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JimCaedus · (12-07-2017)

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(Revisits events from Robert Main's promos "Parts Unknown" & "Temple of Doom")

APEX REHASH: Leading up to Warfare we witnessed an epic struggle as Robert Main (flanked by his Apex brother Jim Caedus and a mysterious masked friend now revealed as 3rd member Drew Archyle) sought to free himself from the evil that had dominated his dark past, a menace second only to the Prince of Darkness Himself (and you know damn well who that is). Ultimately The Apex emerged victorious and Main won his freedom through defiance in the face of certain death...but before they set eyes upon deities of good and evil locked in an ongoing game of chess, before they had their bones broken, before even setting foot in the temple leading to Robert Main's redemption, while making their way through the woods the trio had become separated when Jim set off in search of a "singing girl"...

"Questions & Answers"

(ambience and illustration)

That...that voice...I...I can't help but pursue, venturing further into the woods, abandoning the relative safety in numbers alongside my Apex brother Robert Main and his psychotic masked limo driver.

I feel...faded, for lack of a better term, but it's true. Fully at ease, submitting completely to the hauntingly hypnotic singing despite the urging in the back of my mind pushing an extremely diluted sense of dread.

I ignore it, however, because it doesn't matter. Nothing does. Nothing else matters when compared to finding the source of that singing.

I love her. Whomever she may be. I lov-

The singing ceases, the voice of the enchantress and her melodious tones lost to the night...and it's then that I notice the forest has fallen absolutely silent.

ST P

G CK

-is the indecipherable message springing forth before my mind's eye, partially delivered by the psychic force that has been leading me around the world for months to collect mysterious items. A partially delivered message...and therefore, I find, an easily dismissed command. I'm not even experiencing the inevitable incapacitating migraine that has always accompanied my every act of defiance.

I press on, the crunching of dead, fallen needles and forest floor detritus beneath my boots resounding in the still, stark absence of anything else auditory. Weird that I don't find that alarming.

My eyes are drawn to a sudden glow in the distance, radiating outward from behind a patch of closely-set Taiwan hemlock conifers but as suddenly as it appears, it dissipates.

I feel as if...as if a fog is lifting in my head, the induced stupor of that mysterious singing now seemingly wearing o-

You're here.

My heart leaps and I nearly, quite literally, shit my pants before becoming aware that the glow I'd seen moments ago is now enveloping me...and all at once...fear is no longer a concern.

This feeling...this feeling is multiple times more pleasurable than any high I'd ever experienced; it's overpowering even the alcohol, sobering me up with its counteractive effect.

Pure...unadulterated...ecstasy.

You finally came...

R N

R N?

...my champion.

R-

Her voice silences that of the psychic force before my mind's eye, flooding my midsection with butterflies, my heart and head overflowing with the life-or-death priority essence of adolescent love.

My eyes comfortably rest to half awake, my jaw relaxing and dropping slightly. I sense a faint smile tugging at the corners of both mouth and peepers as I turn...

No fucking way! Impussyble!

...and I swear to fucking God, actress Alexandra Daddario is standing naked before me. She giggles, jiggles and vanishes.

No. NO! COME BACK!

I turn.

The glow has reappeared, now back behind the bunch of hemlock trunks where I'd first seen it. I make haste in its direction...

My reason for living is to see her again.

I count myself the most fortunate man on earth over the fact the glow remains while I scurry over, tripping over something or other and tumbling to my face twice along the way. And then...

...I'm there, slowing to catch my breath as I round the grove, relishing each visible sliver-peek of the nude glowing goddess between trunks while I do it.

My love...

INcredible... She's perfect...

Nude Alexandra Daddario smiles seductively, reaching out to me. I step towards her despite the faint sensation of something resisting my forward motion. It absently reminds me of the sluggishness one suffers during a nightmare chase.

I've been watching you on TV, Jimmy- she purrs. She palms her breasts, squeezing them excitedly before pinching and pulling at her hard nipples. I need to fuck you...fuck you so bad she gasps!

I can't help the immediate reaction in my baggy navy blue Dickies pants...and I don't mean the boner, that BEEN happened. I'm talking the unlikely über stiffening from granite to lonsdalite. That's harder than diamond, folks.

She gestures more energetically this time, as if she'll legit explode upon another second passing without this dick in one of her holy orifices.

Get me, Jimmy.

I'm trying goddammit, what the- What the fuck is holding me back?

I'm not sure whether it's my fully becoming aware of the invisible obstacles preventing me from anything more than mucking through molasses or the sudden realization that Alexandra Daddario is naked, here, and GLOWING for fucksake, begging me to nail her...but-

"Wait...wait a second. This...this _can't_ be right."

