Post by adm on Apr 4, 2008 21:49:09 GMT -6
“In my mind, these things I see. The nightmares that dance around with glee. Bodies eaten by monstrosities. I wish I could leave.”
Dark Prophet’s cold voice calls to us from the darkness. Uneasy we find our way to the light. The hotel room is dark, and the only man in it is Dark Prophet. He sits on the floor, with stills from the video shot over the last two months around him. These images, though they look as real as the room before us, are of the “other world” Prophet has been trapped in off and on. The dull candlelight shows us the contours of Prophet’s body. He sits, his chest bare and his leather pants tight. There are lines on his arms, from God knows what he’s been using to dull the unreality he’s been seeing.
“Welcome, to my downward spiral.” Prophet begins, “Falcon accuses me of being dangerously insane, and Sexy Jason agrees. I am dangerous. I am insane. And the things you’ve seen are the same things I’ve seen. Everything, somehow, has managed to make it onto film. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. But somehow, some way; these things were taped. I had to dig through book upon book at the library before I could even find anything that could remotely cover what it could be. Spirit photos, perhaps, is the only option I have to explain these events. Somehow, the decay from my mind has bled out into the real world, or at least onto film. I can’t explain how, or why, I just know that’s the only explanation I could find to explain it. And in all my years, nothing like this has ever happened. The only person I know who’s dealt with this besides me is…Fate.”
Prophet folds over upon himself. He buries his head in his hands, hiding his face. It takes all his will to admit that he doesn’t know how to fix himself. It takes all his will to admit there is only one man on this earth who even could know what he’s seeing. And that man, is a man he trained to be just like him. A man he trained to do everything Prophet did, to be his successor when he retired. And now, he is the only other man in this world who has the experience with this seemingly impossible scenario. The cameraman sees nothing but Prophet wandering about his hotel room like a madman, but the camera sees the dark world Prophet plunges into.
Through his hands he speaks these words, “And you are right, I am crazy. I am ****ing insane. There’s nothing I can do to fix this. And it has driven me to lengths I’ve never gone to before to try and kill it before it consumes me.”
Prophet looks through his hands at the images. Monsters, a twisted little town, his daughter burning, and the room he’s in turning into a hellish nightmare realm beyond imagination. This is what he’s seen. And this is what we’ve seen. It is enough to drive a man into madness, or even to suicide.
“Sometimes I wish I could do what Fate does. Sometimes I wish I could actually get away with the things he’s done. Even though I’m insane, there’s not enough powers that be who’re scared enough of me to let me off. Fate, however…”
Prophet knows what his student has done. He knows the terrible things he’s done while being “possessed” by his alter ego, Angelo Della Muerte. His alter ego, his split personality, the angel of death himself. The only being he knows has the power to effect reality to the point where more than just cameras see what Fate sees. Police officers, homeless men, cameramen, and even his therapist; all of these people saw what Fate saw when Angelo was near. A twisted person beyond the laws of real and unreal, Angelo knew no limits. Perhaps he was what he once said he was, a being even older than God. A being that has always been, and always will be. A being that can assume ethereal and corporal forms at once. A being that can be in as many places as he wants at once if he so wills it. And no matter how many times Prophet used “voodoo” or “magic”, he never truly believed in any of this. Not until he saw what Fate was going through.
“If there is one thing Fate has that I don’t, it is the ability to do whatever he wills. He doesn’t have a family to answer to if he comes home high or drunk. He doesn’t have a family to tell him he’s gone too far. He’s got nothing, and he could care less if he lives or dies. He craves death, an end where he can be with the ones he’s lost. Every one of his nine girlfriends taken violently from his arms. And above all else, his one true love, Cecilia, is the one death that affected him the most.”
Odd, how the cold words of Prophet seem to be more emotional than he’s ever been in six years of wrestling. So long he’s hidden behind the veil of kayfabe and “it’s just wrestling”. But now, so long after he got well from his previous mental conditions, things get worse. He doesn’t understand why, or how. He doesn’t know what it is that tripped this episode off. But it’s been going on far longer than his time in NCW. However, in the past two months, it has escalated at a very frightening rate.
