Episode 17: Lavender II


I knew what I had to do.

I had to fight.

But stepping back into this mist-swaddled ghost town pricked all the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. And it all came flooding back.

The universe itself had taunted me. A devilish imp dancing a cosmic jig upon my temples. It knew of its promise to me, and even so, it delighted in the lack of fulfilment. Let’s be clear here, I knew that’s what this was.


I stared into my own reflection. It wasn’t a fucking Ditto - it was me. Who I am. Or at least… a part of me. Not distorted, just fragmented and unencumbered. A ghost.




“Fuck off Morbid Angel,” I say to the ghost.


“What?” Atara asks, surprised by the break in the eerie silence. I had given both her and Preesh a chance to stay in the city with the dojo. I knew I would be returning there, but before I could, I had to confront that which haunts me.

Preesh was reluctant, only coming along after Atara agreed. Even now he hangs about ten yards behind us, keeping a vigilant watch out for all the things that might go bump in the night. Or worse. In the middle of the day.

Atara, for her part, never even batted an eye. I found that to be pretty remarkable given her penchant for batting eyes in general. Within her, I could sense an almost unhealthy fearlessness. In my experience - and I have a lot of that when it comes to fear - too much can be a bad thing, but a little goes a long way. It helps to motivate.


“Nothing.” I dismiss her worry. This isn’t her fight. It doesn’t mean that she doesn’t have her own ghosts. She really never shared whether she had any of the same experiences when last we were here. But that’s not why I am here.

I’m here to fight.

“Hey dream-eaters!” I shout into the void. Atara looks at me like I’m a crazy person. Like I’m me.

G-string to the side and ass cheeks spread wide.


“Come eat!”

~~~~~

“Where were you?” asks little Frankie Duke. Tears well in his eyes as his arm raises, strained from the weight he carries. In his hand, the hair of his new(ish) father intertwines around his fingers.

It’s Thad’s head.

Blood drips from its severed neck.

~~~~~

“No,” I resist.

I don’t ask for death.

Even for him.

~~~~~

“Where were you?” asks the girl. Though she’s aged, I know it’s her. Unlike Frankie, however, there are no tears in her eyes. Her arm raises, barely bothered by the weight it carries. In her hand, the hair of her new father intertwines around her fingers.

It’s my head.

Blood drips from its severed neck.

~~~~~

“No,” I resist.

I don’t fight for death.

I fight for life.

”I can make sure that never happens.”

I will.





On a sunbeam. I’m dancing on my tippy toes. The clouds are on my side, parting their sea and banishing the rain for me.

For me.

~~~~~

The child’s cries were loud and dreadful. She had not even seen the blade run across her parents’ throats at Morbid Angel’s hands, but she had felt it. Loss, immeasurable.

I was drawn to her. I thought to myself, ‘surely the others can hear?’. But Corey, Andy, and the War Criminal never came.

She cried… for me?

It stopped the moment I lifted her into my arms.

She looked into my eyes and the world stood still.

~~~~~

On cloud nine.

On the top of the hill.

On the breath of spring.

Bluebirds they sing

For me.

~~~~~

My cries were loud and dreadful. But still she was there.

Picking me up and cradling me.

I stopped crying immediately.

She looked into my eyes and the world stood still.

Love, immeasurable.

“Mo… mother?”

~~~~~

On this day. Every promise came to be. I’m going to be okay. I have willed it that way. You’ll see. The universe is rooting for me.

For me.





“GET OFF HIM YA PUSSY SPIRIT-BITCH!” It’s Big Preesh who wakes me again! He’s swinging a tree branch over my head against some invisible foe. On his left eye is some sort of device that makes him look more at home in a Dragonball Z manga than Pokémon. But fuck it, I’ll cross-fandoms if I want to!

I scramble backwards, out of the way of his trampling feet. Atara channels the gods (whichever ones I haven’t killed) as she yanks me to my feet and helps steady me against a rotting fence post.

“What’s he doing?” I ask through panted breaths.

