Sometime after Lethal Lottery...

My wrists are strapped to the arms of a metal chair with minimal padding and oak arms. Leather bindings to be exact with most likely an iron clasp much like a lifters belt. My mouth is stuffed with a custom fitted mouth guard, so I don’t bite my own tongue. Sweat is beading down my face underneath the mask. My muscles tense, controlling my nerves so Father Slathe doesn’t see me as weak. I have been stripped of every bit of clothing but my boxer briefs and of course the mask surgically attached to my skull with my eyes covered by a blindfold.

The sound of footsteps, obviously Father’s. His wooden soles give him away every time on the cobblestone floor of the catacombs. Wait. Another set of feet looks like we will have company during this treatment. Having lost my third opportunity to bring the Hart Championship to The Truth’s hold. Father Slathe has not been taking my punishment for failing lightly. Many days of hard soul draining training, followed by chores, followed by punishment and to be repeated.

Today is my third or fourth day since this began, with minimal food and minimal sleep. Now I am in the punishment stage. Attached to what almost resembles an Electric Chair, except this device does not attach to your brain and fry you dead. No, no. Not that easy, Father Slathe likes the slow painful and excruciating torture to get what he wants. Can’t say I am not the same, only thing is when he wants, he can be too great. The man taught me everything I know about how to get any kind of man or being to speak.

This torture wasn’t about the will of the man and whether or not he will break. The torture I was about to endure would just serve the purpose of pleasing Father. Everyone has his or her needs, so I will forgive him. It is the ways of The Truth; Htaed would be displeased if a high spirit ignored the punishment phase. I brought shame and dishonor to our name, our beliefs, our family, and most importantly my Father. Whatever is to come, all I have already endured, and whatever the future holds I’m embracing with my head held high.

Inhaling slowly the footsteps of the mystery person begin to gain ground toward my chair. Maybe Gus? No those couldn’t be the steps of an almost four hundred pound dumb shit. He’d be stumbling all over the place. Now, this was someone new or at least someone I was never introduced to. A woman perhaps would be why it kind of smells like a prairie or a meadow. Father Slathe has been known to play tricks on the senses during treatment and torture sessions. Now I am thinking too much, just clear your head Tidbits clear it.

Just then while trying to eject the thoughts of what could be happening. Water or some sort of liquid, judging from the splash and how soaked my briefs are. I would say the liquid was at least a couple gallons. Quickly I sniff a couple times. No, my brain is playing tricks, it couldn’t be. Could it? Sniffing softly again confirmed that I was truly being punished soaking in gasoline. Father wouldn’t go as far as to end my soul’s journey in this body! Then it happened.

Waaaahhhtccccchhhhhh!

A leather switch cuts open my right bicep like a hot butter knife through country crock. The gash maybe a quarter inch wide but at least four to six inches long. The gasoline slowly works its way into my gash and I let out a terrifying grunt of rage and pain. As I roar and begin shaking attempting to break free, I hear Father Slathe’s laughter in the background. His laughter reminds me to focus and prove I can handle anything. Slamming my mouth closed my teeth start gritting from the pain. Any harder and they would explode into powder.

Waaaahhtcccccchhhhhh!

Waaaahhtcccccchhhhhh!

Waaaahhtcccccchhhhhh!

Waaaahhtcccccchhhhhh!

Waaaahhtcccccchhhhhh!

The mystery person most likely some new devilish lady of Father Slathe’s quickly and precisely whips a five-pointed star into my chest. This time when the gasoline enters my open wounds my fists quench down so hard my hand bones almost fracture all over. In the background, there is no laughter this time but a slight giggle from, yes it was a lady’s voice. I was correct. While being a little excited with my listening skills the mood is simultaneously killed.

Father Slathe: “Don’t giggle you worthless small tittied trailer park skank! This isn’t laughing matters; obviously the last whips weren’t of satisfactory. Mr. Tidbits didn’t even yelp a little. Dammit, do I need to show you how torture is done? What in the world are they teaching you kids at the academy these days? Again Ms. Nichols!”