“But you know what? I actually think I’m beginning to like this new me. With my mind blurring the lines between real and unreal more and more each day, I feel absolutely no guilt for any of the pain and suffering I give out in the ring. For the first time, violence has no repercussions as long as it is within the ring. And in a match like the Xtreme Ladder Match, my newfound lack of sanity gives me an edge no other man has. As my mind slowly goes, I lose all concept of consequences to my actions. I lose all ability to judge if what I am doing will hurt myself as well as my opponent. I’m becoming the monster they’ve always told me I’d become. I am…slowly becoming…a Windigo.”
Prophet’s face begins to crack into a twisted smile. As it does, the phone begins to ring. Prophet’s eyes dart first, followed by his head and finally his whole body, to the phone. The phone rings again, and Prophet stands up. By the third ring, he has his hand and arm extended as to pick up the phone. Who could be calling? And who would dare interrupt his speech?
“Hello?” Prophet says as he answers the phone.
“Darky, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for weeks. Do you even know what day it is?”
“Uh…” Prophet begins to play dumb. Not because he is dumb, but as a ruse to avoid punishment from the one he fears most…his wife.
“Do you know how much I’ve been worrying about you? I go to bed every night crying because I think you have gotten into some sort of trouble, or got arrested, or killed…”
“I’m sorry.”
“You are sorry?” Her voice becomes irate, “You are SORRY? YOU MISSED MY BIRTHDAY YOU ****ING DICK! MY TWENTY-NINTH BIRTHDAY AND YOU FORGET ALL ABOUT ME! JUST BECAUSE I AM AT HOME AND YOU ARE ON THE ROAD DOESN’T GIVE YOU ANY RIGHTS TO IGNORE MY BIRTHDAY!”
“It was your birthday?” Prophet obviously forgot in the middle of everything that has gone on. And this is not good for him, or his balls.
“I SWEAR TO GOD! IF YOU WERE HERE RIGHT NOW YOU WOULD BE CASTRATED! YOU FORGOT MY BIRTHDAY! JUST LIKE YOU FORGOT THE KIDS’ BIRTHDAYS! JUST LIKE YOU FORGOT THAT ON THE 22ND IT IS OUR NINTH ANNIVERSARY!”
Prophet’s voice gets more tender, and he attempts to calm the beast. “I remembered, Julietta. I know it is coming up. And I promise I’ll talk to my mother to get the kids away. For just one day, I’d like you to come to me. I’ve been on the road for so long, and I miss you…and…”
“You miss me?” Her voice is calming down a little.
“I miss you, and I love you, and I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize our marriage. I’ve always been faithful. And I’m going to get you tickets to Collision on the 27th and you can stay with me for the whole week.”
“You would do that?”
“Yes.”
“For me?”
“My darling, I would do anything for you.”
“Really? You promise?”
“Julietta, I promise. You can be down here all week. I am not entirely sure where “here” will be, we haven’t been given the new schedule yet, but I’ll find a way to get you down here. I’ll take you out for a romantic dinner, and then we can…”
“F**k?”
“You get to the point more than my dick, darling.” Prophet’s tone is completely opposite what it was before he got the call. Is this the power of his wife over him?
“And you haven’t forgotten…what I said I wanted for my birthday?”
“Yes, I remember what you wanted.”
“What was it?”
Prophet’s eyes bug out, as he picks up a notebook near the phone. He scans through the pages until he finds it, the page where he wrote down her “wish list”.
“You wanted your wedding band resized, for one.”
“Yes, from the short time I wrestled my ring finger’s knuckles have swollen.”
“At least you haven’t scarified your body like mine.”
“I’d have to buy a lot of scar removal cream, in addition to all the anti-aging cremes and rubs and masks…”
“Ok, ok, honey. Now the other things you wanted were a full spa treatment, which we can easily do. You also wanted another gold rosary, but this one you wanted your birthstone in it.”
