Post by Khaos on Jul 23, 2021 21:49:19 GMT -5
Damien Carter stood next to a nondescript tree on an ordinary hill, overlooking hundreds of gravestones. The sun was beginning to set, leaving behind its final rays of brilliance, the sky twisting into shades of orange and purple, the blue starting to fade away into black. It reminded him of the darkness that was constantly present in his life; consuming everything and anything that it touched. No matter how hard the light tried to fight back, the night always fell; the dark always won. Much had transpired since Damien last addressed the Revo1 audience in such a matter. Typically, his world was fraught with dangers around every corner; threats that lingered in the shadows, villains only someone with his skillset could vanquish. His “extra-curricular” activities – his “true purpose” – had cost him many things, none more relevant than his life. But he had returned to this mortal coil, his soul intact, his powers restored. He had trusted in the darkness, and he had been rewarded in kind. This was a second chance for him, a chance for him to right the wrongs, both by his hand and the hands of others. This time, it’d be different. Or at least, that’s what he told himself…
He walked stoically from the hill down to the first row of graves. The camera followed him as the darkness seemed to move with him, like a cloak of starlight and ash. His shoulders seemed heavy, his eyes tired. Since returning from the “In-Between”, he had made many promises to many individuals. “It was the price he had to pay” he told himself. But the toll was adding up, making him feel more indebted than ever. Damien needed something he could hold power over, something he could truly control. Despite the moniker of “Khaos”, it was not something that he liked in his life. To feel like he was simply going through the motions, riding one wave after another, he wanted the waters to come to a still… to simply just “be”…
He continued to walk through the rows of headstones, all of them different sizes, shapes, and adorned with various epitaphs; declaring just how wonderful these deceased were. Damien found it interesting that none of them ever slandered the dead in anyway. Even now, with their bodies buried six feet deep, he could feel the sins of the departed extending upwards, trying to embrace the darkness. Were he a lesser Reaper, a trip like this through a memorial ground might’ve reduced him to his knees, digging up the bodies with his bare hands, his nails torn away, his fingers bleeding, his insatiable thirst for their souls rendering him into nothing more than a grave digging savage…
Damien was always impressed with how long these “echos” would remain intact; linger in the ether, waiting to be collected. Death was a part of everyday life, there weren’t enough Reapers or Angels to be everywhere at once. And so souls ended up in the “In-Between”, embarking on their final journey of judgement… either taking the flight to Heaven or embracing the fall to Hell…
Damien was pretty sure he knew where he’d end up. After all, he had embraced the darkness, had killed many in his years of employ under the “Shadow Lord”. Did these people deserve to die? Absolutely. But his actions were always hidden in the shadows, masked behind random disappearances, freak accidents, or natural causes – there were many ways to cover up the death, and “Khaos” had learned them all. Even now, the people in Revo1 had no idea what type of World Champion he truly was. Were his darkness ever to see the light of day and the truth to finally be revealed, he would be imprisoned, prosecuted, hung in the gallows, left as nothing more than food for the vultures. And so that spawned the question in his mind, “why take the risk?”. Why should he partake in a wrestling federation where he performed in front of thousands of potential witnesses in the crowd, another million-or-so watching from home? Because it “wasn’t real”, or at least… that’s how the audience perceived it. Damien could show parts of himself – his true self – and the fans hadn’t rejected it. Like an actor, they simply believed that “Khaos” was just another character and that he was merely playing a roll. The fans bought into it, embraced it; his fellow wrestlers didn’t bat an eye or think that it was anything out of the ordinary. The parts of him that he had hid for so long were now on full display and, suddenly, the “supernatural” didn’t seem so “super” after all. He could finally be himself…
Damien ventured off the beaten path, over to an area of the cemetery barely used. Greeting him was a mound of dirt that had been dug up already, leaving a vacant void in the earth that needed to be filled in…
“I’ve faced many demons in my time,” Damien began, speaking in a low, deep tone that was barely audible over the gusts of wind that seemed to suddenly rise up, as if in defiance of the Reaper standing foot on holy ground. “Both in my personal life and my wrestling career; some might say it’s a type of ‘professional hazard’ that I encounter such heinous atrocities. That being said, I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure of facing one such as Daniel Dream. Sure, you and I have crossed paths many times already Daniel; your actions in the Left Hand are well documented against me. I’ve become something of a ‘pet project’ for you and your second-rate cultists. I wonder, is it the World Championship that you crave; or do you just fancy me?”
