Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Feb 26, 2010 3:14:47 GMT -6
Tempestad sits now in a darkened room, looking into the camera. No Bible this time, no altar to pray at. Just a pale spotlight illuminating the masked warrior on a stool. He speaks, his voice lacking any echo, as if it is being swallowed by the darkness that surrounds him.
“You choose to face me in an insane asylum, Sephiroth. The home of those who society deems unsafe, who they say are too disturbed to be let roam free. How appropriate that I will finally put you away there, that I will leave you where you belong: locked away. Abandoned in a dark place where no one will ever find you again. God willing, I will finally overcome. No excuses now. No mist to avoid a loss, no tag partners to get the win or loss. Two men, one asylum, no rules. Pinfall or submission wins. Anything and everything can be used as a weapon. It just so happens that I have someone who can teach me the finer points of hardcore fighting, which means I will have a leg up on you. And the architecture of the building will be to my advantage as well. If you thought my Guardian Angel struck hard and fast before, imagine what it would do from thirty feet. Imagine being caught in Heaven's Embrace above the cold concrete. Can you feel it, Sephiroth? The pain blossoming behind your eyes, the fire shooting through your body? You have tried my patience, du Lac. You cheated me in our First Blood match. You claim to want redemption in one breath and casually commit acts that would send you to the darkest depths of Hell in the next. You belittle me and claim that I am nothing. Well, no longer. I am done with turning the other cheek, that it may be struck as well. It has been struck time and time again. I have shown you God's love, and you have shown me that you do not want to be saved. So be it.”
He looks to the tattoo of the Virgin on his arm, turning around to reveal the cross on his back. He turns back around and looks at the camera.
“I have these images inked into my flesh because they are me. I am of them and they are of me. I cannot divest myself of my faith, much as you cannot, it seems, divest yourself of the urge to kill. You thirst for blood as I thirst for the blessing of the Lord, and just as much I thirst for the roar of the crowd. To know that I have brought entertainment to the people, whether it be fifty or fifty thousand or five hundred thousand, is one of the best feelings of all. Du Lac, this environment will be hostile. It could be deadly. No matter what, if you are really a man or a beast, I want one thing from you. One promise.”
The camera focuses in on his face as he speaks.
“Promise me that you and I will tear the house down. Promise me that you, no matter what, you will put on the match of your life. For such a setting as this, we can have no less than the greatest spectacle these people have ever witnessed. Reckless Jack and Spike Kane? We need to blow them away. Falcon and Angel? Upstage them. Du Lac, with this sort of buildup, the delivery must be...immaculate. Flawless. We need to do what nobody else has ever done. Indeed, I will do what no one else has ever done: I will beat you. I will pin you, Sephiroth. For all the pain you have put me and the rest of nCw through, I will defeat you. Nothing would give me more satisfaction than to put you down for a three-count. Nothing save perhaps expelling you altogether from this company.”
Tempestad stands up, the lights coming up to reveal him in a padded room.
“Look where I am. A room with padded walls and a locked door. A place where you are kept from the world, alone. Unable to affect anything...or anyone. If I had my way, you would be here...but I cannot get it. So it goes. The world will keep turning.”
Temp walks to one of the walls, pounding on it with one fist.
“The sound is trapped within these walls...nobody can hear you. Could you live with that, Sephiroth? Locked away for the rest of eternity? Unable to corrupt or influence anyone? The silence would be music to my ears. Not having to see your pale, unholy visage again, never having to deal with your outlandish claims again, that would be salvation in and of itself. Weston Asylum will have one last inmate to call its own: you. I will leave you, alone and uncared for, among the wreckage of that home of the rejects of society.”
Tempestad walks to the door. He peers out the bulletproof window slit, showing the dusty abandoned hallway outside.
“Imagine being able to only look on the outside world, never influence it. Those hours stretching into days stretching into weeks, months, years...could you stand the isolation, the loneliness? Would you be able to retain your composure? Or would you degenerate into a savage, snarling, feral monster? That is, even more of one than you are. You ask me if I can be a hero, if I can finally do justice to my words? In one word: Yes. Yes, I can be that hero. I live in a delusion, you say? Let me make that delusion real. Let me draw you into my madness. Let this dime-store messiah, this puppet king dethrone you, Prince of the Night. You underestimate me. And that is why you will fall. I know you've heard it all before. The problem with your logic is...you never pinned me. You never made me submit. You decieved the official, you pinned another man, and Bates made Gabriel submit. You have never legitimately beaten me. I will change that. I will finally put to rest the specter of doubt. You cannot defeat me, one-on-one, pinfall for pinfall. When you are deprived of all other routes, you will learn that you cannot beat me. I will bring holy vengeance down upon you, liar and deceiver of men.”
Tempestad walks back to the stool, light fading back down to the single spotlight focused on him.
“So it goes. I will fight. I will win. You will fall. Accept this. But do not falter. I will not take anything but your best. God willing, I will finally defeat you and put a rest to these demons that have haunted me. I have never claimed to be anything but a warrior of God, and I will prove that Sunday. You will know you have encountered your greatest foe when you finally have to defeat me cleanly...honorably. Weapons will be used. Damage will be done. And trust me, blood will flow. But in the end of the day, good does, in fact, triumph over evil. Good triumphed when the Lord Christ sacrificed Himself to absolve humanity's sins. Good shall triumph this Sunday when we meet in the confines of Weston Asylum to test our strength and resolve.”
He sits back down, folding his hands in prayer.
“Though I show you hate...I still wish you could be saved. Alas...some men just fall too far into their own debauchery and sin to see the light being shone upon them. If every sinner could be saved, we would not need a word for 'sinner'. I can only hope that once I defeat you, you will finally come to see the light. If not, it would not be unexpected. Still, one can dream. One can hope. And, of course...one can pray.”