“Yes, my birthstone.”
“And for our anniversary, you wanted…a new whip.”
“I think I might have to retcon that one, my gladiator. YOUR son has done a few nasty things to OUR good dishes.”
“Sh*t…” Prophet trails off. Like father like son?
“Yes, we need to get new dishes. AND childproof this house a bit more. These little ****s can ****ing climb counters now!”
“Is it good to say that while you are home?” Prophet questions her frankness.
“They are at your mom’s for the night. I was actually tempted to tell her to keep them for a few weeks while I go hunt your sorry ass down!”
“I’m sorry, I’ll try to keep more in touch, my love.”
“It’s ok, I’ll just remember to bring a few things for my visit. You’ve been a very, very, VERY, bad boy in the last year. And you, my love, need to be punished.”
“So, handcuffs, whip, razor blades and salt?”
She giggles, “You know me so well. And you should know better not to piss me off!”
“I’m sorry, I really am. But…I was kind of in the middle of…”
She goes quiet on the other end of the line. Apparently she’s thinking very bad thoughts, her mind deep in the gutter. She takes a deep breath and sighs. We can almost feel her shaking her head on the other end of the line.
“You didn’t cum all over the phone, did you?” she finally asks, almost whispering.
“Um…no. I was in the middle of…well, work.”
“Oh ****…****…you were…doing a promo?”
“Yeah.”
“Ok, I probably should let you go. Will you call me back when you are done?”
“I will, I promise.” Prophet says, with a very heavy sigh.
“You better keep that promise, I don’t want to hospitalize you again.”
“Don’t remind me. Please…”
“That’ll teach you for leaving me in your hotel while you trotted off to the next town with your “company”.”
“Yeah, I’ll remember that if you are to come with me on tour with the federations to not be pissed off enough to leave you behind…again.”
“You damn well better! Do you know how hard it is to get onto a plane when the only clean clothes you have is a dominatrix outfit?”
“Um…I don’t even want to go over that again. I promise…I’ll not make that mistake again.”
“Ok, I’ll let you go. I love you.”
“I love you too, my darling.”
“Bye.”
“Goodbye.”
Prophet hangs up the phone, and looks at the camera. His eyes are wide, and there is a look of horror on his face. His face is even more scared than it was while he was in his nightmare world.
“Sometimes…she can be worse than my worst nightmares.”
Prophet shakes his head, before moving back toward the photographs on the ground. He brushes them aside to reveal that underneath all of them is a steel chair, wrapped in barbed wire. The barbed wire is bloody, and the chair appears to be dented from prior use. His signature weapon, and he’s taped two new photographs to the still-usable “new” chair.
“And that brings me to A Night to Remember. All insanity, wives, and bull**** aside; there is nothing you can do to avoid the bloodbath that you are going into. This is an Xtreme Ladder Match. There is only one rule, get the title from high up in the air. Bodies will fly everywhere. Blood will be spilled. And two people will not walk out of the arena. Those two people, I am sorry to say; are Sexy Jason and Falcon. I have nothing against Falcon, but he stands in my way of destroying Jason and taking the title he loves so much from his grubby little fingers. You both are out-matched no matter what you say you can bring to the table. I excel at decimating opponents to points that outside the ring would be beyond criminal. If you can walk three days later, you’ll be lucky. If you can breathe without a respirator that same night, you will be one of the few lucky ones. I don’t intend on just winning, Falcon and Jason, I intend on destroying you both. Nothing you can do will stop my fury. And that, is what I will do. You are putting your careers in danger for the Xtreme title on Sunday. You are putting your LIVES in danger for that title. Ladders, tables, barbed wire, everything is legal. And that makes me happy. Very, very happy.”
Prophet cackles like a hyena. His sick grin widens and he picks up the battered steel chair. He hugs it, caressing the barbed wire with his hands. He pays no mind to the scratches and cuts he is giving himself in this loving embrace.
