Post by Khaos on Oct 4, 2021 21:25:49 GMT -5
Damien Carter warily made his way through the Packlands, Arcana mirroring his every movement, a cautious eye on him as if he would suddenly collapse at any moment. His legs were sore, his whole body ached; too often then naught, he would have to take a moment of respite and lean up against a nearby tree. She’d tentatively go to make sure he was okay but he’d simply shake his head, indicating that he was “fine” and just needing a breather. Apparently dying takes a lot out of you…
Damien was aware of the many eyes upon them; most of which were of the mystical variety. He wondered if the stares belonged to those of Lycana’s pack or if it was just another tribe, grazing through. “Khaos” had encountered werewolves before and the fights were usually more trouble than they were worth. He hoped no conflict would come to them but, if it did, at least he had Arcana by his side…
He turned his attention to the fiery redhead, who remained stoic and silent as they trudged through the woods. This was not the first encounter he expected he would share with her after all these years. Then again, apparently it hadn’t been. There was a big chunk of time missing in his memories; his trip down the “Crucible-lane” rudely interrupted by the Lich King, Eadon. Part of him still felt like he was still back in the In-Between, the eyes of the dead all around him.
“Kaiya...?” Damien finally spoke up, drawing a deep breath as he dared to pause for a moment in the hostile territory. “How did you find me?”
Arcana nearly missed a step as his question registers in her mind. She falters a second, before regaining her stride. She shoots a look at the man by her side, not knowing how to answer him right away. The silence stretches for a few beats.
“Do you mean after you... died?” Arcana tripped over the words. “Or… before that?”
Perhaps that would buy her some time as she gathered her thoughts, on just how much to reveal to him.
Death, such a strange concept… he had been in the service of death; one of Erebus’ loyal Reapers, but to find himself on the other side of the veil. Even then, had he truly been dead? Like… dead-dead? Or was he just stuck in the In-Between; trapped in some weird limbo of living and not. He tried to shake the thoughts away as they made his head spin and he was dizzy enough as it was.
“Let’s start with the ‘before’,” Damien sighed, drawing near to tree as he placed a shaky hand upon it, trying to steady himself.
Damn. She had really been hoping to skip over that option. She followed him to the tree, laying a gentle hand on his arm, ready to steady him more if the need arose.
“Truthfully Damien, you found me,” she began, her words fading as she tried to pick and choose the best way to tell this sordid story. “I had gotten into... well, let's just say a bit of trouble. You of all people know how good I always was at finding it.”
She forced a halfhearted chuckle.
“You saved me,” Arcana finally stated. “I had gotten in over my head and it was really a right-place-at-the-right-time sort of deal.”
Talk about a really brief version of the event that actually happened. But with any luck, he would just accept whatever she said at face value, without really questioning too much. He had been so pleased to see her; it had felt like her heart had swelled within her chest. She didn’t want to ruin this moment if she could help it.
Erebus constantly reminded Damien that their fates were, somehow, intertwined. It was that belief that led to him being so foolhardy as to try and “rescue” her from Cate’s clutches all those years ago. He had blamed her for his failures then; often thought he’d seek retribution when he saw her. But then he died… sort of; and his perspective changed. He listened intently to what Arcana said, clenching and unclenching his fist, as the powers of the Reaper flowed through his veins once more.
“Better late than never, I suppose,” Damien joked, making light of his overbearing “savior” complex with her. “Looks like you already returned the favor so, I guess that makes us even…?”
Damien’s eyes avoided hers as he looked into the forested foliage all around, seeing the hungry eyes of the pack still watching their every move. They would find no true privacy here, not until they were off these lands. Still, the werewolves made no sign of aggression towards them.
“I know I’ve only been gone a short while,” Damien spoke, looking up at the cloudy sky above, the sun fighting to shine through. “But it feels like I woke up in a strange new world. First off, never thought I’d see you and Tavora… sorry, Lycana… in the same room together and NOT trying to rip each other’s throats out. And that cast of characters of hers certainly didn’t fail to entertain. There’s just… so much I don’t understand, Kaiya. All I can remember before waking up in… wherever I was… was this blue light and this… woman, strange; exotic. I think she was there to help me…”
Damien looked back to his childhood friend, his eyes dark; lost.
“I don’t even remember dying,” Damien confessed. “How do I know who I can trust? Was it this mystery woman that killed me? Erebus? Cate? What if this was some weird ploy by Lycana to force me into servitude. Or what if…”
His words faded away as he looked at Arcana. He knew what she was capable of. Would she go so far as to kill him? And, if so, why would she bother bringing him back?
“I wish I had more answers for you,” Arcana gave his arm a light tug, seeing if he was willing to start their walk through the woods once more.