“I never know,” she replies, glaring in Preesh’s direction.

“No,” I place a firm hand on her shoulder. “There’s something there. He’s fighting something. PREESH!”

I call to him, distracting him in the midst of battle. As he turns to look at me, the branch is ripped from his hands by some invisible entity. It THWACKS him on the back of his head, and he falls into the ground, creating a little mini-crater in the mud-drenched path. The device on his head bounces along the ground towards Atara and I.

Without thinking, I dive for it. Eating dirt and grime, I clasp the device, and secure it over my eye like a monocle. Soiled but steadfast, I push myself back to my feet.

And I prepare to fight.

With the device over my eye, I see my enemies.





There’s two of them. And with Atara being blind to them, I’m going to have to do this alone.

“Ahem…”

Cue badass entrance music. Or… some sort of electronic DJ bullshit. I forget. Who needs a fucking entrance anyway?

All I know is that they said I couldn’t trust him, yet here he is, in my hour of need. Corey stands like a gallant cowboy, his hand on the balls on his hip, ready to draw. Over his eye, the same sort of scanner that had revealed the beasts to Preesh and I. He’s ready for a shootout. And so am I.

Golduck chooses itself, emerging from its home.





“Lux! I choose you!” Corey shouts as a Hitmonlee emerges onto the battlefield.





“Hmph…” I snort under my breath. I released my equivalent, but I guess Corey didn’t. It’s an odd choice too. Hitmonlee would usually be weak to the ghosts. But Corey knows that which I do. How to leverage the unknown.

The battle is fierce.

Iggy and Corey get in the mix too. Iggy’s stronger now too!





As do Charmeleon and Clefable.





Christian the Butterfree stays behind. Corey still insists he sees something in that thing that I don’t.


In the end, the Haunters weaken. Corey goes to throw a ball, but I stop him. Leading by example, I place one on the ground, and as ever, I let the creature make its own choice. Corey mimics me, and the Haunters crawl, willingly, towards the balls. In a flash of light, they rattle and open.


Haunter has been caught.


Twice.

I pick up one ball, and Corey picks up another. But as we study the orbs in our hands, we realise our mistake. We picked up the wrong ones! Sympatico - we toss the balls in the air and they glide past one another, landing comfortably in each of our palms.

They rattle again.

They glow again.









Twice.

We waged war, and we emerged, richer for the act.

Richer…

“Thank you, Corey,” I say to him.

---

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Episode 18: Marsh

He left again, but I get it. I explain the world through my eyes, but in the end, I get that the world doesn’t actually revolve around me. There’s a fine tightrope to walk between holding our ?friends/rivals? to account and allowing them the autonomy to make their own decisions; their own mistakes. As I’ve said a thousand times, I’m a big fan of autonomy. And Corey exercised his.

As did Atara as she continues to accompany me on my journey. Our paths align. For now.

And Preesh, thankful as I am for the assistance in recovering from the events of the ghost town, still plods along with us. I know what I saw, when the creatures descended on me. However, Corey and I were battling them while Preesh was out. I wonder… did he see anything too? If someone were to eat his dreams… what would they see?

They’re with me, the two of them, as I return to the city of the dojo. I said that I knew I would return and now I have. But I’m not here for practice. I’m here for war.

Teleportation is for fucking rubes. I huff and I puff and I blow my fucking way through.

A mass greets me. A mass of nothing. A contradiction. Or as Preesh would say…

“A fuckin’ bitch! What-what?!” He seems to enjoy this. B.O.B. getting their comeuppance. At least, that’s how he sees it. He says it frequently enough, in between those spurts of begging them to welcome him back.

And lookie here… another steps up! Yet another fuck who doesn’t get the main event spot. Anarchy be damned.

“I shall eat your soul,” Oswald says, as I step up to him.

I laugh. Like the bastards (you know what case that is by now) laughing at Preesh.

“I’m gonna eat your fucking face.”

And I do.

I always fucking do.

Oswald chooses Kadabra.





