Post by disdonn on Sept 7, 2009 16:15:55 GMT -6
Dripping down the sides of reality water pools like blood on the fabric of insanity. Dark Prophet is barely visible in the dimly lit warehouse where “The Prophecy” has directed him to train. There’s a makeshift ring, weapons, and even an anonymous former wrestler that Prophet has been using as a sparring partner. Today, the building is nigh but empty. The day after the finalized card for Battlegrounds was released to the public. And Prophet knows what is to come.
“Xavier claims you created him, Prophet. “The Dark One” fails to see this as true, for it is not. He was created, like all of us, by “The Dark One”. He just fails to see that you are but a messenger, a Prophet of he who creates with one hand and destroys with the other. We have seen his true face, and his abandonment of his family has not changed how weak he is, not in the slightest.”
Prophet stares at the ceiling, listening as the weights clang with every push of the barbell as he does his bench presses. The massive muscular structure of this man bulges and recedes beneath the skin as he lifts up and down…up and down. He continues to listen, for in thirty seconds he will drop the weights and sit up.
“He’s wrong, Prophet. Wrong in heart, body and mind. He will not be able to win with that mindset. Focused entirely on you, he fails to see that he is only one of five…and one of the FOUR HORSEMEN of Sexy Jason’s Apocalypse.”
Prophet drops the weights, sitting up, at the mention of Apocalypse. Prophet shakes his head, as visions of four riders on four different colored horses pass through his mind. The pale, the red, the white and the black; the four horsemen approach bringing doom to all in their path. Sexy Jason will not be Champion when the Warfare match is over. Five men will become gladiators taking up arms in the battle of Armageddon for the Xtreme Title.
“There are four of you, and one champion. The champion holds the title, representing the world. The four horsemen are here to destroy him. But unlike the biblical scriptures, you will not share the spoils. Death, Famine, War and Conquest, all are coming to take from Sexy Jason.”
Prophet takes a deep breath, looking around him at the weapons that are strewn around the makeshift “arena”.
“And what of the other three, Prophet of “The Dark One”? What of the other horsemen.”
He pauses, appearing to think through the dim light. He wonders within his own mind who would be the fourth horseman as “The Prophecy” speaks out.
“But where is the Fourth, where is the Pale Rider? Are you, Prophet, the Pale Rider…are you Death?”
“You are not death, how? What is it that keeps you from being death?”
“Harbinger of the apocalypse, Prophet, that is what you are. You are the rider, on the pale horse. You wear black, you have no fear, and you come bearing the gift of pain and misery to all who come to see you. You’ve ended careers, in the far distant past. You’ve returned from the end of your own. Does that not give “The Dark One” jurisdiction to call you the Pale Rider?”
“Prophet, heed my words. You ARE the Pale Rider. Do not deny your role in this. Do not deny the things you have seen.”
Prophet’s eyes glaze over, and turn pale white in color as he begins to see again. The riders approach, within his mind he sees Ace coming first, riding the white horse of conquest. Followed behind him is JFK on the red horse of War. Behind them, the Black and sickly horse of Famine has Xavier Cross in the stirrups. And the large, pale horse is ridden by a man with one eye and two ravens on his shoulders. He carries not a scythe but a legendary spear. Gungnir.
“Do you see now, Prophet? You are Death. You are the rider of the Pale Horse. Gungnir is your scythe and the two ravens on your shoulder guide your one eye that sees reality as the other sees the future. Ride into the darkness, follow them into Armageddon.”
“None can beat death, all shall fear him.”
“Sunday, Armageddon will occur. Sexy Jason, will no longer be champion. “The Dark One” has passed this to us, and now…you shall fear the future.”
Prophet and The Prophecy laugh as the sound of hooves fill the audio portion of the promo. We fade to black as the sound of the horse gets closer…and closer…until all goes silent.
“Xavier claims you created him, Prophet. “The Dark One” fails to see this as true, for it is not. He was created, like all of us, by “The Dark One”. He just fails to see that you are but a messenger, a Prophet of he who creates with one hand and destroys with the other. We have seen his true face, and his abandonment of his family has not changed how weak he is, not in the slightest.”
Prophet stares at the ceiling, listening as the weights clang with every push of the barbell as he does his bench presses. The massive muscular structure of this man bulges and recedes beneath the skin as he lifts up and down…up and down. He continues to listen, for in thirty seconds he will drop the weights and sit up.
“He’s wrong, Prophet. Wrong in heart, body and mind. He will not be able to win with that mindset. Focused entirely on you, he fails to see that he is only one of five…and one of the FOUR HORSEMEN of Sexy Jason’s Apocalypse.”
Prophet drops the weights, sitting up, at the mention of Apocalypse. Prophet shakes his head, as visions of four riders on four different colored horses pass through his mind. The pale, the red, the white and the black; the four horsemen approach bringing doom to all in their path. Sexy Jason will not be Champion when the Warfare match is over. Five men will become gladiators taking up arms in the battle of Armageddon for the Xtreme Title.