The eyes were making her uncomfortable, though she knew with her powers; they didn’t pose as much of a threat as they would to someone without. The sheer numbers of them though....
“I... owed... Lycana, I guess you could say. I got involved with something that got out of hand. There was an accident. She could have gotten killed. But she changed instead and....” she paused with her tirade of words, huffing out a small sigh. “She isn't my favorite person, but I feel... felt... guilty. The one thing I can say for sure is that it wasn’t her who killed you. From where you were, to where I had to track her down, the times just don’t match up.”
Damien leaned on Arcana more than he would’ve liked, but his body wasn’t quite recovered from being “mostly dead” for the past two weeks. At this rate, with him having to stop every few hundred yards, it’d be well after nightfall before they cleared the wilderness. And regardless if they were considered friend or, even worse, foe; you don’t want to be caught out in the open while in the Packlands at night. Not too far up ahead, Damien could start to make out the edge of the clearing, seeing what looked like an old dusty trail they could follow to, what he presumed, would be the main road.
“Something happened to me when I was… wherever I was,” Damien began, his hand brushing against Arcana’s shoulder. The mere touch of her flesh on his was enough to bring back a brief, yet intense, glimpse of the orphanage fire. “I met someone… something… I’m not entirely sure what to call her, other than her name was “Echo”, but she looked like…”
Damien stopped himself, not wanting to reopen old wounds for himself or Arcana.
“… someone from my past,” Damien glanced down, his hand clenching and unclenching as he struggled to regain control of the darkness within. “She restored my Reaper powers, gave me the strength to fight back against the Lich. Still, I couldn’t save her, at least… I think she’s dead; I’m not quite sure how it works.”
Damien shook his head, realizing he was talking in circles.
“The point is,” he stopped walking, looking into Arcana’s eyes. “With my Reaper powers restored, I should be able to feel… something, anything. I was there that night too, remember? I should be able to feel all that darkness – all that death – oozing off of you. So why don’t I? Am I broken?”
“Ahh...” Arcana faltered, trying to choose her next words carefully.
Very good Arcana, not obvious in the least…
“It’s a spell Damien. I spelled myself to be hidden, unable to be read by anyone who might be look... well, by ANYONE in general I suppose is the best way to put it,” she admitted, fishing around in the front of her shirt until she came up with a long, thin chain, pulling on it.
She lifted a small stone out from under her clothing, where it had nestled securely between her breasts. A small piece of black onyx, wrapped in golden wire was attached to the end. It dangled, catching the light in its shadowed depths.
“This takes anything negative and absorbs it, making it harder to find me,” Arcana moved to slide an arm around his waist, nudging him forward as a particularly close set of glowing eyes blinked out into the bushes. “So no, you aren't broken Damien. What exactly happened while you were... wherever you were?”
Strategic subject change for the win or, at least she hoped…
Damien felt a little bit better about the reasoning behind why she was immune to his sixth sense, but it also begged the question “what – or who – was she hiding from?”. His gaze drifted over the onyx enchantment, the magic stretching out its mystical tendrils, trying to envelope him within. He felt uneasy about it, like it was familiar to him – but how or why he couldn’t place it.
“She called it the 'In-Between',” Damien remembered, Echo’s face flashing in his memories; first the one of her smiling sweetly at him, then the dead-eyed stare of her mortal corpse after he had accidentally pushed her down the flight of stairs. “A plane of existence that serves primarily as the path to the afterlife; guess I wasn’t ready to die just yet.”
Damien tried to laugh it off, as if it was a joke, but his voice suddenly caught in his throat. A burning sensation started above his heart, causing him to run his hand over the brand that she had left him with all those years ago – the cursed six-pointed sun star encircled by three symmetrical barriers. As his fingers touched the scar, it seemed to glow and pulsate with a bright white light, one that coursed through every vein in his body. If he had doubted that he was truly back among the land of the living, this new and excruciating pain was enough to reassure him otherwise. He fell to his knees as he hunched over, wishing more than anything else that he could dig his nails into his flesh and rip the infection from his body, if only so that he may end this insufferable torment. Before Arcana could react, a figure revealed themselves in their path; her long charcoal dress flowing past her feet, her eyes shimmering in the dark as the moon began to rise behind her.
“Ah Damien,” her sultry voice rang in his ears as her eyes went from him to his companion, her eyebrow lifting slightly at the sight of the two reunited. “So good to see you again…”
“Rise and sleep, shiny-head!” Cerise’s jovial voice rang out as she pulled open the curtains, illuminating the room in a dusty haze. “Wait, did I say that, right?”
