your memory. While many families pass down belongings, Atreyus pass down their pride, forcing the next generation to at least live up to them.
With that pride comes a lifestyle. A way which that family has chosen to behave for generations. In an unspoken law of blood, an Atreyu must maintain a standard higher for themselves than the rest of society would hold for the average member of its populace.
This was evolution made conscious. Much like how one builds muscle or drives expensive cars to gain a proper mate due to urges place in for the furthermore of the race (driving most, if not all, actions and behavior patterns/trends), the Atreyus bettered themselves with the idea of building a stronger and superior bloodline without the moral shakiness of eugenics. Upon every child in the bloodline was imprinted an idea of how one was supposed to behave: Better. This means, being smarter, and in being smarter, to be civilized;
You might be able to see the time bomb (coming pay-per-view shout out) building itself in the background of this family portrait. A building constructed so tall must crash at one point. Thus the deplorable state of the Atreyus. Benjamin lost his spot of power in his father's empire, his brother was secluded into his own delusion of solitude, and the rest, more distant, family was no where to be seen.
Even with that, Benjamin kept the name 'God Given Greatness' to uphold what little dignity his family had left.
"But now...," little bloodlust pa rum pum pum pum I am a mad dog, "It tastes bitter. It reminds me of failure."
"Because of your family?"
"Because it represents every time I've decided to leave instead of moving towards success," Benjamin sneered, "This sport demands a level of savageness. Especially WCF, with its killers, crooks, drug addicts, and monsters."
"And nihilists, perverts, racists, bigots, psychos, conspiracy theorists, power-hungry tyrants, delusional crackwhores, gay porn stars...," Easton interjected, "Now that I think about it, WCF almost sounds too crazy to be real. Its almost like a parody of a company..."
"Well, the problem is Nietzsche wasn't just some crack pot. That shit about the abyss is true," Benjamin shakes his head. Pa rum pum pum pum. "See, I could feel it. I was sinking into it, and when you are trained from birth to be a gleaming spotless attraction in the world of on-looking eyes, to be a man above all in the ways of godliness, it fucks with you. I start to feel like I'm falling of the edge of the earth when..." ...he smells blood and wants more?
"Hmm?"
"My point is, for a long time, I've wanted to be that," Benjamin continued, "that spotless person. That intellectual. That godly being. When I felt like I was enjoying this too much, I got the fuck out of dodge, because every person in this world wants to be better than somebody, and I wanted to be better than that locker room in all the wrong ways."
"I wanted to think I was smarter, that I was on some shit that none of those clowns in the roster could even understand, but that even close to being true."
"Is that so," Easton, "Then what now? Give up your life of luxury? Become a crack addict? Throw away years of learning? Why be here? Why drag ME here?"
"No," Benjamin pushed away his glass, "the trick isn't digging down to their level. Its to stop being scared of falling off the edge of the world. To give in.
"I'm going to enjoy watching their spirits break. Its time to get a little savage for once. No more God Given Greatness. Slit that shits throat and leave it in the river. I'm not going to be tethered down to that shit anymore. If I have to be anything I'll be the Mad God. The Mad God isn't scared of paths like the one I'm on. The Mad God is second to no one. The Mad God doesn't GET his greatness FROM anything, he crafts it himself.
"People hate the Mad God.
"People fear the Mad God.
"People submit to the Mad God.
"And at the end of the year, the Mad God will hold onto that World Title, by nail, flesh, or just solid bone, I will have it in my hands. If not through the Trilogy Cup, then through Ultimate Showdown, if not through that, then War, or any of the other million possibilities that I will find. I will get that title, and I will leave that path of men and ghosts behind me."
Benjamin walked away from the bar, Easton quick to follow him. Upon exiting the building, Easton turns around and flips off the establishment, reading it glistening neon lights Armand De La Fontaine's The Master and Margaritas. Benjamin didn't turn back. The smell of blood was still there, deep in his mind, but it didn't bother him. To him, it was the perfect smell, a driving smell. It was the smell of the kill that was coming.
Sometimes a song, for no reason at all, finds its way into your head
Come they told me,
Pa rum pum pum pum,
A new born king to see,
Pa rum pum pum pum.
Come they told me,
Pa rum pum pum pum,
A new born king to see,
Pa rum pum pum pum.
Benjamin could of sworn he smelled blood in the air.
Easton refused to turn around. He just stared into the wide array of bottles shelved in front of him, mentally planning out his next couple of shots if he was forced to sit in his personal nightmare for much longer. This wasn't their scene, and that fact made him anxious to leave. These were the movers and shakers, the instinctual fate-humpers that let serendipity do the thinking for them. It felt like intellectual death reaching for him, and he wanted out. However, no matter how much he pleaded, Benjamin held firm that they weren't going anywhere. So, Easton sighed, Benjamin stared, and the music throbbed at a frequency that approached somewhere close to twenty hertz.
Easton thought Frank Herbert was wrong, fear isn't the mind killer; incoherent club hits are.