It fizzles and fails. Apparently he forgot that there’s a word that is supposed to come first…


Oswald chooses Alakazam.





This, ladies, and germs, is called blowing your load too early.

Gengar > Alakazam.

Dream Eater.

Next question?

Oswald chooses Venomoth.





Man, he really tried, didn’t he? He wanted to be all menacing and shit. Poisionous, even. But at the end of the day, he’s just a fucking bug.

And I squash him.

Oswald chooses Mr. Mime.





Be the mime, then.

Copy them. Your idols, your betters.

Fail.

Fucking fail.

Eat Your Dreams.






~~~~~

“This is it?

I know you want a real fight… SO GIVE ME ONE!!!”

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Episode 19: Rocket II

Repetition.

My fucking game, right?

Atara knows. Atara agrees.


I conquered the flora of dreams. And as the three of us step out, ever closer to the end, we’re not quite prepared for what comes next.

“Prepare for trouble…!”
“...And make it double!”

“Oh for fuck’s…” Atara doesn’t get a chance to finish what is quickly becoming her catchphrase.

Interrupted by an even worse motto.

“To protect the world from devastation!”
“To unite all peoples within our nation!”
“To denounce the evils of truth and love!”
“To extend our reach to the stars above!”

“Please stop,” she asks, channeling all of us.


““Team Apex blasts off at the speed of light!
Surrender now, or prepare to fight!”

“You don’t know these guys, do you?” she asks of me. The others keep chanting. Atara and I don’t really pay attention to their names, though I think Preesh is kind of into it, actually.

“I mean… kind of?” I reply.

“Drew! That’s right!”

There it is. The icing on the fucking cake. The worst part is that this was the perfect spot to slide on in my new buddy the North Korean War Criminal and his very mean sounding pal Mark Flynn. Alas, there were only two of them!

But there’s three of Team Apex. And three of us.

Preesh is Preesh, but Atara can hold her own, and I can sure as shit clean up the scraps.

As long as Atara leaves Rob to me.


PHWWWWWHHT!

The whistle screeches before anything further happens.

“Shit, we need to bail, team!” announces the little pussy, Drew. They all agree that he’s right and flee off into the unknown as Officer Betsy returns to the scene.

“They went that way,” I sigh, pointing after them.

“Thanks,” she says, with the same level of genuineness that I thanked Corey with.

She flits off in their direction. One day she’ll find them. One day they’ll hold up their end, instead of chasing their own self-centred fucking goals. That day is so fucking close!

I wish that i could help. Maybe I could…

Except…

The universe.

It needs its steward.

And I’m respecting her wishes.

So I fight my own fight.

And I move…


Forward.

---

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6D: This Isn’t You vs. Me. It’s You vs. Reality

“Can you hear it, folks?

In the distance…

A fart in fucking church.

Oh shit! Chris Page must have spoken again!

Oh God, it’s a wet one this time! He did what I was praying he wouldn’t do! He actually said the words!

Are you guys ready for this?

…

You sure?

…

Welp, here goes!

Countering someone’s points, apparently lends credibility to those exact same points.

…

…

…



Err… right. Like debates aren’t a thing.

Think you might be stuck in another one of those alternate realities, man, because that’s not how any of this works. Are you really trying to say that after you say something stupid, I can then present actual data to the contrary, and somehow that makes you correct. Is that it?

Wowza! Well okay then! Let’s give it a whirl!

Your claim: I’ve almost held the Universal Championship as long as you, yet only had half the defences.

Facts: At this point in time, in your reign, you had only three defences under your belt. I also have three. You had a total of four matches under your belt in that same exact time period. I. Have. Five.

Goddamn, I already laid this out for you last week, man!

You’re out here, saying things with absolutely no evidence to back it up, you get shown the factual statistics, and then you continue to lie about it. And yet I’m supposed to be Donald Trump? Righty-o! Nice work on yanking the same exact line I’ve already used on Thaddeus Duke before, by the way. And I am supposedly copying you? Shit, I thought you were ‘watching me’, bud? Guess that’s another lie! Wait… I’ve already pointed out that whole ‘watching me’ shit couldn’t be true because of some of the other dumb shit coming out of your mouth. In fact, everything you just said is just repeating the same damn points I’ve already… wait for it… wait for it…