Damien groaned in response as he tried to roll away from the daylight, turning onto his bad shoulder and immediately stirred to life from the very painful keepsake from his match with Anya Coyle at Remembrance. Carter sat up, grimacing in agony as he tried to “work out” the injury done to his right arm, rotating it around in circles a few times while his left hand fell atop his clavicle. He did his best to massage the wounded cartilage around the area, if only so as to give him some relief from the swelling.
A hint of concern fell across Cerise’s face as her eyes scanned over his body. Damien always complained about his body burning hotter than usual, something about “the hellfire that lingered in his soul”. She didn’t quite know what that meant, only that he preferred to wear fewer clothes whenever possible. His bedtime routine consisted of him going to sleep with only a pair of shorts. At least he was considerate to wear those in front of her, not that she would’ve minded had he decided not to. She did find him somewhat attractive, in a twisted sort of way. The various scars that adorned his body were a constant reminder of the battles he had fought and won. If this was the result of him being “victorious”, she’d hate to see the other guy.
For Cerise, her outfits changed about as often as her mind. She liked wearing the fancy and bright colors, often mismatching on purpose so she could see the horrified reactions of others as she walked down the street. Who knew wearing a pair of purple leggings, with a bright red leather jacket, and a pink crop top was enough to send people’s heads spinning. It was almost too easy. As for now, she had just woken up herself not too long ago. Cerise had opted to let Damien sleep in as long as she could, knowing full well all of the sleepless nights he had endured as of late. She wore a pair of fuzzy ice blue pajamas with polar bears on them. For a top, she went with a simple sleeveless white-t that clung to her slender frame.
“I was having the sweetest dreams too…” Damien finally grumbled, heaving a sigh and tossing the sheets aside as he swung his legs over and had them dangle off the bed.
“Mhmm,” Cerise mocked, eyeing him up suspiciously. “So I heard…”
Damien scrunched up his face as he shot her a muddled look. Cerise straightened her body as she messed her hair up a bit, turning to look over at her tag team partner, striking a pose and pursing her lips together.
“Who am I?” Cerise asked, her voice falling into a sultry swirl.
“… I don’t get it,” Damien finally confessed.
Cerise furrowed her brow as she looked down at her own appearance.
“Oh, whoopsies…” Cerise announced, playfully smacking her own head. “How about… now?”
The sunlight was glaring, and Damien wasn’t fully awake. But he could’ve sworn that Cerise’s entire appearance altered to reflect one Kaiya “Arcana” Fox, down to the blood-red hair and leather boots. Carter shook off the visage as he forced himself from the bed, shaking his head.
“Not funny,” Damien callously answered, brushing past Cerise.
“Hey!” Cerise shot back, a tad wounded. “I wasn’t the one talking about HER in my sleep!”
Damien ignored her retort as he went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He looked at his reflection in the dirt-stained mirror, dark rings under his eyes from the sleepless nights that had followed since his return from the “In Between”. Every time he closed his eyes, he was haunted by the image of the Lich King, cackling at him, taunting him. All those souls that wandered aimlessly and without purpose, Damien had put them there; he had KILLED all of them. They had deserved it, right? Damien turned the shower on and watched as the grey, murky water sputtered from the faucet. Ah, the life of a Champion.
Damien finished his cold shower as he dried himself off before wrapping the towel around his waist. He opened the bathroom door to find Cerise sitting cross-legged on her bed, flipping through channels.
“I hope you didn’t use up all the hot water,” Cerise moaned, skipping over a few “breaking news” bulletins to find a replay of an old HWA wrestling event.
“You’re in luck,” Damien responded, flashing a half-smile. “The water heater doesn’t work.”
“Seriously!?” Cerise complained, throwing her hands up into the air and falling back onto the bed. “Why do we keep staying at these crappy hotels? You’re the Legacy Heavyweight Champion! Don’t you get some sort of… ya know… ‘winner’s purse’ or something?”
“I’m not the Legacy Champion anymore,” Damien answered, a bit somberly. “Remember? You and I got drafted over to Sin.”
“Oh believe me, I didn’t forget,” Cerise responded, rolling over onto her bed and opening the bed-side drawer.
Buried within were her “treasure trove” of cellphones, most of which still blinking with notifications like “where are you?”, “answer me!”, “did you lose your phone again?”, “hellooooo!?”, etc. Cerise let her fingers tap over each one – as if she were playing a game of “eenie meenie miney mo” – before she finally settled on a slick, black device with red hearts as a design. It seemed that she had fallen into old habits again as of late. Damien wasn’t one to judge, he had done worse in order to survive in this world.
“Who do those ‘Diamonds’ think they are anyway?” Cerise complained, hacking into the phone’s security device and activating it. “Taking Jin Min-Jun first overall? He’s not better than you. You’ve been that brand’s Champion for half-a-year now and they just cast you aside like trash?”