Benjamin had been acting strange the last couple of weeks. Easton couldn't place it, but there was a fraying end to Benjamin's behavior that tickled the edge of Easton's awareness. It might have been the way that Benjamin threw his punches during his training sessions (which became far more frequent as of late), how he talked without regard for reply, or how he walked. Some sort of subtle change managed to grab Easton's attention. When Benjamin took the initiative to invite Easton (as opposed to Easton inviting himself to whatever, as he so often did) to the club they currently sat in, his suspicions were confirmed. Now he was on the verge of a headache trying to figure out why they were here.
"What was that?" Easton asked, unable to hear much over the music.
"I said," Benjamin replied, titling his head in Easton's direction, raising his voice, "I can't wait to break their spirit."
"The dancers?" Easton cocked an eyebrow and shot Benjamin a glance he didn't catch.
"Of course not," another sip, "I'm talking about my opponents."
"Which ones?" In a match made up of almost a third of the roster, it was an honest question.
"Any of them. Life be willing, all of them. From here 'til eternity, my friend."
Sometimes a thought, for ANY reason at all, refuses to leave your head.
My finest kill I bring,
pa rum pum pum pum,
To make me the true king,
Pa rum pum pum pum,
Rum pum pum pum,
Rum pum pum pum
My finest kill I bring,
pa rum pum pum pum,
To make me the true king,
Pa rum pum pum pum,
Rum pum pum pum,
Rum pum pum pum
The mysterious smell of blood stained his nostrils. Infected his thoughts, but he pushed it to the back of his mind.
The way Benjamin said 'friend' made Easton flinch. Ever since he had extorted money from Benjamin, there was no illusions about where their relationship was. That's what threw him off. Who invites their black-mailer out for a drink? Easton didn't bother to look over Benjamin again, he just motioned at the bartender for a shot, pointing at the bottle of choice.
"Whatever you say, Benjyboy..." Easton murmured, hiding it under the wash of booming trap beats.
"A toast to a road of crushed men and ghosts," Benjamin laughed. Easton couldn't help but notice, even through the noise, how broken the laugh sounded. It was like Benjamin hadn't laughed in years and the muscles were no longer there. Part wheeze, part convulsion, all painful sounding. He raised his glass and downed what remained. He turned to face the same direction as Easton. "Easton."
"Yes?"
"That's all its going to be about these coming weeks." He was uncomfortable close to Easton, as if sharing a secret. Something fatal. "You understand that, right?" A smile. A radioactive smile upon Benjamin's face. Easton could feel his lungs growing cancerous.
"'Fraid I don't follow, Benjyboy," Easton attempted to hide his discomfort, but there was no reeling away from Benjamin.
"That road, Easton." Benjamin practically slammed his glass down upon the bar counter, "It hit me a few weeks ago. It's going to be a long road to get what I want. Needed to win a battle royal just to get a spot in the trilogy cup, and now I have to work my way through a goddamn battlefield, and then, WHEN I've walked past every goddamn landmine that this fucking company can set in front of me!...Then I got to put my nuts on the table and bludgeon another fool to put that strap around my waist just so I can properly flip the world the bird. Qualifier, after qualifier, after qualifier! But fuck it (butt fuck it!), I'll take it. I'll carry this on my fucking back and swallow the shit water they give me to drink. No problem. The thing is, with each match I have to go through in order to get to what I want, that is another spirit to break, another ego to assassinate, another will to place under my size fourteen boot and crush with my heel."
The mind deconstructs and rebuilds the self daily. New thoughts form the shape, reform perspective. In essence, a single wayward thought could change a whole person. Fix them or break them.
So to destroy them
Pa rum pum pum pum
When I come
Pum pum pum pum
Pa rum pum pum
Pum pum pum pum
Pa rum pum pum
Pum pum pum pum
Pa rum pum pum
Pum pum pum pum pa rum.
"At one point, Easton." Benjamin continued, distancing himself a bit from Easton to sip his newly poured drink, "Not sure I'd have looked forward to something so grueling. A human part of me might have sensed it and fled" Or smell the blood in the air. Wet copper. Older Atreyu would have smelled it and ran back to Japan like all those years go.
"Oh, so there is a human part to 'God Given Greatness'?" Easton interjected, "Must be the one I've got under my thumb paying me thousand each month." He wanted Benjamin to feel that jab. He didn't like that Benjamin was acting like it wasn't happening. Benjamin was puddy not too long ago. A shambling mess of a human being. Now, after winning the battle royal, he was like trying to crack a stone pillar.
"Heh, 'God Given Greatness'..." Benjamin seemed to disregard the rest of the comment, "Seemed like the perfect name at the time. I was an Atreyu, had a name to uphold, that felt like the perfect accompaniment. My whole family, from generations back, embodied that kind of mindset..."
The Atreyu clan, as it were, has a history which seems to counter a lot of American families. While many seem to find that their family is a list of failures, the Atreyu are a list of successes, up until the last two, of course. Artists, scientists, discoverers, businessmen. Might not find much mention in the history books, but as an Atreyu (the few that are left) and they will be more than happy to cram every success deep into your memory. While many families pass down belongings, Atreyus pass down their pride, forcing the next generation to at least live up to them.