Tempestad bows his head, the light fading out.
“You choose to face me in an insane asylum, Sephiroth. The home of those who society deems unsafe, who they say are too disturbed to be let roam free. How appropriate that I will finally put you away there, that I will leave you where you belong: locked away. Abandoned in a dark place where no one will ever find you again. God willing, I will finally overcome. No excuses now. No mist to avoid a loss, no tag partners to get the win or loss. Two men, one asylum, no rules. Pinfall or submission wins. Anything and everything can be used as a weapon. It just so happens that I have someone who can teach me the finer points of hardcore fighting, which means I will have a leg up on you. And the architecture of the building will be to my advantage as well. If you thought my Guardian Angel struck hard and fast before, imagine what it would do from thirty feet. Imagine being caught in Heaven's Embrace above the cold concrete. Can you feel it, Sephiroth? The pain blossoming behind your eyes, the fire shooting through your body? You have tried my patience, du Lac. You cheated me in our First Blood match. You claim to want redemption in one breath and casually commit acts that would send you to the darkest depths of Hell in the next. You belittle me and claim that I am nothing. Well, no longer. I am done with turning the other cheek, that it may be struck as well. It has been struck time and time again. I have shown you God's love, and you have shown me that you do not want to be saved. So be it.”
He looks to the tattoo of the Virgin on his arm, turning around to reveal the cross on his back. He turns back around and looks at the camera.
“I have these images inked into my flesh because they are me. I am of them and they are of me. I cannot divest myself of my faith, much as you cannot, it seems, divest yourself of the urge to kill. You thirst for blood as I thirst for the blessing of the Lord, and just as much I thirst for the roar of the crowd. To know that I have brought entertainment to the people, whether it be fifty or fifty thousand or five hundred thousand, is one of the best feelings of all. Du Lac, this environment will be hostile. It could be deadly. No matter what, if you are really a man or a beast, I want one thing from you. One promise.”
The camera focuses in on his face as he speaks.
“Promise me that you and I will tear the house down. Promise me that you, no matter what, you will put on the match of your life. For such a setting as this, we can have no less than the greatest spectacle these people have ever witnessed. Reckless Jack and Spike Kane? We need to blow them away. Falcon and Angel? Upstage them. Du Lac, with this sort of buildup, the delivery must be...immaculate. Flawless. We need to do what nobody else has ever done. Indeed, I will do what no one else has ever done: I will beat you. I will pin you, Sephiroth. For all the pain you have put me and the rest of nCw through, I will defeat you. Nothing would give me more satisfaction than to put you down for a three-count. Nothing save perhaps expelling you altogether from this company.”
Tempestad stands up, the lights coming up to reveal him in a padded room.
“Look where I am. A room with padded walls and a locked door. A place where you are kept from the world, alone. Unable to affect anything...or anyone. If I had my way, you would be here...but I cannot get it. So it goes. The world will keep turning.”
Temp walks to one of the walls, pounding on it with one fist.
“The sound is trapped within these walls...nobody can hear you. Could you live with that, Sephiroth? Locked away for the rest of eternity? Unable to corrupt or influence anyone? The silence would be music to my ears. Not having to see your pale, unholy visage again, never having to deal with your outlandish claims again, that would be salvation in and of itself. Weston Asylum will have one last inmate to call its own: you. I will leave you, alone and uncared for, among the wreckage of that home of the rejects of society.”
Tempestad walks to the door. He peers out the bulletproof window slit, showing the dusty abandoned hallway outside.
“Imagine being able to only look on the outside world, never influence it. Those hours stretching into days stretching into weeks, months, years...could you stand the isolation, the loneliness? Would you be able to retain your composure? Or would you degenerate into a savage, snarling, feral monster? That is, even more of one than you are. You ask me if I can be a hero, if I can finally do justice to my words? In one word: Yes. Yes, I can be that hero. I live in a delusion, you say? Let me make that delusion real. Let me draw you into my madness. Let this dime-store messiah, this puppet king dethrone you, Prince of the Night. You underestimate me. And that is why you will fall. I know you've heard it all before. The problem with your logic is...you never pinned me. You never made me submit. You decieved the official, you pinned another man, and Bates made Gabriel submit. You have never legitimately beaten me. I will change that. I will finally put to rest the specter of doubt. You cannot defeat me, one-on-one, pinfall for pinfall. When you are deprived of all other routes, you will learn that you cannot beat me. I will bring holy vengeance down upon you, liar and deceiver of men.”
Tempestad walks back to the stool, light fading back down to the single spotlight focused on him.
“So it goes. I will fight. I will win. You will fall. Accept this. But do not falter. I will not take anything but your best. God willing, I will finally defeat you and put a rest to these demons that have haunted me. I have never claimed to be anything but a warrior of God, and I will prove that Sunday. You will know you have encountered your greatest foe when you finally have to defeat me cleanly...honorably. Weapons will be used. Damage will be done. And trust me, blood will flow. But in the end of the day, good does, in fact, triumph over evil. Good triumphed when the Lord Christ sacrificed Himself to absolve humanity's sins. Good shall triumph this Sunday when we meet in the confines of Weston Asylum to test our strength and resolve.”
He sits back down, folding his hands in prayer.
“Though I show you hate...I still wish you could be saved. Alas...some men just fall too far into their own debauchery and sin to see the light being shone upon them. If every sinner could be saved, we would not need a word for 'sinner'. I can only hope that once I defeat you, you will finally come to see the light. If not, it would not be unexpected. Still, one can dream. One can hope. And, of course...one can pray.”
Tempestad bows his head, the light fading out.