“You will be my love on Sunday, sweet weapon of my choice. And the two of those men, will be left without a voice. They should know better, than to face me and my toys. Because instead of being men, they are just little boys. My weapons will take down all who annoys. Annoys “The Dark One”, the violent noise. Screaming and tearing at your flesh divine. How will I ever find the time? To make myself a nasty rhyme. Just like back when all was sublime. My early career, I did this often. But your hard bones I will go soften. Soften and break and batter and shake. And this is the bed for you I make. Lives are but toys for me to play with. You could almost say, I’m Lord of the Sith. Like a geek with a fresh pack of Magic the Gathering cards. There will be freakish pain, and you will be bards. Bards who sing a song of pain. Your blood, it will be like rain. Onto the crowd and ring below. Into the void, you two will go. You try to save yourself, but yourself keeps slipping away. Come into my house, and I will invite you to stay. Staying inside, with my evil toys we’ll play. A little game of luck and chance. And of course, there will be dance. The dance of death and misery. The shackles without a key. You will be chained, bound and gagged. Your bodies will be hung then dragged. Dragged until you are only a pelvis. Dragged until you’re dead like Elvis. Save yourselves now and run from me. Or fear the nightmare and thing that should not be. I am the master of your insanity. Reality, is nothing but a toy of untold glee. And from my clutches, I’m sure you’ll flee. Flee in an attempt to save your lives. But your bodies will be covered in hives. Appearing to make you itch and scratch. Before your heads will catch. A blow from a chair wrapped in wire. Or maybe I’ll throw you a car tire. There’s nothing wrong, but I’ll draw your ire. And your minds, your bodies, your souls. Will be taken till you are dead and cold. Xtreme Title, Xtreme Ladder. In the end, will it matter? Matter that I stole your belt. Matter that I skinned your pelts. I’ll make a coat out of your flesh. And push your bodies through steel mesh. God I’ll love your endless pain. Xtreme title I will gain. A Night to Remember, Sunday Night. Be ready; be willing, and prepared for a fright. And for now, that is all. And to all…unpleasant dreams.”
Prophet cackles again. He swings the chair at the camera, and we hear the thud as it hits the ground. The lens breaks, and static fills the screen. The static fades to black, and ends the promo.
Dark Prophet’s cold voice calls to us from the darkness. Uneasy we find our way to the light. The hotel room is dark, and the only man in it is Dark Prophet. He sits on the floor, with stills from the video shot over the last two months around him. These images, though they look as real as the room before us, are of the “other world” Prophet has been trapped in off and on. The dull candlelight shows us the contours of Prophet’s body. He sits, his chest bare and his leather pants tight. There are lines on his arms, from God knows what he’s been using to dull the unreality he’s been seeing.
“Welcome, to my downward spiral.” Prophet begins, “Falcon accuses me of being dangerously insane, and Sexy Jason agrees. I am dangerous. I am insane. And the things you’ve seen are the same things I’ve seen. Everything, somehow, has managed to make it onto film. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. But somehow, some way; these things were taped. I had to dig through book upon book at the library before I could even find anything that could remotely cover what it could be. Spirit photos, perhaps, is the only option I have to explain these events. Somehow, the decay from my mind has bled out into the real world, or at least onto film. I can’t explain how, or why, I just know that’s the only explanation I could find to explain it. And in all my years, nothing like this has ever happened. The only person I know who’s dealt with this besides me is…Fate.”
Prophet folds over upon himself. He buries his head in his hands, hiding his face. It takes all his will to admit that he doesn’t know how to fix himself. It takes all his will to admit there is only one man on this earth who even could know what he’s seeing. And that man, is a man he trained to be just like him. A man he trained to do everything Prophet did, to be his successor when he retired. And now, he is the only other man in this world who has the experience with this seemingly impossible scenario. The cameraman sees nothing but Prophet wandering about his hotel room like a madman, but the camera sees the dark world Prophet plunges into.
Through his hands he speaks these words, “And you are right, I am crazy. I am ****ing insane. There’s nothing I can do to fix this. And it has driven me to lengths I’ve never gone to before to try and kill it before it consumes me.”