“What can I say,” Damien shrugged his shoulders, going over to his duffel bag of clothes and sorting through them, looking for an outfit to wear. “I’m an acquired taste.”
“Well at least you don’t have to worry about Maggie Lockheart…” Cerise pondered, pulling up directions to the arena in Boston, Massachusetts. “Not that you were worried about her, or anything.”
“I don’t know,” Damien answered truthfully, pulling out a shirt and sniffing at it, deciding that it fell in the “still good to wear category”. “Even though Maggie is officially apart of Legacy now, I believe she can still come after me and my title, if that’s what she ultimately decides that she wants.”
“Jin is the easier target,” Cerise declared, swiping out of the Maps app and pulling up the Revo1 app, her eyes scanning over the updated card for Sin. “I’d be shocked if she doesn’t pick him. Regardless, it doesn’t matter which brand you’re the Champion of, I have a feeling you’ll be holding that title until they pry it from your cold, dead, hands.”
The mention of “dead” made Damien wince a bit as he finished settling on the clothes for his trip. He placed them down on his bed as he looked over at the TV, recognizing the familiar faces of the new Legacy GM’s on it.
“Looks like your favorite people are on,” Damien announced, looking over at Cerise.
Cerise perked up as she turned around and looked at the screen, seeing what looked like a tag team match of Michael Diamond and Cassandra Starr against two other members from some sort of cross-promotional match-up.
“Ugh,” Cerise rolled her eyes, grabbing the remote and turning it off.
“What happened to ‘know thy enemy’?” Damien smirked.
“I already know ENOUGH,” Cerise responded, looking back at her phone. “Looks like we got Cara Strader and Chelsea Skye in Tag Team Action. That should be fun, right?”
“It’s been awhile since we’ve been on the same side, that’s for sure,” Damien answered, nodding his head. “I’m glad that whole ‘Left Hand’ business is behind us.”
“You and me both,” Cerise agreed, sitting up on her bed and looking over at Damien. “For the record, I didn’t take any pleasure…”
“You don’t have to say it,” Damien interrupted, his eyes darkening. “We both knew what we were getting into. This was the only way to stop something like them.”
An awkward silence fell over the two as Cerise anxiously gnawed at her lip while Damien stood stoically beside his bed, staring at his clothes, as if expecting them to magically come to life, latch onto his muscular body, and dress him on their own.
“You okay?” Cerise finally posed the question, standing up and taking a step towards him. “You seem more… ‘Khaos-ier’… than normal today.”
Damien lowered his head, not often privy to letting others see him as his lowest. The wear-and-tear of his “other” job was beginning to catch up to him. Wrestling was something he did for himself; something that he enjoyed. It was a way to show the world just who he was and what he was capable of. Granted, they only got a glimpse behind the curtain. If he tried to do anything but, there would be grave consequences – not just for him, but anyone associated with him. To the fans, he was just another “character” in a fictional story. He had to maintain that illusion, but it was getting harder to maintain that deception.
“I’m not healing as fast as I normally do,” Damien announced, flexing his wounded shoulder again. “I think… something’s wrong. I’m not the same person that I was when I came back…”
“Look at me,” Cerise commanded, stepping forward and placing her hand on his cheek, forcing his eyes to meet hers. “You are Damien ‘Khaos’ Carter. You are the one that single-handedly defeated the ‘Left Hand’ and saved Revo1 from their influence. Without you, this place wouldn’t even exist anymore. It’d be overrun by a bunch of deranged cultists and their weird goat-sex orgies. Without you, no one would’ve ever heard or cared about someone like Chelsey Skye. Not that anyone cares for her, anyway; but that’s not YOUR fault. Without you, people like the Tag Team Champions wouldn’t be able to stroll back in here whenever they damn well please and act like they run the show. It vexes me that they can just come and go, like a fart in the wind. When was the last time they even defended those titles, anyhow? Which reminds me; aren’t we due a title shot? I swear we beat them once before. Or was that Meghan Strader? I get them all confused; they’re all so boring and interchangeable after all…”
“I feel like we’ve veered off course here…” Damien began to interject.
“My point is…” Cerise fumed, gripping his chin. “Cowgirls from Hell are an oxymoron. We all know that ‘All Dogs Go To Heaven’ and that family is, clearly, made up of the biggest BISHES in this industry – tucking their tail between their legs and popping out of their mole hills only when they think it’s safe to do so. On Sin, let’s show those Canucks – and the rest of Revo1 – who the best tag team really is!”
