Post by Khaos on Nov 29, 2021 1:31:37 GMT -5
“The prodigal son has returned!” Erebus announced, opening his arms to embrace “Khaos”.
The sea of Reapers parted to make way for their leader as he approached Damien Carter, a Cheshire-like grin across his face. Nothing like proving the God of the Underworld true in his prognosis; no one leaves this world forever, at least… not willingly. Erebus flashed his pearly-white smirk at Damien, clutching his shoulders and giving him a shake.
“And just where have you been?” Erebus inquired, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
“It’s a… long story,” Damien tried to explain, noticing the rest of the disciples beginning to dismiss themselves.
By the looks of things, Damien had interrupted some sort of meeting. Most of the faces were new and unfamiliar but he did recognize a few, one of which was his protégé – the one he trained to, ultimately, replace him. “Nightingale” gave Damien a half-smile, nod, and disappeared with the rest as he turned his attention back to the Shadow Lord.
“So…” Erebus began, waiting until the room was empty and the two were alone. “What news from the In-Between…?”
“How did you…?” Damien began, shocked.
“You really must take better care of yourself, Damien,” Erebus mocked, clicking his teeth together. “I can ill afford to lose anyone, especially now.”
“What do you mean?” Damien asked, confused. “What’s happening?”
“You REALLY are out of the loop, aren’t you?” Erebus laughed, making his way over to the stone slab that represented his war table.
Much like everything else down here, the table was embedded with magical properties, the landscape changing with the wave of a hand as Erebus sifted through the various landmarks on Earth, before stopping on a patch of forested landscapes.
“The Werewolves clans have turned on one another. It’s been centuries since I’ve seen them this divided, whispers of Clytius’ rebirth has weakened Dionysus’ hold on the region. While we speak, the Everclaw and Irontail packs march on the Bloodcrest,” Erebus mused, his brow furrowing. “I’m sure your treacherous friend, Lycana, had nothing to do with that…”
“Lycana is many things,” Damien scoffed. “But even she isn’t crazy enough to wage open war among the packs.”
“Be that as it may,” Erebus shrugged his shoulders. “She’s stirred up quite the hornet’s nest. It’ll be a miracle if she emerges from this ordeal unscathed.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Damien interrogated, growing impatient.
“I see death hasn’t made you any less impatient,” Erebus groaned, half-smiling. “Forgive me for ‘boring you’ with the details of the common folks. You know, you used to be more invested in…”
“The bigger picture?” Damien interrupted, crossing his arms. “I’ve heard that song and dance long enough, don’t you think? ‘Everyone has their role to play’. ‘We’re all pawns to a part of a bigger, cosmic picture’. Tell me Erebus… was my dying part of the Nightshades’ visions? Because it seems like, to me, you lead me right into my untimely demise.”
“That was… not my intent,” Erebus admitted, somewhat mournful. “It is true that not EVERY path is set; that notEVERY future will see the light of day. I tried to deviate from it, thought I could…”
Erebus paused, turning and looking into Damien’s eyes. It was rare for any deity to admit their mistake, least of all the King of the Underworld. Damien’s features relaxed slightly, seeing the sorrow in his eyes.
“You were always destined to be so much more,” Erebus admitted, looking away in shame. “But when Hecate dug her claws into you, castrated you the way that she did, she stole something from you that day…”
“My soul…” Damien responded, believing that as the reason as why he could be so callous, so cold, so unforgiving.
“It goes beyond even that,” Erebus stated, waving his hand as the torches on the wall illuminated with black flame.
The walls of the Underworld were onyx in nature but, even still, they shimmered with light from the dark embers. Erebus led Damien down a corridor, down a path he had never – once – gone down before. As they walked, Damien noticed the walls shifting in form with various tendrils of blood and death.
“What is this place?” Damien asked, fear creeping into his voice.
“The Hallows,” Erebus stated matter-of-factly. “Few have ever ventured these halls, even fewer have returned. Don’t worry, you’re safe with me.”
“What a relief,” Damien responded sarcastically, his skin crawling at the sight of skeletal fingers reaching out from the caverns to ensnare him within their grasp.
After a while, Erebus led Damien to a golden anvil that rested atop a round dais, surrounded by what looked like a moat of holy water. A simple wooden plank appeared to be all that stood between the podium and the cave floor.
“Behold,” Erebus made a show of it, flourishing his arms towards the dais. “The ‘Golden Anvil of Hephaestus’.”
Damien knew the legend of Hephaestus as the blacksmith of the immortal deities, creating all their Godlike weapons – most of which were ancient and, now, lost to the past. In the early days, when Erebus had first formed the first ranks of the Reapers, he had united with Hephaestus to craft their armaments. Somehow, Hephaestus had managed to link these particular weapons to the Reapers very essence, essentially making it an extension of their very form. That’s why, when Damien focused hard enough, he could draw the onyx blades from the darkness within, as if they had been on his person the whole time.