Prophet looks through his hands at the images. Monsters, a twisted little town, his daughter burning, and the room he’s in turning into a hellish nightmare realm beyond imagination. This is what he’s seen. And this is what we’ve seen. It is enough to drive a man into madness, or even to suicide.
“Sometimes I wish I could do what Fate does. Sometimes I wish I could actually get away with the things he’s done. Even though I’m insane, there’s not enough powers that be who’re scared enough of me to let me off. Fate, however…”
Prophet knows what his student has done. He knows the terrible things he’s done while being “possessed” by his alter ego, Angelo Della Muerte. His alter ego, his split personality, the angel of death himself. The only being he knows has the power to effect reality to the point where more than just cameras see what Fate sees. Police officers, homeless men, cameramen, and even his therapist; all of these people saw what Fate saw when Angelo was near. A twisted person beyond the laws of real and unreal, Angelo knew no limits. Perhaps he was what he once said he was, a being even older than God. A being that has always been, and always will be. A being that can assume ethereal and corporal forms at once. A being that can be in as many places as he wants at once if he so wills it. And no matter how many times Prophet used “voodoo” or “magic”, he never truly believed in any of this. Not until he saw what Fate was going through.
“If there is one thing Fate has that I don’t, it is the ability to do whatever he wills. He doesn’t have a family to answer to if he comes home high or drunk. He doesn’t have a family to tell him he’s gone too far. He’s got nothing, and he could care less if he lives or dies. He craves death, an end where he can be with the ones he’s lost. Every one of his nine girlfriends taken violently from his arms. And above all else, his one true love, Cecilia, is the one death that affected him the most.”
Odd, how the cold words of Prophet seem to be more emotional than he’s ever been in six years of wrestling. So long he’s hidden behind the veil of kayfabe and “it’s just wrestling”. But now, so long after he got well from his previous mental conditions, things get worse. He doesn’t understand why, or how. He doesn’t know what it is that tripped this episode off. But it’s been going on far longer than his time in NCW. However, in the past two months, it has escalated at a very frightening rate.
“But you know what? I actually think I’m beginning to like this new me. With my mind blurring the lines between real and unreal more and more each day, I feel absolutely no guilt for any of the pain and suffering I give out in the ring. For the first time, violence has no repercussions as long as it is within the ring. And in a match like the Xtreme Ladder Match, my newfound lack of sanity gives me an edge no other man has. As my mind slowly goes, I lose all concept of consequences to my actions. I lose all ability to judge if what I am doing will hurt myself as well as my opponent. I’m becoming the monster they’ve always told me I’d become. I am…slowly becoming…a Windigo.”
Prophet’s face begins to crack into a twisted smile. As it does, the phone begins to ring. Prophet’s eyes dart first, followed by his head and finally his whole body, to the phone. The phone rings again, and Prophet stands up. By the third ring, he has his hand and arm extended as to pick up the phone. Who could be calling? And who would dare interrupt his speech?
“Hello?” Prophet says as he answers the phone.
“Darky, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for weeks. Do you even know what day it is?”
“Uh…” Prophet begins to play dumb. Not because he is dumb, but as a ruse to avoid punishment from the one he fears most…his wife.
“Do you know how much I’ve been worrying about you? I go to bed every night crying because I think you have gotten into some sort of trouble, or got arrested, or killed…”
“I’m sorry.”
“You are sorry?” Her voice becomes irate, “You are SORRY? YOU MISSED MY BIRTHDAY YOU ****ING DICK! MY TWENTY-NINTH BIRTHDAY AND YOU FORGET ALL ABOUT ME! JUST BECAUSE I AM AT HOME AND YOU ARE ON THE ROAD DOESN’T GIVE YOU ANY RIGHTS TO IGNORE MY BIRTHDAY!”
“It was your birthday?” Prophet obviously forgot in the middle of everything that has gone on. And this is not good for him, or his balls.
