Charlie stared at his reflection in the mirror, unsure what to make of the man he saw. The many marks from the battle with Barney Green were grisly, but they weren’t what was throwing Charlie off. He’d seen worse before. It was what he saw inside of his eye sockets that unsettled him.

The blue eyes staring back at the champion shook him to the core. In the back of his mind an unfamiliar voice repeated the same four word phrase over and over.

“Heed my call, champion.”

Charlie’s head moved frantically from side to side as Charlie tried to shake the cobwebs out of his mind. He grabbed the bathroom sink with both hands, firmly clasping onto the cheap motel appliance while staring down the clogged drain. Dirty brown hair, standing water, and droplets of blood slowly circled inside of the clogged bowl. Charlie elevated his gaze until his eyes were once again set on the mirror.

CRACK

The glass in the mirror suddenly cracked diagonally, cutting right through Charlie’s reflection. One half of his face appeared true, with a brown eye and a litany of battle scars. The other half of his face, however, seemed bizarre. His eye was a light baby blue. His beard was shaved to stubble. His skin was healthy and smooth.

“Heed my call, champion.”

Charlie scowled at the cracked mirror, but only one half of his reflection would show it. The unfamiliar face staring back at him seemed to frolic in Charlie's miserable confusion. A devilish grin curled across the ocean eyed reflection.

“What the fuck is going on.”

Charlie turned away from the mirror and stepped back into the motel room’s living space. The mirror shattered as Charlie turned away, but he paid no mind to the noise of glass breaking behind him. He walked hastily over to the phone plugged into the wall next to the shoddy twin sized bed. He grabbed the phone and dialed the number most familiar to him. He pressed the telephone against his ear and his lips. And waited. And waited. No one answered.

“No one is available to take your call at the moment. Please leave a message.”

BEEP

“Hey you ginger fuck! Where’s my water? The airline lost my luggage! I need more of that shit! Get back to me A-S-A-P!”

Charlie slammed the phone against the dial pad.

“They never tell you the side effects of shit these days.”

Charlie Nickles sat back on the bed, his mind racing a hundred miles an hour. Bathing in Barney’s blood. Flying through the X-tron. He remembered everything about the pay per view at once, rerunning every scene in his mind simultaneously. The epic rush Charlie felt when the holographic hottie raised his hand ran through his body once more; however, at the same time the pain and humiliation he felt from the Thunder Strikes washed over him like the blow had landed only a minute ago. Charlie remembered being hoisted up on Bourbon’s shoulders. Charlie thought he saw someone behind Bobby that night. Charlie distinctly remembers reaching out to someone for help just as he was being slammed through the X-tron. Charlie racked through his brain trying to remember the shadowy figure he saw hanging around the cage that night….

Charlie didn’t know how much time had passed. He opened his eyes and looked over at the digital clock stationed on the nightstand. 6:66? That didn’t seem right. Charlie blinked while shaking his head a few times. He rubbed his eyes with his unwashed fingers before looking at the clock again.

“3:33…..huh.”

Charlie sat up in his bed. He looked over at the wooden rocking chair moving back and forth in the corner. Charlie didn’t remember that chair being there when he booked the room.

“Heed my call, champion.”

Charlie smacked the side of his head with his palm a few times. He felt something slithering up his leg before a nip was felt on his inner thigh. Charlie yelped in shock as he jumped off the bed and wiped whatever it was off of his pants.

“What!”

There was nothing there. Charlie’s thigh felt normal. He ran his fingers through his greasy hair before heading back to the bathroom. Relief ran through the champion’s veins when he saw his mean mug staring back at him in the unblemished bathroom mirror. He turned the water on before cupping his hands underneath the sink’s heavy stream. He closed his eyes and bent over as he splashed some cold water on his face.

“You WILL heed my call, champion.”

Charlie turned the water off as he pushed himself up. When Charlie opened his eyes he was horrified. The man staring at him through the mirror was covered in blood. The reflection’s toothy grin left Charlie speechless. Charlie heard faint pops beneath him but paid the minor sound no mind. His bloodied reflection began to twist and contort, his very skin breaking form to be recrafted. The reflection’s flesh and bone took shape as if molded by a ceramist. The reflection’s bloody skin had congealed around it’s eyebrows, cheeks, and chin as if it were a mask wrapped around his skull.

Charlie’s socks suddenly became wet. Charlie looked down only to see bubbling blood overflowing from the bathroom sink and dripping onto the cheap tile floor. Charlie jumped a few paces back, landing in the doorway. His eyes drifted back to the bloody man with the broken face staring at him through the mirror. A voice that sounded like nails on a chalkboard seemed to echo through the motel bathroom while the reflection’s lips spoke the words.

