Post by Khaos on Dec 13, 2021 21:43:25 GMT -5
The north winds swirled around Damien Carter as he sat on the park bench, his body frozen like a statue, his eyes fixated on the dark skies above. His adventures over the last year had brought him to this moment, standing on the precipice, caught between a world that teetered on the brink of war and another that, for some reason, called to the few shreds of his soul that was intact…
He had pulled Cerise from that place, the “Forsaken”. It was an accident, or at least that’s what he told himself. But even now, the will and desire of the Gods were shrouded in darkness. Why would Erebus restore his supernatural powers, only to release him – like a caged animal, back into the wild? Things were different this time; HE was different this time. He could feel the obsidian blades crawling under his skin, begging to be unleashed – but they didn’t just yearn for the souls of the wicked, they wanted blood – God’s blood. Is that why Erebus was sending him away? Did he think that Damien couldn’t control himself? That, like some wild beast, he’d suddenly turn on his master? Though he had very little love lost for these immortals, Erebus was the God he hated the least. Still, when the time came, would that really be enough for him to stay his hand?
“You could’ve picked a warmer place to meet up,” the red-headed female groaned as she wrapped the cloak tighter to her body, taking a seat next to him.
Damien wasn’t completely immune to the elements, could feel the chill on his bones, but when you’ve experienced the coldness of death – nothing can ever compare.
“It’s quiet here,” Damien simply responded, keeping his eyes engrossed on the stars that twinkled above. “I don’t feel that urge…”
Damien stopped himself, turning his gaze down to his wrists. Like a snake within his veins, the daggers yearned to cut through his flesh and claim their next victim.
“You went back to Erebus,” Arcana observed, unable to mask the disappointment in her voice.
“We are indebted to them, are we not?” Damien rhetorically asked, a mournful smile creeping across the edges of his lips.
“I thought you were done with that life,” Arcana scolded, her blood beginning to boil to the surface, tendrils of heat rising from her skin.
“You’re one to talk,” Damien retorted, his eyes now flashing over her. “Even now… even after EVERYTHING she is done… you still stand by HER side.”
Arcana swallowed her words, any talk of Hecate sure to simply lead to further argument. She tried to turn from him, look anywhere that was in his general direction, but his fingers found their way through her cloak and to her chest. She half-expected him to strangle her here and now; a quiet place in the middle of nowhere, with no witnesses, just her and the Reaper, one last time. But her throat wasn’t the intended target; instead… he fished the onyx stone from around her neck, holding it delicately in his hands. She looked down at the enchanted crystal, which served as a conduit for the dark, the negative, the sinful.
“If you had the power to challenge them, would you?” Damien asked callously.
“You know that’s a losing battle…” Arcana attempted to reason.
“That’s not what I asked,” Damien sighed, closing his fingers around her pendant and pulling Arcana close to him.
The tension between them was intense; it had been for years; ever since their forced departure following the orphanage fire. In simpler times, the two were best friends – would-be kin – could-be lovers, whatever the future held for them, it was limitless. His mistake was rushing to her rescue when she didn’t want, nor need, saving. He had been just another example of the foolhardiness of “love” and why it was nothing more than a weakness to those within her inner-circle. Damien served his purpose as a constant reminder to Hecate’s acolytes why you can ill-afford to let your emotions get the better of you.
Arcana’s breath caught in her throat as she looked into his eyes, the darkness swirling to the surface. Though fate – as twisted as it was – had brought them back together, she knew from the beginning that he wasn’t the same man that she remembered. His return from the In-Between had done nothing but further her belief that the two were like oil and water, fire and ice, love and magic – they just didn’t mix.
As Damien squeezed the stone into his palm the echoes of her sins passed through him, played before his very eyes like a silent movie. In a flash, the images were gone, but he had seen enough. She, like him, had her own demons to contend with; but where-as he fought valiantly to keep his at bay, Hecate encouraged Arcana to embrace hers. It was because of this that she had even come back into his life at all. She indulged in the darkness within and, like a beacon, it summoned him to her. Just like “old times”, Arcana got in over her head – but there Damien was, bailing her out, like he always had.
Damien’s features relaxed as he let the crystal slip from his fingers and retreat back to its safety between her bosoms. Arcana let her fingers dance across its edges as her eyes flickered down, noticing the color shade had changed from onyx to carmine. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she glanced over at Damien, seeing him standing before her.
“Forces beyond our comprehension move against you… against Lycana… against Hecate…” Damien announced, summoning forth a blade of stygian iron from the darkness.
Damien presented Arcana with the blade, which resembled the shade of nightfall, yet twisted into a shade of midnight Byzantium under the moonlight.
“Someone has unearthed Hephaestus’ cache of weapons,” Damien declared, crossing his arms. “War is coming. To the wolves… to Hecate… to all of THEM.”