Baby it's so right... Come to me. Hurry.

"You can't...you can't _possibly_ be Alexan-"

Before I can finish the statement, I notice it isn't Alexandra Daddario at all. In fact, she doesn't look anything like the actress but she's still so unbelievably stunning...I can't remove my eyes from her bewitching gaze. I'm in love...

What an idiot I've been.

"I'm so sorry baby, I thought for a second-"

It doesn't matter. Take me, Jim Caedus. Fuck me like I've never been fucked before.

Again...something strikes me as off. It's not as if this isn't to be believed; I've run through more than a few groupies since winning the Uni Title that put this chick to shame in context with aggression. No, it's not that. It's... It's just... I can't put my finger on it.

Stop being a pussy and fuck that bitch.

"Yeah but bro, something ain't-"

The only thing that isn't right is you acting like a total

not fucking a bitch begging for that cock, Jim Caedus.

I feel the burn of embarrassment flush across my face.

Oh is that right?

I power forward stubbornly against the invisible inundation, reaching down to unzip my pants and release my painfully contained massive erection.

Show you who the fuck I am.

My glowing goddess leans back against the tree trunks, pushing her hips forward, spreading her legs and exposing her clean shaven womanhood as she returns her wandering hands to her breasts.

The moment I'm close enough to playfully rub and club at her before sliding in, I can feel it. A much stronger, much more oppressive feeling of being faded, as if I'm on the verge of passing out. I remain awake easily however, especially when the silky slick, slippery warmth of this perfect representation of femininity surrounds me on the thrust. In fact, I forget the feeling altogether...

She gasps in pleasure and I grip beneath her thighs, lifting her with ease as I begin rhythmically. She wraps her arms around me...both sets of limbs feel...slightly odd. Bristly?

But who cares...this is heaven...

...no... No, something is wrong. I notice as I attempt to speed up that I lack the energy to do so.

Oh well, slow and sexy it is for-

Now wait a minute. When the fuck have I EVER been without the energy for this?

I stop.

She begins slamming herself against me.

Don't stop, Jimmy. Oh that dick! That dick feels so fucking good!

ST P

I pull out and shove against her, breaking free of her surprisingly strong grip.

What are you doing dumbass!?

Baby don't leave me like this!

She begins waving her knees, rubbing at her swollen lady parts erotically. Her scent overtakes me. I can't...I can't...resist...

ST P J M

I halt in my tracks.

What the fuck do you think you're doing you bearded bitch? Get that lumbersexual log back over there and finish her off. Creampie that fucking whore. Now.

"Yeah but _bro_, I-"

Wait... "Bro"? The fuck??

I twist against a tangle of translucent "fuck your moving" to peer behind me...

...and my eyes immediately widen in shocked recognition.

"YOU!"

The being we'd assumed to be the Devil sighs quietly, visibly wilting momentarily.

"You- you...you motherFUCKER! What the FUCK is goin' on around he-"

Casually, as I barrel toward ending that question with "here", I turn angrily back to my dubious glowing goddess-

-to see an elephantine black widow hanging her assuredly half ton frame from a messy tangle of thick webbing (webbing I suddenly find myself stuck amidst) in her place, the crimson hourglass faintly glowing ever so much like a light source doused in blood.

My vision flashes to blind ebony, my heart feels as if it's burst behind my ribs, an ironic roar deafening me to any sound other than the onset of oblivion as terror reaches up to drag me into unconsciousness.

It's the scratch of the cactus-like spines ringing her two shiny black exoskeletal front legs at ordered intervals that snap me back to my inexplicably horrific situation as she saunters slightly forward, reaching for me.

I open my mouth to shout, scream, anything...but I can't seem to find my voice.

You stupid bastard...how dare you defy my will, the will of Abaddon? How dare you tease my sweet succubus, my...wicked widow? This could've been easy. Well, have it your way "King James". You won't penetrate her, she'll gladly penetrate you! ...And if you won't GIVE ME your soul, I'll TAKE IT and move on to collect what I'm owed...the soul of your "brother" Robert Main!

My eyes lock onto the widow's chelicerae, barely visible in the moonlight, as they begin working up and down independently, no doubt anticipating sinking her hidden fangs into my chest. I pull against the gooey strands of webbing holding me in place as I try to reverse further away from her.

To no avail. Blindly advancing earlier has effectively ensnared me.

The webbing trembles violently as the widow pulls herself over, upside down, chelicerae now parting to allow her giant glistening fangs to unfold halfway and catch the cast illumination from the red glow of her bulbous abdomen's hourglass. I can see the largest of her eyes, glass smooth and impossibly blacker than the rest of her, reflect the light from the moon through the canopy above.