Damien smirked at the thought as he knelt down before the vacant grave, grabbing a handful of dirt and letting it sift through his fingers, falling into the darkness below…
“I remember a time when the Left Hand was considered to be a true threat within the wrestling world,” Damien recalled, his eyes flashing dark at the reminder of the Baphomet. “It seemed to be everywhere; like some type of disease that continued to manifest itself and spread from federation to federation. Your fearless leader reached for the stars, extended himself too far, and fell harmlessly back to Earth, burning up in the atmosphere in the process. Since then, the Left Hand has been a joke; like a body without a head, flailing about, harmlessly. Sure, you’ve tried to pick yourselves up; tried to move past it, but none of you truly believed the Baphomet was real; how could you? After all, how could someone so otherworldly and powerful be taken down so easily?”
Damien let the remnants of the soil fall from his fingers as he wiped his hands clean of the filth…
“Just like your leader, you are all nothing but misguided individuals, desperately latching on to the prodigious ideals of someone who fabricated his very existence; he merely came along and manipulated you all to do his bidding,” Damien tried, and failed, to hide his snicker; almost delighting in the fact that followers of Baphomet were nothing more than mindless imbeciles blindly following a false prophet. “So what does that make you and your cohorts Daniel? Puppets; boring, mundane, worthless.”
Damien rose up from his crouched position and began walking further across the unbeaten path, venturing past a few more unburied graves before finally coming to the one that he wanted. He looked upon the name engraved on it, its label once carrying weight in the Revo1 world…
“Dorian Rhodes,” Damien started, shaking his head at the wasted potential. “He should’ve been your bright shining star, someone with whom could’ve given you creditability within the world of wrestling. ‘The Promethean’, ‘The Bad Seed’, ‘The Prince of Horrorcore’; he and Amelia Hearts had one of the most bizarre and brutal Horrorcore matches of all time. And though he came out of that exchange on the losing end, you can’t sit there and tell me that match didn’t put him on the fast track to ‘Main Event’ status. But then – for reasons none of us understand, even to this day – he decided to commit career suicide and join the Left Hand. His star didn’t just slowly burn out and fade away, no… it fucking went super nova. ”
Damien paused but for a moment, as if paying his last respects to what could’ve been for “The Promethean” before moving onto the next grave, this one labeled with Anya Coyle’s name…
“Anya Coyle,” Damien gritted his teeth, recollecting all the ways she had been an infuriating thorn in his side for months. “Here’s a person who has studied the human brain, daylights as a psychologist, and someone you think would be as smart and cerebral as they come. And yet, she allows herself to be a pawn in a game that hasn’t been chess for years. The Baphomet’s approach to ‘dominate the wrestling world and bring it to its knees’ wasn’t just ‘old-school’, it was fucking ancient. Who knows, it may’ve even worked, if he actually had capable ‘horseman’ in place. Anya, you hid behind that International Championship. You carried it like a crutch, believing that you had earned it; that – somehow – because you held the title of ‘Champion’, you actually were one. Your swan song began when ‘The Australian Ace’ flew off that top rope and crashed down on top of you, beating you for that title you coveted so much. Something you Left Hand-ers seem to always fail to realize is that the person makes the Championship, not the other way around.”
Damien proceeded to the next in line, this one particularly of interest to him. Inscribed on it was one word, “Traitor”…
“Your numbers were thinning, you were losing control, and so you turned to someone even you didn’t fully understand,” Damien scratched at his chin, this particular individual making his feud with the Left Hand as personal as it gets. “Cerise… the psychotic paradox… just when you think you’ve got a beat on what that pretty little mind of hers is up to, she… well… she hits you over the head with a champagne bottle, lights your stuffed animal on fire, and tries to burn you alive. I suppose I should’ve suspected that she’d turn on me eventually; it seems to be in her family’s nature, after all. Still, that one stung, I’m not going to lie. But even that wasn’t enough, was it Daniel? I’m still here… I’m still standing… I’m still the Legacy World Heavyweight Champion!”
Damien proceeded to the final grave, the one he had stood before at the beginning, his eyes reading over the words of his opponent for Rebirth II…
“You tried so desperately to be him, didn’t you Daniel?” Damien seethed, his fingers clenching tightly into fists. “You tried to pick up where he left off; the good little foot soldier that you are. But you are no Baphomet. Hell… the ‘Baphomet’ wasn’t even real; he was just a middle-aged man with delusions of grandeur, no doubt a result of some sort of traumatic psychotic episode. You’d think someone as ‘book smart’ as Anya would’ve spotted that diagnosis from Miles-A-Way, not embrace this charade and further enable the crazed rantings of some lunatic. So what was it all for Daniel? What did you have to gain from all of this? All of you are the same, believing that the world owes you something; but this isn’t some soup kitchen you can just stumble into and expect to receive endless amounts of free hand-outs Daniel. I have no idea how any of you are even in these positions, fighting me time-and-time again for the title that I EARNED by beating Cartier. Whatever the reason, whatever political pull that you think you have, all you need to do is go back and look at what I did to your stablemate at Glory and then, again, at Danger Zone. See, I bet you’re thinking that getting this title opportunity means that the battle is halfway over; that being ‘gifted’ this shot means that all you have to do is simply beat me. But there-in lays your conundrum Daniel, because I’m not someone who is easily beaten.”