Cerise gave Damien a little slap on the cheek for good measure as she sauntered over to the bathroom, whistling a tune as she closed the door behind her. As Damien began to change into his clothes, he paused momentarily, realizing that the melody of Cerise’s song seemed to sound familiar to him. As he tried to hold onto its harmony, the sound of running water drowned out the distant and forgotten memory.
Damien was aware of the many eyes upon them; most of which were of the mystical variety. He wondered if the stares belonged to those of Lycana’s pack or if it was just another tribe, grazing through. “Khaos” had encountered werewolves before and the fights were usually more trouble than they were worth. He hoped no conflict would come to them but, if it did, at least he had Arcana by his side…
He turned his attention to the fiery redhead, who remained stoic and silent as they trudged through the woods. This was not the first encounter he expected he would share with her after all these years. Then again, apparently it hadn’t been. There was a big chunk of time missing in his memories; his trip down the “Crucible-lane” rudely interrupted by the Lich King, Eadon. Part of him still felt like he was still back in the In-Between, the eyes of the dead all around him.
“Kaiya...?” Damien finally spoke up, drawing a deep breath as he dared to pause for a moment in the hostile territory. “How did you find me?”
Arcana nearly missed a step as his question registers in her mind. She falters a second, before regaining her stride. She shoots a look at the man by her side, not knowing how to answer him right away. The silence stretches for a few beats.
“Do you mean after you... died?” Arcana tripped over the words. “Or… before that?”
Perhaps that would buy her some time as she gathered her thoughts, on just how much to reveal to him.
Death, such a strange concept… he had been in the service of death; one of Erebus’ loyal Reapers, but to find himself on the other side of the veil. Even then, had he truly been dead? Like… dead-dead? Or was he just stuck in the In-Between; trapped in some weird limbo of living and not. He tried to shake the thoughts away as they made his head spin and he was dizzy enough as it was.
“Let’s start with the ‘before’,” Damien sighed, drawing near to tree as he placed a shaky hand upon it, trying to steady himself.
Damn. She had really been hoping to skip over that option. She followed him to the tree, laying a gentle hand on his arm, ready to steady him more if the need arose.
“Truthfully Damien, you found me,” she began, her words fading as she tried to pick and choose the best way to tell this sordid story. “I had gotten into... well, let's just say a bit of trouble. You of all people know how good I always was at finding it.”
She forced a halfhearted chuckle.
“You saved me,” Arcana finally stated. “I had gotten in over my head and it was really a right-place-at-the-right-time sort of deal.”
Talk about a really brief version of the event that actually happened. But with any luck, he would just accept whatever she said at face value, without really questioning too much. He had been so pleased to see her; it had felt like her heart had swelled within her chest. She didn’t want to ruin this moment if she could help it.
Erebus constantly reminded Damien that their fates were, somehow, intertwined. It was that belief that led to him being so foolhardy as to try and “rescue” her from Cate’s clutches all those years ago. He had blamed her for his failures then; often thought he’d seek retribution when he saw her. But then he died… sort of; and his perspective changed. He listened intently to what Arcana said, clenching and unclenching his fist, as the powers of the Reaper flowed through his veins once more.
“Better late than never, I suppose,” Damien joked, making light of his overbearing “savior” complex with her. “Looks like you already returned the favor so, I guess that makes us even…?”
Damien’s eyes avoided hers as he looked into the forested foliage all around, seeing the hungry eyes of the pack still watching their every move. They would find no true privacy here, not until they were off these lands. Still, the werewolves made no sign of aggression towards them.
“I know I’ve only been gone a short while,” Damien spoke, looking up at the cloudy sky above, the sun fighting to shine through. “But it feels like I woke up in a strange new world. First off, never thought I’d see you and Tavora… sorry, Lycana… in the same room together and NOT trying to rip each other’s throats out. And that cast of characters of hers certainly didn’t fail to entertain. There’s just… so much I don’t understand, Kaiya. All I can remember before waking up in… wherever I was… was this blue light and this… woman, strange; exotic. I think she was there to help me…”
Damien looked back to his childhood friend, his eyes dark; lost.
“I don’t even remember dying,” Damien confessed. “How do I know who I can trust? Was it this mystery woman that killed me? Erebus? Cate? What if this was some weird ploy by Lycana to force me into servitude. Or what if…”
His words faded away as he looked at Arcana. He knew what she was capable of. Would she go so far as to kill him? And, if so, why would she bother bringing him back?
“I wish I had more answers for you,” Arcana gave his arm a light tug, seeing if he was willing to start their walk through the woods once more.
The eyes were making her uncomfortable, though she knew with her powers; they didn’t pose as much of a threat as they would to someone without. The sheer numbers of them though....