“This is your true face. Search your soul and you will know it to be true, Charles Nichols. This is the face of your abuse, of your reckless disregard for human life. The world is what we make it….and you have made it hell. You have let the beast wander this earth in your body. You have done the work of the devil! Just ask Connie.”

The face in the mirror morphed and twisted once more. The bruised and bloodied face of Charlie’s ex-wife stared back at him. What he could swear was her voice screamed through the mirror.

“What have you done, Charlie?!”

“Connie? NO!?”

Charlie screamed back at the mirror as he rushed forward. He gripped the mirror on either side while staring intently into the eyes of the only woman he ever loved. Blood ran down her eyes as she screeched at Charlie.

“YOU DID THIS TO ME!”

“No….NO!”

“YOU DID THIS!”

“I didn’t do it!”

“SAVE ME, CHARLIE! SAVE ME!”

“Save you?! How?! HOW?!”

The space behind Connie’s head turned black. A claw-like hand reached out from behind Connie’s reflection and pulled her back into the empty space in the background. The mirror suddenly transformed back to normal, and all Charlie saw was his own wet face staring back at him in the dirty motel mirror. The sink was clogged, but nowhere near full. Charlie pushed himself back from the mirror and took a few wayward steps. The champion clumsily fell back against the bathroom door. He stood with his back against the door as his gaze drifted to the ceiling. A familiar voice in the back of Charlie’s mind called to him once more.

“Do you not hear me, my champion?”

Charlie stumbled out of the bathroom and into the general living room. He walked right past the shadows congealing on top of the rocking chair in the corner. Charlie grabbed his keys off of the table and walked straight to the door. He reached down for the handle and twisted it to the side as he pushed it forward, but it didn’t budge. He tried again, but this time the handle itself wouldn’t even move. Charlie looked to his left and noticed that the window that once had been there was now just another piece of wall, covered in the same cheap wallpaper as the rest of the room.

“Why do you refuse to heed my call?”

Charlie turned around to face the heavy man sitting in the rocking chair. Ramesses’ leather coat matched the dark hue of his skin. His lips were frosty violet and his hair was assembled into a blonde mohawk on the top of his massive head. He appeared at times to shimmer when the light hit him just right.

“You swore an oath to me, Charles.”

“Who the FUCK are you!”

Charlie’s car keys slipped through his sweaty fingers. Charlie rubbed his eyes with his empty hands, but when he looked again the heavy figure was still seated on the chair. Charlie winced as the sweat he rubbed into his eyes began to sting.

“I have no time for your games, Charles. My very soul is on the line! I have waited years for a champion like you. You have ignored my call for months. You will no longer shirk your duty.”

The heavy figure appeared before Charlie in a moment’s notice. He didn’t run there, nor did he walk there. The heavy figure merely ceased to appear in the chair and a moment later the apparition stood head and shoulders above Charlie Nickles. It placed it’s beefy black hand and claw-like fingernails on top of Charlie’s scalp. Ramesses’ nails tore into Charlie’s flesh, letting a few streams of blood trickle down Charlie’s face. Ramesses spoke softly and slowly. Blue strands of translucent energy grew from the apparition’s claws. The blue strands drifted into Charlie’s nostrils and ears before disappearing into the man’s skull.

“You will die a million deaths, Charles Nichols, so that a better man may be reborn. Your soul is bound to mine, forevermore. The oath you swore to me shall be fulfilled!”




The scene is lit only by the stray strands of sunshine peeking through the glass window on the ceiling. A man dressed in a torn up brown jumpsuit stands behind the velvet salon chair. His arms are wrapped around the upper portions of the seat and he is face down on the headrest. We see messy locks of unwashed brown hair falling freely from the man’s scalp. The scars that cover every inch of this man’s arms seem to be coated in a fresh crust as his skin attempts to soothe the wounds inflicted from the last battle. The television and heavymetalweight championships rest on top of the dusty mantleplace to the right.

I have seen the light.

Demos lifts his head and turns to face the rays of light poking through the roof. He stares intently at the light as he continues his monologue.

He has left a trail of bloody bodies in his wake. He has sowed destruction, carnage, chaos. All for what? Was it for glory? For honor? For some noble cause, some higher purpose?

Demos shook his head from side to side before looking at the ground in shame.

No, it was never for a higher purpose. All the blood that he has spilled. All the dreams that he has crushed. All the careers that he has ruined…..he did it all for his own selfish gain. To satiate his ever expanding ego. The bodies piled up but still that emptiness inside him was never filled. The fool told himself the same lies with each and every step that he took down the wrong path. That he was doing this for his family. That he was fighting for Steubenville. That he was a brave man walking down the lonely road of justice.

Demos shook his head from side to side.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

A single tear dripped down Demos' face.

HE COULDN’T HAVE BEEN MORE WRONG!