“Why show this to me?” Damien asked, confused. “This is merely an heirloom; completely useless without Hephaestus or his hammer.”
“Do you know why Hephaestus was exiled?” Erebus rhetorically asked. “It’s not a tale often spoken of, even within our little inner circle…”
“He turned against you; all of you,” Damien declared brashly, believing he knew enough of the story. “He took pity on the humans, felt they deserved more than what the Gods were willing to give.”
“You’re half-right,” Erebus nodded. “His pity, as you call it, was actually jealously. He was envious of humans, resentful that they were able to live a mortal existence, where-as the rest of us were doomed to walk this Earth forever. I wouldn’t say he was suicidal per-say, but he definitely felt strongly that we should, at least, be given the choice. He created Godkillers – weapons that could, as the name suggests, kill a God.”
“Why have I never heard of this before?” Damien inquired, turning his full attention to his mentor.
“You really think that we would openly broadcast that such things even exist?” Erebus practically laughed. “Point is, whatever his true intentions were, the creation of these weapons provided many of my brothers and sisters the means and opportunity they were waiting for. When the dust finally settled, only about a dozen of us remained. Those of us that were left prioritized our own survival above all else, so we united together and vowed to have a neutral party dispose of the Godkiller weapons so that none of us could ever discover them.”
“Way to get my hopes up,” Damien groaned, wishing he could get his hands on one of these Godkiller weapons and get a few minutes alone with Hecate.
“No,” Erebus responded, turning to Damien. “I’m restoring your hope my friend.”
Erebus motioned to the golden anvil, indicating that Damien should proceed across the unstable platform and towards the ancient artifact. Suspiciously, Damien did as was instructed, placing one foot in front of the other, testing out the strength of the makeshift bridge beneath his weight. It creaked underneath his presence but, otherwise, made no indication that it wouldn’t hold up. He cast one last look back at Erebus before proceeding forward, stepping onto the marble dais, its colors shifting within the eternal embrace of the darkness below. As he drew closer, “Hephaestus’s Golden Anvil” glimmered brightly, almost blinding, enveloping Damien.
“Did you ever not wonder why Hecate feared you?” Erebus rhetorically asked. “Why I, myself, took such a vested interest in you? Why I risked everything to free you from her wretched clutches? I knew what you were, just as she did…”
Damien pressed onward, lifting his hand and placing it down upon the smooth surface, mystical energy beginning to swirl all around him.
“Not all weapons are made from iron and steel,” Erebus continued, shielding his eyes from the radiance. “Hephaestus knew what we were planning; he knew that in a single moment all of his work could be undone. So he made sure that a contingency was in place, one that would endure, forever…”
Damien felt himself get stronger as the markings on his wrist and heart absorbed the energy of the anvil, the individual brandings from the Charon and the Light Bringer acting as a type of conduit to the powers that were contained within Hephaestus’ creation.
“Hecate never wanted you dead, not truly,” Erebus explained. “She saw in you what you truly were, knew that killing you would only bring another to life which, in turn, meant a new threat would – eventually – present itself. No, she merely intended to cripple you, leave you powerless, remove any threat you might pose to her or any of the others. But as you and I both know, you are not so easily broken…”
From the anvil, the luminescence aura expanded outward, absorbed everything within the entire area in a warm and soothing array of white, silver, and gold.
“In humans, Hephaestus saw the future!” Erebus declared, having to shout over the sudden maelstrom of celestial energy. “As such, he created the Aether – warriors innately imbued with the power of doing what no other mere mortal ever could; kill a God! It’s time you rise to your full potential, Damien! It’s time you embrace what you’ve always meant to be! It’s time you become not just a Reaper once more, but a Godslayer!”
Damien Carter stood across the street from the Wings of Refuge Orphanage located in Green Bay, Wisconsin; his routinely night-time walk to clear his head resulting in his feet taking him to a new, yet familiar, place. A few lights adorned the strong brick building where children of all ages lay their heads; their “home away from home”. Damien had spent over seven years inside one of these institutions, his emancipation only coming when Kaiya Fox had burnt down the Silver Oaks Orphanage. He often wondered if the world would’ve been better off had the two of them perished in that fire, along with the rest of the residents…
As the Revo1 camera crew caught up to him and positioned themselves in place for his obligatory promo, Damien remained seating on the park bench, his focus elsewhere. He loathed this part of the job, especially as of late. The fans had, seemingly, turned on him – and for the likes of someone like Sara Pettis. Had he not given enough of himself during the endless battles with the Left Hand? Had he not proven to them, by now, just who he was and what he was capable of?