Ms. Nichols: “Yes Father!”

Waaaaahhtcccccchhhhhh!

Waaaahhtcccccchhhhhh!

Waaaahhtcccccchhhhhh!

Waaaahhtcccccchhhhhh!

Waaaahhtcccccchhhhhh!

Gritting my teeth, squeezing my fists so tight my low trimmed nails begin digging into the flesh of my palms. My thumbs almost snapping the fingers they rest over in each of my clenched fists. My eyes closed, trying with all my might to block out the pain of the whip slicing through my torso. Flesh and blood most likely splattered about the catacomb walls beside and behind my tied down body.

Waaaahhtcccccchhhhhh!

Waaaahhtcccccchhhhhh!

The whiplashes so powerful my chair begins to slightly lift the front legs off of the ground. A couple tears form and begin sliding down my masked covered cheek from the pain. Ms. Nichols and Father Slathe would not know I was suffering though. Unclenching my fists I grab on to the arms of the chair and begin to laugh manically as if nothing could break me.

Waaaahhtcccccchhhhhh!

Waaaahhtcccccchhhhhh!

Waaaahhtcccccchhhhhh!

My hands tighten down on the arms of the chair absorbing the blows from the whip. Now my back numb from all the lashes, while my veins begin to press through my skin. Blood flowing like it has never flowed before. The adrenaline rush is more exciting than when cutting into the flesh of my victims, tearing them bit-by-bit. The pain was a bit of an irritation at first, now the lashes have become welcoming. Leaving the feeling of life stretched out across my back and chest leaking life force slowly from my wounds. Hell the gasoline in the open wound wasn’t burning like falling into a pit of army bulldog ants. Staring into the eyes of my Father, my creator, my mentor, and my hero. Slowly I begin to chuckle, knowing it would drive even more hatred into his heart. My punishment needed to be fueled by the fire of hate; I deserved the wrath of Htaed a thousand times over. Spitting the mouth guard from my mouth as I yell out to my Father.

Mr. Tidbits: “Father I must know how you plan to punish one who doesn’t feel punishment or any emotion at that? Especially with having a newly plucked cadet from the academy, really my failure stole that much faith? Father I only failed because of your faults, you’ve been too easy and motherly. Growing soft in your old age. If you had the spirit you had five years ago, you would have chosen to break my will and soul on your own. No, instead you bring in some pathetic girl, who has never even felt or endured a day of hardship or pain in her life!”

Somewhere in my speech, a part of myself took over I had not known existed. My hands grasp the arms of the chair with such strength the wooden arms begin to splinter and crack. Blood begins to seep through the lashes on my back chest, and bicep as my blood begins to pump even faster through my body. My bound legs begin to push every bit of energy I have stored from my feet up to my arms. Rising like a Phoenix from its ashes, all of my soul gives me the strength and power to rip the oak arms of the chair into splinters. Like a bomb exploded from the inside, splinters scatter about the room, causing a small distraction. Father Slathe covers his eyes from exposure to the splinters traveling at speeds to pierce the skin or eyeballs.

Quickly I take advantage rising from the chair, much like I will rise in XWF after my last failures. Sending my energy to my legs I press my ankles outward, snapping the leather straps locking me to the chair legs. Spinning around I charge the lady known as Ms. Nichols, a very bubbly and athletic looking woman. She is in nothing but a tight leather body suit, her face masked too. Stopping dead in my tracks something begins to course through my soul, a feeling. Not just any feeling, but an emotion, I had never even experienced when I was an innocent child. Quickly trying to break the obvious spell this beautiful witch must have cast upon me. I begin slapping my face left cheek, right cheek, left cheek, right cheek, just repeatedly, but to no avail, my legs won’t move. Almost as if the stone floor is alive and formed around my lower extremities, trapping me and holding me back from my attack.

Waaaahhtcccccchhhhhh!

Waaaahhtcccccchhhhhh!

Waaaahhtcccccchhhhhh!