…WAIT FOR IT…!

‘Countered’!

Uh-oh! I’m not supposed to try and do that, am I?

Ha! Get the fuck out of here with that shit. If you weren’t trying to do the same damn thing, Chris, why the fuck do you keep harping on about me being a ‘hypocrite’?

Pot. Kettle.

Jesus necro-dicking Christ, we’re back at the beginning aren’t we?! Everything you just said is back at the fucking beginning! It’s crazy because you’re out here trying to catch me tripping over myself and yet the entirety of your argument has seemingly never wavered from just two things:

1: It’s a bad thing that I’ve mentioned the monumental pile of shit that your time in B.O.B had become. I emphasise the ‘your’ there, because you still seem to think that being a part of a troupe of clowns, does not in fact make you a clown. But it does.

2: Other people were on camera at the same time as me! Like… that’s literally the extent of that line of attack from you. W-T-F! That’s abject fucking lunacy AND not many actually were. You know… like Corey and I weren’t actually in yours?

Motherfucker if I’m ‘rehashing’ anything, it’s the fact that this is some of the weakest shit I’ve ever heard in my life. It’s so bad, that I’m not even trying to scramble to stop doing a single thing you’ve called me out on!

Unlike you.

Congrats on another speech without mentioning Robert Main! That’d be a good burn on me if I hadn’t already pointed out the irony.

Rehash City, baby!

You may as well go ahead and tuck that tail between your legs like a good bitch.

Sit.

Roll over.

Play fucking dead.

Taking candy from a corpse.

Remind me, Chris, because I’m so bad at this, how do those oh so world-shattering talking points of yours relate to what happens when we fight?

…

They.

…

Don’t.

…

Huh…

The pattern of the patterns repeating repeats. I know that’s a mouthful, but so must be my dick in that cock sucker of yours because you ain’t making a lick of fucking sense.

I want you to do me a favour right now, Chris. Lean a little closer to that TV screen. Unzip your pants, and get out that drug-fucked little pecker of yours like you’re about to beat yourself. Because that’s exactly what you’re about to do. I’m going to show you your second favourite thing in the entire world - right after me in a dress!

I can put it on again if it makes it a little easier for you to take my dick.

I’m going to show you, you.”

Quote:Chris Page said:
”You’ve appeared on three shows over the last two months with two successful defenses over a couple of doormats named Chaos and Atara Themis- both of which were beaten before the mother fucking bell rang.”

“First of all, It’s a little bit awkward that I did more…

Five versus four
Yes, that’s the score!

…in just three shows than you did in all of those ones you were on.

Secondly, go ahead and say your piece about how quoting you is copying the Chris Page textbook. Let’s just ignore the fact that Truth Until Death used that long before Chris Page got shat out onto the XWF pavement, and even those bitches didn’t fucking invent it.

Thirdly, this is really just a nonsense point because I used this trope before and I think it’s funny hearing you metaphorically cry about me rehashing shit when you haven’t had an original idea since you fell out of your mama’s cooter. Also, I specifically said ‘metaphorically’ there, because half this shit is just metaphors anyway but apparently you think I’m actually talking about Atara hanging out with The Bastards when clearly in my tale she’s already left B.O.B. and Preesh is… well… Preesh. I’m making fun of him as much as you. And it’s a story. A journey. A fucking metaphor.

Pokémon aren’t real!

Of course you’d need that explained though.

Fourthly, and I’m committing to this bit, I need to ask you a question. I just showed you saying Chaos and Atara were beaten before the bell rang.

How do you think that happened?

I eagerly await your response.

The thing is, that’s what this is about, Chris. You keep saying that I don’t care, and then using me ‘trying’ (to do what, exactly?) like it’s a silver fucking bullet. But you keep showing that you don’t understand a single fucking thing about me.

Let me rehash this shit once more.

I care.

I always said I did.

I care about fighting.