“I... owed... Lycana, I guess you could say. I got involved with something that got out of hand. There was an accident. She could have gotten killed. But she changed instead and....” she paused with her tirade of words, huffing out a small sigh. “She isn't my favorite person, but I feel... felt... guilty. The one thing I can say for sure is that it wasn’t her who killed you. From where you were, to where I had to track her down, the times just don’t match up.”
Damien leaned on Arcana more than he would’ve liked, but his body wasn’t quite recovered from being “mostly dead” for the past two weeks. At this rate, with him having to stop every few hundred yards, it’d be well after nightfall before they cleared the wilderness. And regardless if they were considered friend or, even worse, foe; you don’t want to be caught out in the open while in the Packlands at night. Not too far up ahead, Damien could start to make out the edge of the clearing, seeing what looked like an old dusty trail they could follow to, what he presumed, would be the main road.
“Something happened to me when I was… wherever I was,” Damien began, his hand brushing against Arcana’s shoulder. The mere touch of her flesh on his was enough to bring back a brief, yet intense, glimpse of the orphanage fire. “I met someone… something… I’m not entirely sure what to call her, other than her name was “Echo”, but she looked like…”
Damien stopped himself, not wanting to reopen old wounds for himself or Arcana.
“… someone from my past,” Damien glanced down, his hand clenching and unclenching as he struggled to regain control of the darkness within. “She restored my Reaper powers, gave me the strength to fight back against the Lich. Still, I couldn’t save her, at least… I think she’s dead; I’m not quite sure how it works.”
Damien shook his head, realizing he was talking in circles.
“The point is,” he stopped walking, looking into Arcana’s eyes. “With my Reaper powers restored, I should be able to feel… something, anything. I was there that night too, remember? I should be able to feel all that darkness – all that death – oozing off of you. So why don’t I? Am I broken?”
“Ahh...” Arcana faltered, trying to choose her next words carefully.
Very good Arcana, not obvious in the least…
“It’s a spell Damien. I spelled myself to be hidden, unable to be read by anyone who might be look... well, by ANYONE in general I suppose is the best way to put it,” she admitted, fishing around in the front of her shirt until she came up with a long, thin chain, pulling on it.
She lifted a small stone out from under her clothing, where it had nestled securely between her breasts. A small piece of black onyx, wrapped in golden wire was attached to the end. It dangled, catching the light in its shadowed depths.
“This takes anything negative and absorbs it, making it harder to find me,” Arcana moved to slide an arm around his waist, nudging him forward as a particularly close set of glowing eyes blinked out into the bushes. “So no, you aren't broken Damien. What exactly happened while you were... wherever you were?”
Strategic subject change for the win or, at least she hoped…
Damien felt a little bit better about the reasoning behind why she was immune to his sixth sense, but it also begged the question “what – or who – was she hiding from?”. His gaze drifted over the onyx enchantment, the magic stretching out its mystical tendrils, trying to envelope him within. He felt uneasy about it, like it was familiar to him – but how or why he couldn’t place it.
“She called it the 'In-Between',” Damien remembered, Echo’s face flashing in his memories; first the one of her smiling sweetly at him, then the dead-eyed stare of her mortal corpse after he had accidentally pushed her down the flight of stairs. “A plane of existence that serves primarily as the path to the afterlife; guess I wasn’t ready to die just yet.”
Damien tried to laugh it off, as if it was a joke, but his voice suddenly caught in his throat. A burning sensation started above his heart, causing him to run his hand over the brand that she had left him with all those years ago – the cursed six-pointed sun star encircled by three symmetrical barriers. As his fingers touched the scar, it seemed to glow and pulsate with a bright white light, one that coursed through every vein in his body. If he had doubted that he was truly back among the land of the living, this new and excruciating pain was enough to reassure him otherwise. He fell to his knees as he hunched over, wishing more than anything else that he could dig his nails into his flesh and rip the infection from his body, if only so that he may end this insufferable torment. Before Arcana could react, a figure revealed themselves in their path; her long charcoal dress flowing past her feet, her eyes shimmering in the dark as the moon began to rise behind her.
“Ah Damien,” her sultry voice rang in his ears as her eyes went from him to his companion, her eyebrow lifting slightly at the sight of the two reunited. “So good to see you again…”
“Rise and sleep, shiny-head!” Cerise’s jovial voice rang out as she pulled open the curtains, illuminating the room in a dusty haze. “Wait, did I say that, right?”
Damien groaned in response as he tried to roll away from the daylight, turning onto his bad shoulder and immediately stirred to life from the very painful keepsake from his match with Anya Coyle at Remembrance. Carter sat up, grimacing in agony as he tried to “work out” the injury done to his right arm, rotating it around in circles a few times while his left hand fell atop his clavicle. He did his best to massage the wounded cartilage around the area, if only so as to give him some relief from the swelling.