An unsettingly familiar smell fills my nostrils. Being a Boy Scout in my youth, the scent of the arachnid (among many lifeforms that I'd come in close contact with probably hundreds of times via collecting and research in context with earning badges) is a scent I know well, only now it's a hundred times more horrifyingly pungent. Worse, the smell does me the disservice of understanding this colossal spider is very real. This is no illusion. This is really happening.

I'm gonna die. I'm...I'm actually gonna die.

I've heard of those who make peace and accept death. Well I accept that I'm about to die...but in no way do I feel peaceful about it.

Bring me his soul and shotgun it to me like a fat rip when you've finished with his body, lover, I've more important matters to attend to.

Abaddon vanishes, undoubtedly heading for Main and the masked man, as the widow gently positions her half-as-thick-as-my-own-torso four forward set of legs into the webbing on either side of me and pushes in for a kiss, her fangs spread with enough separation between them I can imagine her swallowing me whole, if, arachnids were not naturally compelled to chew their more manageably sized prey (like me) into a devastated meatball mass of juicy parts and entrails.

A primal wave of self-preservation hits me, propelling my arms outward at an angle to catch each fang in hand. Hilariously, the widow's mandible pressure is immense and despite my own mammoth musculature, she crushes my arms back inward at an awkward angle. I squint my eyes and open my mouth to scream but nothing escapes my lips.

The gold nugget (mystery item #5) on the chain that I'd collected in Carcross, Yukon and have been wearing obsessively since before Leap of Faith, begins to heat up. A surge of strength pulses through my veins and my eyes open wide. I grind my teeth...

...as if I have twice my own power, I force her fangs back outward. I feel her struggle. She does a damn fine job of fighting back, reversing my efforts halfway.

~A flash of the rafter match, crazily launching Scully into the air with a Wrexus Plexus~

~Roaring at Chaos before booting him free of the briefcase~

~Getting speared into the Lake of Fire...and returning~

I roar, pull and extend my arms with all my might, forcing the widow's fangs back beyond their ability and snap them out of place.

"If Spiders Could Scream", a poem by Jim Caedus.

I maintain my grip on each fang as she tries to pull back...then her spinnerets quiver into action, launching a strangely beautiful "stream" of liquid webbing, extra sticky Gorilla Glue type shit.

My upper half being blanketed at an alarming rate, I panic and force her head upward which in turn forces the rest of her to follow suit, webbing now cascading harmlesly over my head.

Speaking of heads, my next inclination is to headbutt the widow and I see stars momentarily, knocked before my eyes by pound-for-pound surprisingly tough exoskeletal armor. When my vision clears, the web waterfall has ceased and the widow hangs motionless before me, the shockwave from my headbutt having run through her form, "knocking her out cold".

KILL IT

Clearly no longer hindered by supernatural providence, the psychic force orders...and I obey.

I slide my trusty 6 inch hunting knife from its sheath, sever enough of the strands holding me in place to allow me to tear free from the remainder, and smoothly stab with a downward arc into the widow's thorax before repeating another half dozen times.

Her legs relinquish their hold from webbing as they stiffen inward, all points towards the thorax.

She drops a mere three feet to the forest floor but her weight is so great, her abdomen splits on the side, liquid viscera ever so much resembling giblet gravy oozing out like egg yolk. My eyes are attracted to the sudden glint of softball sized milky white pearls spilling out along with it...

Eggs.

I set about smashing them one by one with my boots...then I hesitate over the final egg.

.........I'd be stupid NOT to.

I stoop and claim it, pulling webbing from my head and shoulders to wrap it up with. When I'm done I remove my backpack, unzip it, hesitate once more, this time over the pack's contents: leftover Macho Taco for sustenance in case Main, the masked guy or I get hungry, then ditch the leftovers and place the egg inside, zipping it back up.

I notice my hands are shaking as I do all this. Shock.

As quickly as I can I do my best in the moonlit night to identify the trees along the path I'd come from to begin with.

THAT WAY

Good enough for me. I jog...

...and though it seems to take a lifetime, I find myself emerging from the treeline, a temple, THE temple Apex has been looking for, standing tall before me.

I hear my brother's voice call out to me, asking me...something... I still can't seem to find the will to vocalize and I'm still so shaken and winded from my experience and jog I can't even seem to focus on comprehending what's being spoken to me. I suddenly wish I'd brought that flag I collected up on the mountain in China, it seemed to refresh my stamina.