“There are four of you, and one champion. The champion holds the title, representing the world. The four horsemen are here to destroy him. But unlike the biblical scriptures, you will not share the spoils. Death, Famine, War and Conquest, all are coming to take from Sexy Jason.”
Prophet takes a deep breath, looking around him at the weapons that are strewn around the makeshift “arena”.
In six days five men meet in Xtreme Warfare as galaxies collide and combine into one catastrophic episode of calamity. Bodies will be broken, blood spilled, and only one will remain standing at the end. Four horsemen, walking into the apocalypse against Sexy Jason. Xavier Cross, the man barren of morals and bankrupt of honor. He realizes his career has been one very long drought, with nary a title win in so very long. He is famine, starved of any redeeming nature; he lacks the ability to do more than spread his plague of unsuccessful dreams.
“And what of the other three, Prophet of “The Dark One”? What of the other horsemen.”
War is what JFK wants, and it is what he gets. We shall have a war; it is in the very name of the match. Warfare, but not just any warfare, XTREME warfare. Warfare where anything is legal. Warfare where the darkest and most violent thoughts of men can leap into reality as they grasp their weapons of choice while charging into the abyss. Like an atomic bomb, we shall all explode upon one another and leave nothing behind but broken bodies and a river of blood. Conquest, the Ace, the only man in the lot who has ever been World Champion. The only man to have conquered all, and attained the highest of high honors. He comes to conquer, he comes to destroy. He comes to rule over Xtreme with an iron fist. Should he win, there are no lengths he shall go to retain.
He pauses, appearing to think through the dim light. He wonders within his own mind who would be the fourth horseman as “The Prophecy” speaks out.
“But where is the Fourth, where is the Pale Rider? Are you, Prophet, the Pale Rider…are you Death?”
No.
“You are not death, how? What is it that keeps you from being death?”
I am mortal. I am human.
“Harbinger of the apocalypse, Prophet, that is what you are. You are the rider, on the pale horse. You wear black, you have no fear, and you come bearing the gift of pain and misery to all who come to see you. You’ve ended careers, in the far distant past. You’ve returned from the end of your own. Does that not give “The Dark One” jurisdiction to call you the Pale Rider?”
I feel I am not Death, Prophecy. I feel I am but a man, caught in the middle of a war for not only a title, but for the souls of five men. Armageddon is coming, and Huston will become our Megiddo. The valley of doom, the valley where the end days begin.
“Prophet, heed my words. You ARE the Pale Rider. Do not deny your role in this. Do not deny the things you have seen.”
Prophet’s eyes glaze over, and turn pale white in color as he begins to see again. The riders approach, within his mind he sees Ace coming first, riding the white horse of conquest. Followed behind him is JFK on the red horse of War. Behind them, the Black and sickly horse of Famine has Xavier Cross in the stirrups. And the large, pale horse is ridden by a man with one eye and two ravens on his shoulders. He carries not a scythe but a legendary spear. Gungnir.
“Do you see now, Prophet? You are Death. You are the rider of the Pale Horse. Gungnir is your scythe and the two ravens on your shoulder guide your one eye that sees reality as the other sees the future. Ride into the darkness, follow them into Armageddon.”
In the end, there will be no victory, only bloodshed. Five shall enter into the cage with the darkest and most violent desires. Not a single man will exit the same. Four Horsemen and the World battle for dominion over the Xtreme. The warfare will be bloody, brutal and like the apocalypse on a living realm. Demons will shout from hell, Angels will turn a blind eye as “The Dark One” applauds the brutality. We are here for his entertainment alone. Ace…rider of the white horse, do not underestimate your lust for conquest that has consumed and driven you to failure before. Cross…drink and eat a filling last meal as the drought will take your life on Sunday. JFK…War is Hell, and I shall be there to bring it to you. Sexy Jason…World of Xtreme, Champion of the World…fall to your knees and bow before the Rider of the Pale Horse.
“None can beat death, all shall fear him.”
Indeed, you have NEVER beaten me. You and I have faced many times, but only once for that title you hold. Welcome to the end of your days as Champion, Sexy Jason. I cannot guarantee that Death will ride out victorious, but I will make sure that you do not hold that belt any longer. Four riders are approaching as the stars are wiped from the night sky. The moon turns blood red and the beast rises out of the sea. Go, Pale Horse, ride into the apocalypse. Ride into Warfare. Ride into the Battle Grounds of Megiddo and bring pain, death, and destruction to all who meet us there.
“Sunday, Armageddon will occur. Sexy Jason, will no longer be champion. “The Dark One” has passed this to us, and now…you shall fear the future.”
Prophet and The Prophecy laugh as the sound of hooves fill the audio portion of the promo. We fade to black as the sound of the horse gets closer…and closer…until all goes silent.