“Cyber Slam is but a few miles from here,” Damien finally spoke, his breath catching in the cold winter air and trailing off into the sky. “Where I’m supposed to main event against Jin Min-jun; the Legendary Champion – the man who was drafted #1 overall to Legacy, the brand I carried for over half-a-year. He carries the title that I made relevant, although it now appears to have gotten a rebrand since the draft. Whether Jin is a ‘Legend’ in this industry remains to be seen, seems rather premature to make that notion about anyone, honestly. For the majority of us, we’re all in our prime – at the top of our game. We’re going out there night-after-night, putting our bodies on the line, just so we can prove to ourselves just how ‘great’ we are. I have no doubt Jin is worthy of that championship belt, after all… I don’t willfully associate myself with those that are incompetent and undeserving. And yet, the powers that be deem it necessary that I put my Sin World Heavyweight title on the line against… Sara Pettis?”
Damien practically spat the name out as if mentioning her very existence was the equivalent of mistakenly drinking a vial of one of Cerise’s home-made alcoholic beverages. Note to self, never drink these unless you have the nearest paramedics on stand-by.
“I’ll get to her and that whole ‘situation’ later,” Damien groaned, rolling his eyes. “Instead, let’s focus on Jin. After all, we know what this match means to him, don’t we? He finally gets to go one-on-one with yours truly, and in a sixty-minute Iron Man match no less. Now I’ve been in multiple stipulations since my debut back in January but this is, actually, a first for me. I’m not worried about going to war with this man I consider a ‘friend” for over an hour. After all, we all know that I have the stamina for it.”
Damien gave a little wink to the camera, knowingly teasing Jin in the process.
“And though I’m sure this isn’t the type of physical encounter Jin was hoping for,” Damien practically laughed. “I know that he’ll ‘rise to the occasion’. Many of you like to point out that there’s this strange, albeit sexual, tension between the two of us. And though I’m sure Min-jun’s flirtatious nature does nothing to muffle these rumblings, it shows to reason just how misguided you all are. We live in an era where nothing is ever enough; people are always wanting more, it doesn’t matter how much they have already. Is it not enough that we put our lives on the line every time we step into that ring, you need to know what we do in our personal lives too?”
Damien grew serious, turning towards the camera now, his eyes dark, haunting. If people knew just what it was that he did during his “off-time”, they’d run screaming for the hills. There was always some new and dangerous threat out there, waiting for its moment to strike, the dark and the arcane coiled and poised to lash out – like a venomous snake. And it was Damien – it was the Reaper – that was there every single time to cut its head off and send it back to the Underworld, where it belonged.
“You people bitch and complain that the last time Jin and I faced off, it wasn’t ‘real’ enough for you,” Damien gritted his teeth. “It’s because we controlled the narrative, we set the stage, we lured you all in under false pretenses, and we showed you just how much actual power we have in this federation. Not even the General Managers of Sin or Legacy knew what the four of us were up to, which begs the honest question… who is it that actually runs Revolution1? Because if you ask me, it’s Death Row…”
Damien cracked his neck as he turned back towards the orphanage. Like him, Jin had a soft spot for children that were forced to grow up on the streets or who were less fortunate than others. Unlike these other jackals that craved “more”, these kids were simply left with the cold, harsh reality that “this is all there is”.
“Don't worry, Jin and I will put on a show,” Damien declared. “This time, we won’t pull any punches. You people want sixty-minutes of complete unadulterated violence? That’s exactly what you’ll get. But at the end of it, regardless of who wins or loses, we’ll stand in that ring… the top two Champions of our brands, united… against people like you…”
Damien turned back to the camera now, staring through it – his intended victim clearly his opponent at Christmas Chaos.
“Sara Pettis,” Damien, again, snarled her name. “You are the thorn in my side that just won’t go away. You had your shot to make a name for yourself at Remembrance but despite your strong performance you still came up just a bit short, didn’t you? Sure, you had the most eliminations in that match – but is that really the consolation prize that you want to hang your hat on? In my opinion, Cerise deserved to win that match, more than Maggie Lockheart, and most certainly more than you. In the end, Lockheart walked away with the victory and she gets exactly what she wanted, the main event with Jin Min-jun at Christmas Chaos. But you know what I wanted, Sara? An actual challenge. I put you on a pedestal, built you up, wanted to light a fire in you and see just what version of you that bubbled to the surface. But do you know what I’ve seen since Remembrance? Absolutely nothing. The fact that Kylie Moore and Cecilia Ortiz seem to think that you deserve this shot at me more than ANYONE else on this roster just proves how far Sin has, truly, fallen. Give me Arden Taylor. Give me Chelsea Skye. Give me Toni Beasley. Hell, give me Brandon Hendrix. ALL of these people have shown me more in the past few months than you. In fact, do the math Sara… ALL of them tallied higher marks on the Race to Gold scorecard than you. You are undeserving of this opportunity. I would rather face ANYONE besides you. In fact, seeing as how you are running the Gauntlet this week, I think we make it a bit more… interesting. For any of you who’ve dreamed of a chance at the World Championship, this is YOUR opportunity. Run the Gauntlet, take OUT Sara Pettis, and her title shot is yours. They say this match is ‘Sara Pettis against the World’, well… let’s see just how true that statement is.”
A twisted smile appeared across Damien’s lips as his eyes flickered with darkness, the camera feed cutting out shortly after.