Damien looked down at the empty rectangle-shape void in front of him; a deep hole in the Earth that’s sole purpose was to house the decaying corpses of the dearly departed. How or why you died mattered not, the grave would be there waiting patiently for you to suffer your final fall; waiting for you to finally close your eyes, embrace the darkness, and give your body over to the worms. “Death Waits For No Man”. That’s what Damien had been told. Yet, he was not simply just a man. He was more than that. Whether people bought into the mysticism or not, there was no denying his uncanny existence. His time in the “In-Between” had brought him back to who he truly was; forced open a door he had, for over a year, tried to keep barred shut. There was no point in delaying the inevitable, he was who he was; nothing could change that now. The Reaper was as much a part of him as any other vital organ, to deny himself of that would be the equivalent of trying to hold your breath. Eventually, you needed to relent and allow your lungs the air they needed…
“I’ve experienced a bit of a ‘Rebirth’ myself, Daniel,” Damien solemnly stated, his eyes focused on the grave before him; death could not contain him, what chance did the “Carnivore” have. “I’ve embraced my true nature, allowed the darkness to – once again – consume me. Up until now, you’ve all just been mere witnesses to the ‘Khaos’ that has been chained up, restrained, kept locked away – not for my benefit, but for the safety of those in Revo1. And even with those shackles, I’ve been at the top of the Legacy mountain since The Ides of March. You and your Left Hand mates know better than anyone what I’m capable of, Daniel. Now take what you’ve already bared witness to, and envision me free of any restrictions; truly unchained, unrelenting, the darkness that pulses through these veins solely unleashed upon you.”
The sun finally sets as night begins to take its shape in the sky. Damien watches the last of the sun’s rays disappear on the horizon, the final gasp of breath before the darkness consumed all.
“The Left Hand has fallen,” Damien stated matter-of-factly. “I’ve watched your numbers dwindle since your fearless leader ate a bullet. Even his trusted and loyal lieutenant, Lycana, has given up the search for those responsible. My guess is because she finally came to her senses and realized just how fraudulent this whole thing has been all along. The Left Hand is nothing more than smoke and mirrors, using fear tactics and backstage assaults to ‘spread your message’. You attack from the shadows in numbers, like a bunch of ravenous hyenas. Yet when it comes time for you to ‘put up or shut up’, you lose, every single time. Cerise turned on me thinking you would bring her to new heights, give her the chance to live up to her family’s legacy and become the World Champion. She had two cracks at me and, even with all of your outside interference, still couldn’t get the job done. Anya decided to expand her education into the art of phlebotomy, taking blood from her opponents to do who knows what with. Has this new ‘awakening’ in her done anything other than created a few moments of shock and awe? You raise your Left Hand in unity, like you’re all some sort of united front, but the fact is that you’re time has come and gone; vanished in the blink of an eye. The saddest part about this is that none of you seem to actually even be aware that the Left Hand is truly and utterly ‘dead’. When the Baphomet was shot, put into that medically-induced coma, your fates were all sealed. He was the brain-child of your little cult; without him, you are nothing… after all, the body cannot survive without the head. Since that moment, you’ve all been just going through the motions, denying what is before your very eyes; you reacting more-so out of instinct and shock, unaware that the world is crumbling all around you. And it is crumbling, Daniel. This isn’t just some ‘bad dream’, this is the reality… and come ReBirth, I will repel the Left Hand once more, I will defeat you, and I will bury you and yours. I will do what should’ve been done months ago and, mercifully, put you and the rest of your cult out of its collective miseries.”
Damien looked down at the grave as, one-by-one, they began to become emblazoned with fire; the spark starting at Dorian’s, before flowing to Anya’s, snaking over to Cerise’s, then finally leaping over to consume Daniel’s. He felt the heat rise up from them as they extended out, trying to touch his flesh, but he was protected… untouchable – the darkness made sure of that.
“Come ReBirth, you will witness firsthand what true ‘Khaos’ looks like,” Damien grinned, the darkness behind his eyes shining with ill intent. “You have a date with the Reaper, Daniel. And as I’ve been told so many times before… death waits for no man.”