Three more lashes this time to my face, ripping three strips of leather and flesh from my head. Blood of mine splatters on the wall beside me; my eyes grow wide from shock and pain. My heart beating as if it were a horse in the middle of a race. All of my muscles tense up as I let out a roaring grunt of distraught, maybe I was wrong to speak of the cadet with such disregard. My body suddenly grows weak, limp, and my eyes roll into the back of my head as I collapse to the stone floor.

End Scene.
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Fade in...

The camera pans around a small swamp like a marsh. Dead looking shrubs no foliage, same for the large oak trees, medium maples, and the smaller saplings. Everything dry and dehydrated, full of disease. Even the dirt path drained of nutrients more of an ashy sand. As if someone made the path with the manipulation of fire since the thorns along the edge perfectly healthy. Full of strong and sharp-edged looking prickles. Glistening from the moon like a freshly sharpened dagger and the forge flame. The camera follows the path until arriving at a marble stone archway that opened up to the dark and murky water of the swamp. Sludge bubbles varying in size boiling up from the shadows of the murky water pop and release an invisible gas that reeks of death and carnage. A rather large air bubble combusts at the surface sending sludge and muck splattering on the camera lens. Four fingers swipe across the lens a few times trying to clear the view for viewers.

Clap!

Clap!

Clap!

Clap!

Clap!

The cameraman begins to spin around in frustrated circles. Wondering where the sounds of someone clapping their hands as if applauding a performance. Apparently nervous and scared out of his wits, his heavy breathing begins to increase rapidly. While the camera stares out into a baron dead space of dying and rotting marshland a new sound comes from behind.

Thud! Tap, Tap!

Thud! Tap, Tap!

The cameraman spins back around to reveal Father Slathe looking bruised and battered. Stepping out from behind one of the pillars of the archway and onto the path. He is wearing a sickening grin and his usual attire. Priest's cloak and hat, his cuffs are very different. Instead of the usual crosses or something holy, his are golden skulls with cross axes. Instead Jesus on a cross, he wears a warrior on a shield. Well, not just any warrior but his beloved God Htaed, the most ruthless, darkest, and skilled warrior, period. Father Slathe walks past the archway and steps into the swamp about six inches below knee height. The cameraman stays back until Father Slathe waves him closer from above his right shoulder still looking the opposite direction out into the swamp. The cameraman hesitantly obliges with one shaking foot after the other, stopping right at the archway. Father Slathe chuckles knowing he is scared.

Father Slathe: “Don’t fret my child, no harm is to come to you. My claps well they were to applaud Ax3 for their display of violence and destruction at Warfare. I know they are feeling very proud of themselves pulling that quick one on myself. Congratulations gentleman, I hope you filled your bellies with gluttony and your cocks with lust! Soak it up, gloat, and celebrate my children because I will have vengeance. Many warnings I gave Mr. Tidbits about the likes of you. Did he listen? No, he didn’t. Instead, he played a role in your games at first and I allowed him. Look where that got him, resting down in the swamp of life and death. Thanks to your blind side four on one assault! Oh, let me correct myself before one of you hardcore boy band wannabe cock boys uses it as ammo for your arsenal. It was a four on two gang rape; I’ll admit Ax3 did the raping. Even though before I realized what the hell is going on thanks to that sexy sweet jezebel Jenny Myst. Mr. Tidbits was out of the game hence the reason why I firstly stated four on one.

Plus I am retired from the wrestling aspect of wrestling! Well unless Jenny Myst would like to have a little one on one exclusive dark match! Big Daddy Slathe could probably throw the old face paint on, lace up the boots, and tap back into my wicked darkness. No, no, no I can’t do that Chrissy Pooh might not like the outcome of that. No not even a tidbit of pleasure or happiness would come out of that for our new rebel meets rebel boy band Ax3. You boys really stirred the shit stew when you thought it would be a grand idea to fuck with The Truth!