The gaze of Demos slowly drifted over to the television championship neatly placed atop the dusty old mantle. The belt was shiny and clean, likely polished in the moments leading up to this very promo. The television championship shined in stark contrast to the dark and dungy heavymetalweight championship that looked like it belonged on the antiquated mantle.

He was supposed to hold you close in his protective embrace. Keep you out of the hands of the beasts and the savages. But what is a champion to do when the very waist your belt is around becomes the waist of a monster? How can he keep this division safe from the beasts when a beast itself has taken residence underneath my skin?

Demos sighed as his eyes drifted to the ground once more. His left hand started to tap softly against the velvet covering the velvet chair.

He turned you into his personal vanity project! DISRESPECTED YOU! Treated you like JEWELRY!

I won’t do the same….I WON’T!

Demos looked back at the championship belt. He cracked a grin as he nodded silently. A few moments passed.

You believe me, don’t you? I will protect you. From all threats: foreign and domestic.

Demos stepped out from behind the chair and approached the mantle with a tender presence. He cooed at his championship belts, singing them a soft melody as he stroked each championship belt with his index and pointer fingers.

My

Shangri-La

I can't

forget

Why

you were

mine

I need you now

I won’t let her take you.

Demos kissed each of his belts before turning to face the camera.

I won’t let you take it. This gold...is precious. You will turn this beautiful creature into your own VANITY project! Just another prop to be made a mockery of in your Queen’s Court. Just. Another. Prop.

Demos sneered as he shook his head from side to side. He looked on in silence for a few moments before a snicker escaped his lips.

You’re no better than Charlie, Madame Mist. All you care about is your own image. Can’t you feel your ego, bursting against your skull, just about to POP? How will you be able to drag your limbs to the ring on Savage when your mind is weighed down by your obsession over what others think of you?

You don’t have to admit it. I expect you won’t. But Misty, you wear it on your sleeve. You’re the same insecure and anxious little girl that used to wander those cold streets all alone at night searching for a man, any man. You feel the need to be accepted. You crave status. You just can’t do without attention, because without the attention of another, you’re all alone. And you don’t like to be alone with the woman you see in the mirror. You obsess over appearances because you know no amount of make-up can conceal the hideous woman inside of you.

But you learned your lesson from Chris Chaos, didn’t you?

Some attention won’t do. You need full attention, at all times.

Or else another, prettier, better woman will take your place on the pedestal.

You gave Chris Chaos everything he could ever want, and in return, he paid you attention. From time to time, when he felt the urge.

But not all the time, did he? Nope nope. He had his eye on the woman to the side. And soon, you lost your spot on his pedestal. The sparkle in his eye was for another woman. And oh poor Jenny, it broke you so much.

You learned your painful, painful lesson.

When you had that shooting star belt around your waist you finally had the attention of the XWF universe. Not just Chaos’s wandering bedroom eyes, but the eyes of every fan watching across the whole wide world. You wouldn’t let anyone else have an ounce of their focus.

You jumped on poor Ash Quinn and drowned her, sinking her career in its infancy! You picked on the new gal so much she never could get her feet underneath her….I hear now she’s underneath you in some hellish pyramid scheme. You think you deserve all the attention, don’t you, Miss Myst?

But it’s not just enough that the people see you at the top, is it? No no no. Not for you. That would NEVER suffice! You must grab the narrative so tightly that you choke it to death! Queen’s Court every week, endless segments. Wherever you see anyone else soaking in the spotlight you make it your mission to push them out of the picture. You were a cruel, oppressive queen when you held the shooting star championship.

But then…..as your star faded, a new flame was lit. Betsy Granger, that rough and tough gal given such a hard introduction against that bastard Charlie, finally got her big break by going over you! Yet again a woman with hair of flame stole all the spotlight you so desperately reach for.

Poor, poor Jenny Myst…

You learned one painful lesson but will yet endure one more.

Do not reach for the stars from a weak foundation.

Your house of cards will collapse and you will fall like every challenger before you.

Demos smiled softly before giving a slight nod to the camera. He hummed softly as he turned to face the mantle once more. He reached behind the heavymetalweight championship and retrieved a straight-edged razor. Demos walked over to the chair before collapsing into it’s plushy comforts. He twirled the bladed razor a few times while he spoke.

What will Jenny Myst be when she can no longer control how she appears? Who will she be when the world finally sees her beneath the surface? What is the color of her soul?

Only time will tell. Demos. Myst. Barber Shop Chop! The winner will be the one who walks away with their opponents mane!

Demos is absolutely giddy with the match stipulation. He giggles relentlessly as he brings the razorblade to his own neck.

The Queen’s castle is crumbling beneath her very feet. Soon, her golden crown shall be in my hands.

Demos flicks the blade upwards. We see a few shaggy tufts of beard hair fly through the air as the scene fades to black.