With that pride comes a lifestyle. A way which that family has chosen to behave for generations. In an unspoken law of blood, an Atreyu must maintain a standard higher for themselves than the rest of society would hold for the average member of its populace.
This was evolution made conscious. Much like how one builds muscle or drives expensive cars to gain a proper mate due to urges place in for the furthermore of the race (driving most, if not all, actions and behavior patterns/trends), the Atreyus bettered themselves with the idea of building a stronger and superior bloodline without the moral shakiness of eugenics. Upon every child in the bloodline was imprinted an idea of how one was supposed to behave: Better. This means, being smarter, and in being smarter, to be civilized;
An Atreyu must be well read.
An Atreyu must be proper.
An Atreyu must shine where others are scuffed.
An Atreyu must not display weakness.
An Atreyu must never give in to an urge below his reasoning.
You might be able to see the time bomb (coming pay-per-view shout out) building itself in the background of this family portrait. A building constructed so tall must crash at one point. Thus the deplorable state of the Atreyus. Benjamin lost his spot of power in his father's empire, his brother was secluded into his own delusion of solitude, and the rest, more distant, family was no where to be seen.
Even with that, Benjamin kept the name 'God Given Greatness' to uphold what little dignity his family had left.
"But now...," little bloodlust pa rum pum pum pum I am a mad dog, "It tastes bitter. It reminds me of failure."
"Because of your family?"
"Because it represents every time I've decided to leave instead of moving towards success," Benjamin sneered, "This sport demands a level of savageness. Especially WCF, with its killers, crooks, drug addicts, and monsters."
"And nihilists, perverts, racists, bigots, psychos, conspiracy theorists, power-hungry tyrants, delusional crackwhores, gay porn stars...," Easton interjected, "Now that I think about it, WCF almost sounds too crazy to be real. Its almost like a parody of a company..."
"Well, the problem is Nietzsche wasn't just some crack pot. That shit about the abyss is true," Benjamin shakes his head. Pa rum pum pum pum. "See, I could feel it. I was sinking into it, and when you are trained from birth to be a gleaming spotless attraction in the world of on-looking eyes, to be a man above all in the ways of godliness, it fucks with you. I start to feel like I'm falling of the edge of the earth when..." ...he smells blood and wants more?
"Hmm?"
"My point is, for a long time, I've wanted to be that," Benjamin continued, "that spotless person. That intellectual. That godly being. When I felt like I was enjoying this too much, I got the fuck out of dodge, because every person in this world wants to be better than somebody, and I wanted to be better than that locker room in all the wrong ways."
What if you woke up in the morning and found the old you in a pile of burning ashes? What if you went over to the mirror and saw a broken deformed body of some sickly thing?
I have no hymn to sing
Pa rum pum pum pum
because I'm the new King
Pa rum pum pum pum,
rum pum pum pum,
rum pum pum pum.
What if you liked what you saw?
"Is that so," Easton, "Then what now? Give up your life of luxury? Become a crack addict? Throw away years of learning? Why be here? Why drag ME here?"
"No," Benjamin pushed away his glass, "the trick isn't digging down to their level. Its to stop being scared of falling off the edge of the world. To give in.
"I'm going to enjoy watching their spirits break. Its time to get a little savage for once. No more God Given Greatness. Slit that shits throat and leave it in the river. I'm not going to be tethered down to that shit anymore. If I have to be anything I'll be the Mad God. The Mad God isn't scared of paths like the one I'm on. The Mad God is second to no one. The Mad God doesn't GET his greatness FROM anything, he crafts it himself.
"People hate the Mad God.
"People fear the Mad God.
"People submit to the Mad God.
"And at the end of the year, the Mad God will hold onto that World Title, by nail, flesh, or just solid bone, I will have it in my hands. If not through the Trilogy Cup, then through Ultimate Showdown, if not through that, then War, or any of the other million possibilities that I will find. I will get that title, and I will leave that path of men and ghosts behind me."
Benjamin walked away from the bar, Easton quick to follow him. Upon exiting the building, Easton turns around and flips off the establishment, reading it glistening neon lights Armand De La Fontaine's The Master and Margaritas. Benjamin didn't turn back. The smell of blood was still there, deep in his mind, but it didn't bother him. To him, it was the perfect smell, a driving smell. It was the smell of the kill that was coming.
Change is good. Smile at it. This is the new you.
Mary crying
Pa rum pum pum pum
all of these lamb waste time
Pa rum pum pum pum
I bashed their heads for wins
Pa rum pum pum pum
I fight my best for wins
Pa rum pum pum pum,
Rum pum pum pum,
Rum pum pum pum
Then I bared my teeth
Pa rum pum pum pum
Me and my fun
'Stop' they told me
Pa rum pum pum pum
'oh will you hear our plea'
Pa rum pum pum pum
Me and my fun
Me and my fun
Me and my gun
I'm the last one
Rum pum pum pum.