“I SWEAR TO GOD! IF YOU WERE HERE RIGHT NOW YOU WOULD BE CASTRATED! YOU FORGOT MY BIRTHDAY! JUST LIKE YOU FORGOT THE KIDS’ BIRTHDAYS! JUST LIKE YOU FORGOT THAT ON THE 22ND IT IS OUR NINTH ANNIVERSARY!”
Prophet’s voice gets more tender, and he attempts to calm the beast. “I remembered, Julietta. I know it is coming up. And I promise I’ll talk to my mother to get the kids away. For just one day, I’d like you to come to me. I’ve been on the road for so long, and I miss you…and…”
“You miss me?” Her voice is calming down a little.
“I miss you, and I love you, and I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize our marriage. I’ve always been faithful. And I’m going to get you tickets to Collision on the 27th and you can stay with me for the whole week.”
“You would do that?”
“Yes.”
“For me?”
“My darling, I would do anything for you.”
“Really? You promise?”
“Julietta, I promise. You can be down here all week. I am not entirely sure where “here” will be, we haven’t been given the new schedule yet, but I’ll find a way to get you down here. I’ll take you out for a romantic dinner, and then we can…”
“F**k?”
“You get to the point more than my dick, darling.” Prophet’s tone is completely opposite what it was before he got the call. Is this the power of his wife over him?
“And you haven’t forgotten…what I said I wanted for my birthday?”
“Yes, I remember what you wanted.”
“What was it?”
Prophet’s eyes bug out, as he picks up a notebook near the phone. He scans through the pages until he finds it, the page where he wrote down her “wish list”.
“You wanted your wedding band resized, for one.”
“Yes, from the short time I wrestled my ring finger’s knuckles have swollen.”
“At least you haven’t scarified your body like mine.”
“I’d have to buy a lot of scar removal cream, in addition to all the anti-aging cremes and rubs and masks…”
“Ok, ok, honey. Now the other things you wanted were a full spa treatment, which we can easily do. You also wanted another gold rosary, but this one you wanted your birthstone in it.”
“Yes, my birthstone.”
“And for our anniversary, you wanted…a new whip.”
“I think I might have to retcon that one, my gladiator. YOUR son has done a few nasty things to OUR good dishes.”
“Sh*t…” Prophet trails off. Like father like son?
“Yes, we need to get new dishes. AND childproof this house a bit more. These little ****s can ****ing climb counters now!”
“Is it good to say that while you are home?” Prophet questions her frankness.
“They are at your mom’s for the night. I was actually tempted to tell her to keep them for a few weeks while I go hunt your sorry ass down!”
“I’m sorry, I’ll try to keep more in touch, my love.”
“It’s ok, I’ll just remember to bring a few things for my visit. You’ve been a very, very, VERY, bad boy in the last year. And you, my love, need to be punished.”
“So, handcuffs, whip, razor blades and salt?”
She giggles, “You know me so well. And you should know better not to piss me off!”
“I’m sorry, I really am. But…I was kind of in the middle of…”
She goes quiet on the other end of the line. Apparently she’s thinking very bad thoughts, her mind deep in the gutter. She takes a deep breath and sighs. We can almost feel her shaking her head on the other end of the line.
“You didn’t cum all over the phone, did you?” she finally asks, almost whispering.
“Um…no. I was in the middle of…well, work.”
“Oh ****…****…you were…doing a promo?”
“Yeah.”
“Ok, I probably should let you go. Will you call me back when you are done?”
“I will, I promise.” Prophet says, with a very heavy sigh.
“You better keep that promise, I don’t want to hospitalize you again.”
“Don’t remind me. Please…”
“That’ll teach you for leaving me in your hotel while you trotted off to the next town with your “company”.”
“Yeah, I’ll remember that if you are to come with me on tour with the federations to not be pissed off enough to leave you behind…again.”
“You damn well better! Do you know how hard it is to get onto a plane when the only clean clothes you have is a dominatrix outfit?”
“Um…I don’t even want to go over that again. I promise…I’ll not make that mistake again.”
“Ok, I’ll let you go. I love you.”
“I love you too, my darling.”
“Bye.”
“Goodbye.”