I care about winning.

I care about remaining the Universal Champion.

I just don’t care about the money, the fame, the glory, the Hall of Legends, or any of that shit. I don’t care about raking up accolades. Every time you try to pin that on me, it’s easy pickings for me to plow your asshole with, like it’s the number of matches on the fucking card or some shit.

I am doing this for me.

For my survival.

And that is the silver bullet. For you. Because it’s a shining example of how you're either deliberately choosing to ignore the reality of who I am, or you just don’t get it. Either way, it’s the fucking death knell for ya.

So yeah, I’m going to keep ‘countering’ everything you say.

Because I care.

Because I can.

And because you’ve got fucking nothing.

Except mentioning Corey lots, apparently.

Fine for you, right? I guess I’ll keep referencing B.O.B then!

Because you had to say that you have quit them in order to get out of ‘countering’ anything that I threw against you about how you have been bragging and boasting for months about you having enormous success with B.O.B. There’s some extra emphasis on that one, just so you get the fucking message.

All I needed to do was pull one little string and your house of cards came a’tumbling down. B.O.B.-Breaker. Unless you’re full of shit.

Insert suspenseful music here! Once you’ve gotten your foot out of your mouth that is.

While I’m at it, I’ll keep mentioning John Black too! And Big D! Because your only argument in favour of them is effort and heart. If that bullshit is what you call effort, then call me fucking heartless! I notice that you didn’t say merit though. I’ve already made the list comparing merit, honey-buns, and it did not come out in your favour.

And you have not been able to prove it wrong.

‘Counter’ that.

But before you do, think about what you’re actually trying to do. You’re literally bragging about defending against D and Black. What did they do to earn a shot, Chris? Or did you just hand it out to them like you did Archyle, Demos, and Edgar?

Wait…

How did I forget this?

It’s coming to me now!

That’s exactly what you did with Big D!

Four out of six?! Zoinks! That’s another shot to the cunt for ya!

Meanwhile, you actually said I had earned a shot by beating Lou’. Funny how you never offered it. Sounds like you’re full of shit if you ask me. Big D had a championship - if you can call it that - and you were able to make that work. But not for me, right? You’re doing some fucking Matrix-like dodging here. If Neo wound up getting shot in the crotch each time, that is. Who has been telling you that you’re good at this? I feel like they’re just playing some sort of sick joke on you. By chance, is it the same people who talked to you about The Beast?

Still waiting!

Two hats even!

I thought you were supposed to be good at the tag team shit, too? I’m not playing the ‘Robert Main carried you’ card over here, that’s as cliché as calling someone else’s win a fluke.

Yikes, you did that too, didn’t you?

But now you’re telling me that… what? I should have broken up Corey’s pin on Louis to do it myself? Why would I do that? Especially when I could shove my hand down Thad’s throat immediately after and win the fucking War. I guess that’s the Chris Page school of ‘rasslin’, folks! I definitely missed that class. Just like the class where I somehow look bad for surviving War Games. Yeah… okay. And I used to think that I was the crazy one!

Shit, even if you were right about B.O.B. being the only leg I had to stand on - excusing your alleged bailing on them because you can’t fucking defend your own actions - at least there’s one thing I do have in my favour: I’m actually standing.

You’re flailing about over the fucking coals.

Legless.

Armless.

Headless.

Ready to fucking eat.

That’s a gimmick, Chris. Learn the difference.”

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6E: Spelling it out for the dumb-dumbs: F-O-R-E-S-H-A-D-O-W

A nondescript, black four-wheel drive pulls into the courtyard of a rundown motel. Its quiet engine shuts off, and the door opens. With a jingle of the keys, Kieran King steps out and slams the door behind him. He presses a button on the fob, and the car locks. Wrestling with the key in a lock, he twists it just right and the bolt clicks open, allowing him to enter. Haphazardly, he tosses the keys across the desk, and they come to a halt right next to a papered flight ticket.

To Georgia.