A hint of concern fell across Cerise’s face as her eyes scanned over his body. Damien always complained about his body burning hotter than usual, something about “the hellfire that lingered in his soul”. She didn’t quite know what that meant, only that he preferred to wear fewer clothes whenever possible. His bedtime routine consisted of him going to sleep with only a pair of shorts. At least he was considerate to wear those in front of her, not that she would’ve minded had he decided not to. She did find him somewhat attractive, in a twisted sort of way. The various scars that adorned his body were a constant reminder of the battles he had fought and won. If this was the result of him being “victorious”, she’d hate to see the other guy.
For Cerise, her outfits changed about as often as her mind. She liked wearing the fancy and bright colors, often mismatching on purpose so she could see the horrified reactions of others as she walked down the street. Who knew wearing a pair of purple leggings, with a bright red leather jacket, and a pink crop top was enough to send people’s heads spinning. It was almost too easy. As for now, she had just woken up herself not too long ago. Cerise had opted to let Damien sleep in as long as she could, knowing full well all of the sleepless nights he had endured as of late. She wore a pair of fuzzy ice blue pajamas with polar bears on them. For a top, she went with a simple sleeveless white-t that clung to her slender frame.
“I was having the sweetest dreams too…” Damien finally grumbled, heaving a sigh and tossing the sheets aside as he swung his legs over and had them dangle off the bed.
“Mhmm,” Cerise mocked, eyeing him up suspiciously. “So I heard…”
Damien scrunched up his face as he shot her a muddled look. Cerise straightened her body as she messed her hair up a bit, turning to look over at her tag team partner, striking a pose and pursing her lips together.
“Who am I?” Cerise asked, her voice falling into a sultry swirl.
“… I don’t get it,” Damien finally confessed.
Cerise furrowed her brow as she looked down at her own appearance.
“Oh, whoopsies…” Cerise announced, playfully smacking her own head. “How about… now?”
The sunlight was glaring, and Damien wasn’t fully awake. But he could’ve sworn that Cerise’s entire appearance altered to reflect one Kaiya “Arcana” Fox, down to the blood-red hair and leather boots. Carter shook off the visage as he forced himself from the bed, shaking his head.
“Not funny,” Damien callously answered, brushing past Cerise.
“Hey!” Cerise shot back, a tad wounded. “I wasn’t the one talking about HER in my sleep!”
Damien ignored her retort as he went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He looked at his reflection in the dirt-stained mirror, dark rings under his eyes from the sleepless nights that had followed since his return from the “In Between”. Every time he closed his eyes, he was haunted by the image of the Lich King, cackling at him, taunting him. All those souls that wandered aimlessly and without purpose, Damien had put them there; he had KILLED all of them. They had deserved it, right? Damien turned the shower on and watched as the grey, murky water sputtered from the faucet. Ah, the life of a Champion.
Damien finished his cold shower as he dried himself off before wrapping the towel around his waist. He opened the bathroom door to find Cerise sitting cross-legged on her bed, flipping through channels.
“I hope you didn’t use up all the hot water,” Cerise moaned, skipping over a few “breaking news” bulletins to find a replay of an old HWA wrestling event.
“You’re in luck,” Damien responded, flashing a half-smile. “The water heater doesn’t work.”
“Seriously!?” Cerise complained, throwing her hands up into the air and falling back onto the bed. “Why do we keep staying at these crappy hotels? You’re the Legacy Heavyweight Champion! Don’t you get some sort of… ya know… ‘winner’s purse’ or something?”
“I’m not the Legacy Champion anymore,” Damien answered, a bit somberly. “Remember? You and I got drafted over to Sin.”
“Oh believe me, I didn’t forget,” Cerise responded, rolling over onto her bed and opening the bed-side drawer.
Buried within were her “treasure trove” of cellphones, most of which still blinking with notifications like “where are you?”, “answer me!”, “did you lose your phone again?”, “hellooooo!?”, etc. Cerise let her fingers tap over each one – as if she were playing a game of “eenie meenie miney mo” – before she finally settled on a slick, black device with red hearts as a design. It seemed that she had fallen into old habits again as of late. Damien wasn’t one to judge, he had done worse in order to survive in this world.
“Who do those ‘Diamonds’ think they are anyway?” Cerise complained, hacking into the phone’s security device and activating it. “Taking Jin Min-Jun first overall? He’s not better than you. You’ve been that brand’s Champion for half-a-year now and they just cast you aside like trash?”
“What can I say,” Damien shrugged his shoulders, going over to his duffel bag of clothes and sorting through them, looking for an outfit to wear. “I’m an acquired taste.”