Prophet hangs up the phone, and looks at the camera. His eyes are wide, and there is a look of horror on his face. His face is even more scared than it was while he was in his nightmare world.
“Sometimes…she can be worse than my worst nightmares.”
Prophet shakes his head, before moving back toward the photographs on the ground. He brushes them aside to reveal that underneath all of them is a steel chair, wrapped in barbed wire. The barbed wire is bloody, and the chair appears to be dented from prior use. His signature weapon, and he’s taped two new photographs to the still-usable “new” chair.
“And that brings me to A Night to Remember. All insanity, wives, and bull**** aside; there is nothing you can do to avoid the bloodbath that you are going into. This is an Xtreme Ladder Match. There is only one rule, get the title from high up in the air. Bodies will fly everywhere. Blood will be spilled. And two people will not walk out of the arena. Those two people, I am sorry to say; are Sexy Jason and Falcon. I have nothing against Falcon, but he stands in my way of destroying Jason and taking the title he loves so much from his grubby little fingers. You both are out-matched no matter what you say you can bring to the table. I excel at decimating opponents to points that outside the ring would be beyond criminal. If you can walk three days later, you’ll be lucky. If you can breathe without a respirator that same night, you will be one of the few lucky ones. I don’t intend on just winning, Falcon and Jason, I intend on destroying you both. Nothing you can do will stop my fury. And that, is what I will do. You are putting your careers in danger for the Xtreme title on Sunday. You are putting your LIVES in danger for that title. Ladders, tables, barbed wire, everything is legal. And that makes me happy. Very, very happy.”
Prophet cackles like a hyena. His sick grin widens and he picks up the battered steel chair. He hugs it, caressing the barbed wire with his hands. He pays no mind to the scratches and cuts he is giving himself in this loving embrace.
“You will be my love on Sunday, sweet weapon of my choice. And the two of those men, will be left without a voice. They should know better, than to face me and my toys. Because instead of being men, they are just little boys. My weapons will take down all who annoys. Annoys “The Dark One”, the violent noise. Screaming and tearing at your flesh divine. How will I ever find the time? To make myself a nasty rhyme. Just like back when all was sublime. My early career, I did this often. But your hard bones I will go soften. Soften and break and batter and shake. And this is the bed for you I make. Lives are but toys for me to play with. You could almost say, I’m Lord of the Sith. Like a geek with a fresh pack of Magic the Gathering cards. There will be freakish pain, and you will be bards. Bards who sing a song of pain. Your blood, it will be like rain. Onto the crowd and ring below. Into the void, you two will go. You try to save yourself, but yourself keeps slipping away. Come into my house, and I will invite you to stay. Staying inside, with my evil toys we’ll play. A little game of luck and chance. And of course, there will be dance. The dance of death and misery. The shackles without a key. You will be chained, bound and gagged. Your bodies will be hung then dragged. Dragged until you are only a pelvis. Dragged until you’re dead like Elvis. Save yourselves now and run from me. Or fear the nightmare and thing that should not be. I am the master of your insanity. Reality, is nothing but a toy of untold glee. And from my clutches, I’m sure you’ll flee. Flee in an attempt to save your lives. But your bodies will be covered in hives. Appearing to make you itch and scratch. Before your heads will catch. A blow from a chair wrapped in wire. Or maybe I’ll throw you a car tire. There’s nothing wrong, but I’ll draw your ire. And your minds, your bodies, your souls. Will be taken till you are dead and cold. Xtreme Title, Xtreme Ladder. In the end, will it matter? Matter that I stole your belt. Matter that I skinned your pelts. I’ll make a coat out of your flesh. And push your bodies through steel mesh. God I’ll love your endless pain. Xtreme title I will gain. A Night to Remember, Sunday Night. Be ready; be willing, and prepared for a fright. And for now, that is all. And to all…unpleasant dreams.”
Prophet cackles again. He swings the chair at the camera, and we hear the thud as it hits the ground. The lens breaks, and static fills the screen. The static fades to black, and ends the promo.