“I don’t understand,” Arcana questioned, looking at him. “How do you know this?”
“The Nightshades have seen as much,” Damien responded, narrowing his eyes.
“Why are you telling me this?” Arcana asked, unsure of what she was supposed to do with this information.
“I’ve absolved you of your sins, Kaiya,” Damien faintly smiled. “Do as you wish; you don’t owe anyone anything – least of all me. You have a chance to start over, to be free. That’s all I ever wanted for you, I’m just sorry I couldn’t give it to you sooner.”
Arcana placed the sword aside as she rose to her feet, her hand finding its way to his cheek.
“Damien… I…” Arcana exhaled, her words freezing in her throat.
“Take care of yourself Kaiya,” Damien declared glumly, pulling her hand from his cheek.
Before she could respond, the northern winds roared around them, kicking up snow and temporarily blinding her. The darkness swallowed him from her view, carrying him away with the breeze, leaving Arcana standing alone.
Damien Carter sat alone in the rotunda of a major shopping mall, bodies of all sizes and shapes bumping their way to their desired destinations, each one looking for that last minute bargain burner that would make THIS Christmas the best one yet. Damien eyed each of them with malcontent, disgusted with how they crawled over one another like cockroaches. Christmas had always been a somber holiday for him ever since he lost two sets of families within the course of a few years. That feeling of loneliness, of longing, was something no expensive gift could ever replace.
“It must be a Christmas miracle,” Damien sighed, feeling the Revo1 cameras on him. “Jason Ryan… in the main event.”
Damien rolled his eyes as some bratty kid pulled his parent into the nearest toy store, yelling all about the “I wants”.
“That child reminds me of you, Jason,” Damien scolded. “You live in this fantasy world where you believe everything is about you – that you, alone, are the measuring stick for what success looks like in Revo1. But the ONLY thing you’ve managed to accomplish in this company was a very short-lived International Championship run. Since then, you’ve floundered around – finding anyone and everyone to blame for your failures when, in reality, you needed to be taking a big, long, look in the mirror. You want to be a success, a ‘star’, but you go about it all wrong. This is not some E! True Hollywood Story and I am not some evil villain that you thwart as the credits begin to roll, this is wrestling – this is fighting – this is actual real-life competition. You make one false move in that ring and I’ll break your arm; don’t believe me – then give Anya Coyle a call.”
Damien begins walking as he passes by various outlet stores, before finally falling upon a “Build-A-Bear” factory that has a special wall just for the “Revo-mals”. On display on the shelf are the half-a-dozen that have been in creation; the best-selling Jin-a-phant flanked by his stablemates, the Khaos Cuddler on his left and the Jessie-Roo on his right. On the bottom shelf, where mostly dust is collected, are the Cutie Kylie and multiple variations designed for Amelia Hearts, the Twisted Queen and Rock Goddess bears. In bright bold letters with a splash of various colors is a sign that reads “Coming Soon – the Frisky Feline, as inspired by the “Psychotic Paradox” herself, Cerise!
“You know what makes someone in this business, Jason?” Damien flaunted, smirking. “It’s not about wins and losses, it’s not about money, and it’s – surprisingly – not even about Championships. It’s about how you, yourself, connect to the audience. These people saw me put myself through hell week-after-week in my intense battles with the Left Hand. The rest of you just stayed in your corners, cowered in fear, while I met them head-on. These ‘fans’ of ours saw me for who I was – a warrior who didn’t know how or when to quit. As a result of my actions, I was rewarded with their admiration, their respect, hell – they even wanted a fucking stuffed animal of my likeness. I was a ‘hero’ in their eyes and you know what happened next, Jason? I did something that THEY didn’t like and, just like that, I was the ‘bad guy’. Now I know this is hard for you to comprehend because you don’t even have any fans and NO ONE likes you but that kind of betrayal, that’s not something you easily get over. So while I’ve come to terms with their decision, I’ve also come to terms that I can only true to myself. So Canada; cheer me, boo me, love me, hate me… it won’t make any difference. I’m going to walk into Tuesday Night Sin and do what I always do – beat my opponent within an inch of his life and then send him on his merry way to hell via the Cataclysm… whether you like it or not!”
Damien turns towards the camera, his eyes and thoughts now fixated on his opponent for Christmas Chaos.
“As for you, Miss Pettis,” Damien growled. “Congratulations on ‘surviving’ your gauntlet match, though it was probably more like a handicap match since your first three opponents lasted about as long as Jason Ryan does in between the sheets. And though I’d much rather be facing the likes of Chelsea Skye or Cerise, I guess I’m stuck with you. Seeing as how the Cyber Slam poll results were a ‘tie’, I’m curious to hear what your decision will be. Not that it matters of course; bring on the craziest stipulation you can think of, rely upon your most trusted ally as your special guest referee – the end result of our conflict will be just your match at Remembrance, with you coming up just a bit short.”