“Well at least you don’t have to worry about Maggie Lockheart…” Cerise pondered, pulling up directions to the arena in Boston, Massachusetts. “Not that you were worried about her, or anything.”
“I don’t know,” Damien answered truthfully, pulling out a shirt and sniffing at it, deciding that it fell in the “still good to wear category”. “Even though Maggie is officially apart of Legacy now, I believe she can still come after me and my title, if that’s what she ultimately decides that she wants.”
“Jin is the easier target,” Cerise declared, swiping out of the Maps app and pulling up the Revo1 app, her eyes scanning over the updated card for Sin. “I’d be shocked if she doesn’t pick him. Regardless, it doesn’t matter which brand you’re the Champion of, I have a feeling you’ll be holding that title until they pry it from your cold, dead, hands.”
The mention of “dead” made Damien wince a bit as he finished settling on the clothes for his trip. He placed them down on his bed as he looked over at the TV, recognizing the familiar faces of the new Legacy GM’s on it.
“Looks like your favorite people are on,” Damien announced, looking over at Cerise.
Cerise perked up as she turned around and looked at the screen, seeing what looked like a tag team match of Michael Diamond and Cassandra Starr against two other members from some sort of cross-promotional match-up.
“Ugh,” Cerise rolled her eyes, grabbing the remote and turning it off.
“What happened to ‘know thy enemy’?” Damien smirked.
“I already know ENOUGH,” Cerise responded, looking back at her phone. “Looks like we got Cara Strader and Chelsea Skye in Tag Team Action. That should be fun, right?”
“It’s been awhile since we’ve been on the same side, that’s for sure,” Damien answered, nodding his head. “I’m glad that whole ‘Left Hand’ business is behind us.”
“You and me both,” Cerise agreed, sitting up on her bed and looking over at Damien. “For the record, I didn’t take any pleasure…”
“You don’t have to say it,” Damien interrupted, his eyes darkening. “We both knew what we were getting into. This was the only way to stop something like them.”
An awkward silence fell over the two as Cerise anxiously gnawed at her lip while Damien stood stoically beside his bed, staring at his clothes, as if expecting them to magically come to life, latch onto his muscular body, and dress him on their own.
“You okay?” Cerise finally posed the question, standing up and taking a step towards him. “You seem more… ‘Khaos-ier’… than normal today.”
Damien lowered his head, not often privy to letting others see him as his lowest. The wear-and-tear of his “other” job was beginning to catch up to him. Wrestling was something he did for himself; something that he enjoyed. It was a way to show the world just who he was and what he was capable of. Granted, they only got a glimpse behind the curtain. If he tried to do anything but, there would be grave consequences – not just for him, but anyone associated with him. To the fans, he was just another “character” in a fictional story. He had to maintain that illusion, but it was getting harder to maintain that deception.
“I’m not healing as fast as I normally do,” Damien announced, flexing his wounded shoulder again. “I think… something’s wrong. I’m not the same person that I was when I came back…”
“Look at me,” Cerise commanded, stepping forward and placing her hand on his cheek, forcing his eyes to meet hers. “You are Damien ‘Khaos’ Carter. You are the one that single-handedly defeated the ‘Left Hand’ and saved Revo1 from their influence. Without you, this place wouldn’t even exist anymore. It’d be overrun by a bunch of deranged cultists and their weird goat-sex orgies. Without you, no one would’ve ever heard or cared about someone like Chelsey Skye. Not that anyone cares for her, anyway; but that’s not YOUR fault. Without you, people like the Tag Team Champions wouldn’t be able to stroll back in here whenever they damn well please and act like they run the show. It vexes me that they can just come and go, like a fart in the wind. When was the last time they even defended those titles, anyhow? Which reminds me; aren’t we due a title shot? I swear we beat them once before. Or was that Meghan Strader? I get them all confused; they’re all so boring and interchangeable after all…”
“I feel like we’ve veered off course here…” Damien began to interject.
“My point is…” Cerise fumed, gripping his chin. “Cowgirls from Hell are an oxymoron. We all know that ‘All Dogs Go To Heaven’ and that family is, clearly, made up of the biggest BISHES in this industry – tucking their tail between their legs and popping out of their mole hills only when they think it’s safe to do so. On Sin, let’s show those Canucks – and the rest of Revo1 – who the best tag team really is!”
Cerise gave Damien a little slap on the cheek for good measure as she sauntered over to the bathroom, whistling a tune as she closed the door behind her. As Damien began to change into his clothes, he paused momentarily, realizing that the melody of Cerise’s song seemed to sound familiar to him. As he tried to hold onto its harmony, the sound of running water drowned out the distant and forgotten memory.