The masked man suddenly leaps from the boughs of a conifer, how in the hell he got up there I've no clue, but he damn sure did and he damn sure hollers at the top of his lungs when he lands scaring the bejeezus out of me and Main. In fact, looking back, like scaring the hiccups away, I think that was what knocked my mute status to off... Anyway, thoroughly annoyed, I reach up out of reaction to paw at my glorious locks and pull free a lingering strand of widow webbing.

Gross.

While they aren't looking I scrape the substance off my palm onto a nearby tree trunk.

□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

--PRESENT•CASTLE CAEDUS•NAPLES ISLAND, LONG BEACH, CA--

Robert simply stares at me in shock, kicking back in one of the recliners in my living room, a mostly fresh Makers Mark held between his teeth, smoke wafting to the ceiling. Finally...

What the fuck??

I nod.

"Mhm."

From out of frame, three delicious tacos riding a plate slowly, purposefully, slide towards me across the coffee table beside my chosen recliner, a disembodied hand appearing to be the manner of locomotion.

Tacos?

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, Drew's making tacos.

"Absolutely, thank you brotha!"

He hands a plate to Main as well.

That's some crazy shit Jim! Not as crazy as what happened with us AFTER that but it's pretty damn crazy!

"Indeed, an arachnid aperitif as it were."

::sigh::

Hey Jimbo Jones anyone ever tell you that you have an unhealthy addiction to alliteration? But we aren't here to talk about your weird speech patterns. We're here to scarf on tacos!

"Can I......can I have some tacos?

Do I look like Taco Bell to you? Do you see a drive thru window anyway Floyd? No, Floyd, you don't. Besides you're not a member of Apex! Tacos are for Apex, not for cameramen!

"But...but I'm Jim's exclusive cameraman and-"

"C'mon, Drew, give the man some tacos. After we finish this promo I mean."

Look Floyd you seem like a nice guy but I only stole enough supplies to make tacos for the three of us. Now if there are any leftovers after the meal I'll put them in a nice dog bowl for you with some water. That work for you Floyd?.

"His tacos, his rules Floyd, sorry."

"Yeah, no, that's cool with me; hell I've had worse, I have two ex wives. HAH!"

"One more joke like that, Floyd, no dog dish tacos."

Speaking of finishing promos, you should say something to Jive Turkey and Josh Reno, Jim. Chris Chaos too.

"Chris Chaos, yes.

Chris Chaos...I expect to be Chris Chaos, for the second time now my fellow tag team partner, lest anyone forget he played an integral role in my losing the Universal Title when he walked out and left me to the less-than-tender mercies of James Raven and the Dark Lord Doc D'Ville only to get overkilled by a cashing-in Bruce Blingsteen shortly thereafter. I expect he places a bit more value on holding his half of the XWF Tag straps however, given that streak of disappointments he endured before emerging victorious alongside yours truly in Doc's Shove-It Rumble...so I don't suspect he'd do anything rash to cost himself his newfound credibility.

Do I trust him?

Let's say I trust him enough not to fuck this up.

Do I trust him in context with the "long run" of the situation?

Well...I believe he and I need to have a discussion about that on Savage following our match and if that conversation turns out to be one-sided, so be it. I'll be making MY point regardless.

As for our opponents, let's just say I'm thankin' my lucky stars right now the brass saw fit to book Chaos and I against _another_ unestablished tag duo and one which poses less of a threat than say BWP and The Engineer for our first outing. Not that there was a long list of names to choose from opting in to begin with but still, I'm grateful. Practice is key and I'm sure despite the solo skill Chris and I both possess, we're not in any sense of the phrase a "well oiled machine" at the moment, though I thought we showed incredible potential during the Rumble."

Robert pauses for a brief moment finishing one of his tacos

Tell me this Jimmy, how in the blue hell did Josh Reno and giblets get a shot at the Tag Team Championships in the first fucking place? These two clowns are lucky they even have a job here, let alone wrestling against the top talent XWF has to offer! Do they even realize what is going to happen to them once you two step foot in that ring? I bet they can't hold their mud more than a few seconds, once the beating starts!

"I hate to say it, arrogance usually leads to my humiliation, but I have to agree with you there, bro.

Jive Turkey..."

I stifle a chuckle and shake my head.

"...Jive Turkey made his XWF debut with animated inanimate objects like 90s VHS Cassette Tape, an array of magical lifeforms like Hedge and other simple beasts like Carrier Pigeon, and while he has (I THINK, I don't really remember now) secured either the Federweight or HMW 24/7 straps, or both, in the short time he (or she or it for that matter, whatever the case may be) has been on the roster, Jive Turkey is the same as the rest of the aforementioned tongue-in-cheek chumps he waddled in with: a joke, a rib, entertainment for the boys in back and nothing more.