Which brings up your reasoning? Why? Domination of the XWF, please you four and that piece of ass against the worlds greatest and most talented warriors? No, I know why Jim Caedus is worried, scared, and very afraid of The Truth. Isn’t it my child Caedus? You had your thugs waiting and ready to try and eliminate my pet! That is fine and dandy; I would have done the same. Knowing I would have to meet the monster who is Mister Tidbits again in a triple threat for your precious Television Title. Well, you see me and soon Mister Tidbits dabble in the arts of black magic. His body is submerged in that there swamp while it drains the life from sacrifices I deliver it heals my weapon in return.

See you four caused some serious damage to my pet. Come Savage he will be ready, healed and rested up one hundred percent. Possibly even stronger and angrier than before and without your butt buddies help Jimmy Boy, what are you going to do? Honestly I don’t care what tricks or plans you have, because there will be nothing you can do. Not only will my pet be furious from the attack, rejuvenated from the swamp, and ready to kill. While he has been no where to be seen basically since Lethal Lottery, a friend of mine Ms. Nichols and myself have been reprogramming his brain as well. So no more sympathy, no more room for human connection with his victims. Come Saturday when I release him from his chains inside the squared circle even if you had your brothers in arms, your reign as Television Champion is over.

Jimmy you once stood out to me, as a true warrior. One who was worthy of such royal treatment and to be blessed with battle week in and week out for the people of the XWF Universe, what happened? You believe a champion of warrior’s hides behind leeches and pawns? Well let me make it clear for you child, they don’t, come Saturday you will feel the pain inflicted from a true warrior. You will be face to face with two true warriors. Yes I’ve been scouting Danny Imperial since his debut here in the XWF and his spirit is vibrant with skill and heart. The man reflects the traits of a warrior unlike the likes of you Jimmy Boy and the men you’ve decided to surround yourself with. Nothing but a bunch of feeders who will drain you of your singular glory and bask in your sun. It’s already started when you dipshits decided to place your grubby mitts on a sacred and highly statured man like myself. Ax3 made themselves The Truth’s main enemy and faith has placed you Jimmy as the first to receive punishment for your sinful actions!

Hell we, don’t even care about the sheep or their precious Television Championship. I do want to see your glory stripped from your existence. I want to watch everything Jim Fucking Caedus sweat and bleed for peeled from his hands. Not your dead hands neither. I want you to watch as everything YOU earned and gave your soul for stolen. All thanks to those who have not earned or respect your allegiance. Do they care for the outcome of the Television Championship match? Doubt it they are already placed in a trios tag match. Against some nobodies at that where they are basically going to be handed gold. Congratulations Caedus, way to lower your standards. Even though the sheep aren’t worth my rotten and decaying old man farts, they deserve a true warrior to represent them every weekly. Not some coward who must have started doubting his own dominance to align with dead stars like Chris Chaos, Michael Graves, and Robert Main! You should have just continued climbing the ladder by yourself Jimmy. Maybe then The Truth wouldn’t be so devastating!

Oh and Danny my child if you are watching, please just stay clear of my pet. He just wants to punish those who decided to put hands on his father. You know how children are I am sure, if anyone were to place his hands on your father you’d rip them limb from limb. If it is the Television Title you seek well maybe we can work something out. Gold and championships mean hardly anything to myself, even though it would look pretty nifty around my waist. Maybe I will just use it for a week or two to pick up a different caliber of sweet juicy pussy. Oh who am I kidding, any kind of pussy is fine in my eyes. Where the hell was I, oh yeah Danny boy, please keep your ambitions to a minimum unless you want death to stare you in the eyes as well. Nothing against you my child, it really is just one of those wrong places wrong time kind of deals. The ring will be filled with hatred, rage, and carnage, just keep your head on a swivel. Stay clear from my pet and please next time you cut a promo refrain from being displeasing with your choice of words when it comes to The Truth. With things as tense as they are already going into Savage we really don’t need any more fuel for the inferno that is about to sweep the XWF!”

Father Slathe quickly spins around swinging his solid oak walking stick like a knight's blade toward the cameraman. The camera spirals out of control before landing on an angle aiming toward Father Slathe throwing the cameraman into the swamp as a sacrifice just before the swamp eats the camera forever...

End scene.