Is it fair for me to say so? Of course it is; unless I'm mistaken, 40 Squirrels are the only representative of that more than likely crank, weed and/or booze-borne brigade o' beasts and things to have actually scampered into the ring for a match outside of the 24/7 Halls. This flightless fowl has zero in ring experience and- Christ almighty, it's difficult for me to shoot on this shitbird without feelin' like a fool myself...

I hate the goddamn blacksploitation term "jive turkey" first of all; shit never made me laugh, slap a knee or crack the faintest of grins and it stands, in my opinion, to be the single worst combination of words to ever "out-live" (how dare you keep it alive) the seventies and I despise you for using it, asshole. Shut the fuck up before I slowly tear that gross red dangly thingy from your beak and throttle your feathered ass right into the fuckin' oven with it. Hey, it's better than Thanksgiving in the Bourbon household, Der Fat Führer's fond o' Nazi style live roasts...'course that's just because he lost his ability to roast with the diss and also because he likes that food don't fight back (which isn't to say he and Blue don't come to hippo-blows over who gets what). But, like my boy Super Gilly, I digress...

I didn't have a Thanksgiving, J-Turkey, not a traditional one anyway. That rubbed me the wrong way. Consider yourself the next to feel my bitter wrath after the fact and how poetically appropriate, you being a turkey and all.

Josh Reno...if it wasn't for your gifting me that shotgun over the summer I never would've survived my incursion into Khawa Karpo. Those yetis could've killed Caedus but because you were a ruthlessly cruel douchebag intending to inspire my suicide in a low moment, I was able to emerge victorious and relatively unscathed.

On the other hand, you DID try to get me to kill myself (then ran away like a bitch, b-t-w) and for that I'm gonna hafta figure a way to pull your intestinal tract out anus first and reattach it to your esophagus so we can all see how long a human can feed off his own shit before there's not a peanuty turd nor single nugget left to recycle and you starve to death. In fact, fuck the match, agree to THAT; ain't no other use anyone else will _ever_ have for you in life, Joshua, and hell, after you're dead the roster can have a merry ol' time playin' Who Can Pop The Corpse With a Rock From 50 Feet Away a week or three later when you've plumped to an appropriate level. You DO want us all to remember you in a positive light don't you? Of COURSE you do, so do the right thing, become my eat-shit experiment then let us explode your ballooning carcass like a piñata, buddy, it might earn you a single Tweet in sweet memory, then no one Likes or Retweets and the Tweeter deletes said Tweet in embarrassment but it was the initial mistaken and soon forgotten thought that counts during this, the holiday season, ain't it? Oh wait, there is one other way you can be of some use...

Tell your fuckstick friend Blingsteen we have unfinished business. All that little bit o' respect she earned in shadily kickin' off the soon-to-be-at-an-end-when-I-reclaim-the-Uni Shitstorm Era by cashing in on me faded away the moment it became clear that cunt hack in no way defines _better_ than me when she couldn't muster the energy for more than a single successful title defense before disappearing and basically handing the Uni over to the next guy who disappeared and basically handed it over to the current "champ". The ability to drop in under guise, fuck around for a few months, cash-in, then summon the creativity and in-ring ability to LEGIT topple me ONE TIME ain't talent-to-be-feared, that's a fuckin' lame who had one good shot in her and didn't stick around knowing I'd FUCK. HER. UP. Sack o' spineless ass gutless coward...you'll never have what it takes to do what I do. You stacked the deck, pulled every prideless, dickless low blow in the book, lucked your way into a near-loss retainer victory then ran off 'cause you don't have the skill to maintain that level of game and you know goddamn well _I_ do. Pussy.

Anyway, fuck that pissant piece o' shit...Josh Reno, Jive Turkey, I suggest the two of you make good use of the time you have left before Savage either gettin' your affairs in order or, I don't know, maybe-"

I pause to take a bite of taco. The crunch is perfection, the accoutrements of lettuce, tomato and cheese are a dream and the beef itself, savory to an easily-obsessive degree.

"Jésus Christo! Madré de muthafuckin' Dios! Drew...this is the best damn taco I've ever tasted!!"

I take another delectable bite.

"This seasoned beef, MMM! Where the hell did you get this beef!??"

::Floyd catches Drew awkwardly glancing over to Jim's dog Chewie's collar lying on the kitchen floor before looking back to Jim happily sinking his teeth into another crispy bite and replying with a slight questioning lilt::

The uhhh...the local Mercado? Heh.

......Oh no you di'in't Drew!!

::STATIC::

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