The battle's coming now
The fury shakes the ground
I've come to take my crown
I'm rising up my heart is pounding
Ready or not the clock is counting down
This is my moment


_______________________________________________________________________________




A single bead of sweat trickles down from her neck, tracing the elegant curve of her spine before being sucked into the fabric of her shirt.

She could try to pass it off as being from the sun beating down on her here in the high desert of California, but the reality was... it wasn’t that hot right now, being November.

The truth of it all, was something that didn’t sit well with her.

She was nervous.

Nervous of what she would find.

Nervous of what she would learn.

Nervous of the man himself.

She couldn’t even pinpoint a reason why she felt the way she did about him. She had nothing to do with him at all. She had never even caught a glimpse of him backstage at any of the shows, their paths never having a chance to intersect. She had looked him up, studied some tapes and it was just... something. He exuded a vibe that just seemed off to her, in a way she couldn’t put her finger on, but it sent all the alarm bells she had in her ringing. So here, she was, standing along the rocks that lined the long, sandy driveway looking towards his abode.

It was time to face the fear instead of hiding.

Something she had been doing an awful lot of lately. After her little adventure with the damnable curtain, finding Alias at the crossroads with the help of Arcana, they had returned to the Caedus home empty handed. She had passed it off like she was just going to go home and mull things over. Instead, she had been poofed back to Seven Devils, quickly booked a flight back to California and had holed up in a small airBnB for an extended period of time while she tried to work up the nerve to make the approach to the man Alias had said she should.

She never had.

Instead, she had been startled by the appearance of Excellence carrying James Raven and a very dead Betsy. After bringing her back to life, thankfully without the side effects poor Reika had suffered, she had remained in place for a few days more, failing to grow the nerves to do what she had been there for, and headed off to sail out on the Tara Fenix Charity Cruise. And from there, she had grown the balls to go home.

Home to face the music with Marf. That... that had gone.... well, she’d rather not think about that.

And now, she needed to strap them on and go in and confront someone who creeped the bejeebus out of her. She had been sitting back in a different rental home, trying to talk herself into it for days and had finally psyched herself up enough to actually make it.

And now she was standing in the driveway where the Uber had left her, stalling by thinking of everything.

She sucks in a deep breath and forces her feet to move forward. Her gaze roams the foreboding structure in front of her. Black and expressionless, much like the eyes of its inhabitant. Much as Miranda had described. Sharp angles, geometric lines, and flat planes of glass here and there. Contemporary and modern is what most would call it. Lycana thought it looked cold and soulless.

Like its owner.

She treads lightly up the stairs leading to the front door, her sense of unease growing each time her foot hit another and carried her closer to the point of no return. And it was a point of no return. Sure, at anytime she could turn and flee, but she knew what this man dealt in. There were probably a multitude of cameras pointed her way at this very moment and her approach was being watched. Hell, she wouldn’t be shocked if he had known from the very second of her arrival at the base of the driveway, and had had eyes on her the entire time she was standing there contemplating bolting again. She couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t hunt her down to find out why... so she wanted this on as much her terms as possible. Even if it meant going into the abode of the beast. Before she loses the bravery she had mustered, she marches over to the door and firmly presses the bell. Within moment, before she even fully took a step back, the door opens and she is left staring at a mountain of a man.

John Caedus.

Six feet and nine inches of imposing muscular mass, dwarfing the damn doorframe as he stares at her without a single shred of emotion to be found, his face void of anything she could even try to read. She feels another prickle of dread clawing at her brain, trying to warn her off from this fool's mission, but instead she tilts her chin up. “We need to talk.” She was proud of the fact that her voice had nary a quiver to it, coming out a hell of a lot more confident than she was actually feeling.

He doesn’t bother to respond, simply stepping back slightly to leave enough room for her to get by him. She hesitates, then moves forward, angling her body so that her shoulder doesn’t bump the door on her way in, continuing to slowly turn as she enters, blatantly refusing to turn her back on him. Abyss like eyes follow her every move, his face never changing but she could feel it from him, the slight humor he found in her actions, as if he enjoyed being feared and could sense it radiating off of her. Or maybe she was just imagining it. He was pretty unreadable. She stands in the hallway until he shuts the door, waiting a beat before striding past her and into a large room dominated by massive panes of glass on the right side, looking out over the desert mountains.

She follows along behind, her gaze flicking here and there, not willing to look away from the terrifying behemoth for too long. Not that there was much to see. She could count the pieces of furniture he had on one hand, and the lack of decorations or personality would have been surprising if it had been anybody else.

He stands, looking out into the distance, ignoring his guest as she stands, fidgets, unsure if she should just launch into what she wanted to know. Ask some questions. Start with small talk? Ask what in the hell he had to do with anything in the first place? IF he did. There was nothing glaringly obvious... not like he would have had the taxidermized body of the Baphomet posed and standing in the corner of the room.

…..................................

…...................................

Or would he?

She actually couldn’t be so sure of that given the pure evil she felt emanating off of this man. Corey Smith had once laughed at her for saying she wasn’t, pointing his finger and accusing her of being incapable of anything else, because he thought she lacked softer emotions. That just proved Corey Smith knew jack shit about what true evil was. The vileness and depravity fairly floated around John Caedus in an almost visible aura, all blackness and the dark, maroon red of congealed blood. Her mind buzzed with everything as he continues to ignore her, her mouth opening and blurting the first thing that was on the tip of her tongue.

“Aren't you curious as to why I'm here?”

“No.”

Not a single drop of character came through in that word. He didn’t even have the decency to sound bored, so that she could whip herself into a righteous storm and press forward with her accusations. Instead, the dead voice only serves to renew the chill, making her rethink her words. Her brain fairly screamed at her to be careful, as she chooses what next to say.

“Do you care?”

“No.”

“Do you know why?”

“Yes.”

She blinks, fairly startled by that. She pauses again, absorbing that little fact. “How?!” she can't help the exclamation from escaping. He turns to face her now, settling his sights on her without uttering a single word in answer. She shifts nervously, trying to maintain eye contact, but it was like looking down into a void you could be sucked down into, never to escape. The silence reigns once more over the two, until she finally gives in and poses another question. “Then did you do it? Did you take the body of the Baphomet?”

“The Baphomet.” She couldn’t be sure, but she could swear she almost heard a vague condescending undertone in the words. They didn’t seem like a question, but she cautiously pushes on.

“Yes. He was the leader of the Left Hand and...”

“Was he?” A flicker comes and goes in his eyes.

“He was. He was the head of the whole thing and...” she starts again, confused.

“Wrong.” His voice raises a single octave on the word, but it was powerful enough her mouth snapped shut, the weight of his gaze hard on her as he begins to move, walking agonizingly slowly towards her. “The Baphomet was a pawn. A mouthpiece. A figurehead. The Baphomet was William Keen. Nothing more.” Another step. “And I suppose that makes you, my dear, less than nothing.”

Her brow furrowing, not understanding as she reacts on instinct, taking a step backwards away from his advance, but shaking her head in denial. “No. He was! I was meant to take up the mantle of leadership if something happened to him since I was the head of XWF. He told me so himself... He...” her voice trails off.

“Little Billy lacked the authority to assign anyone, anything. Least of all.... a female.”

There was no doubt about it this time, a thread of disgust runs through the words, a complete lack of respect clear in their delivery. Lycana bristles slightly, stopping her backward motion, her spine stiffening at the unconcealed distaste from the mammoth of a man. “You don’t know a fucking thing about what you’re talking about....”

“Oh, don’t I?”

“I took over when he was gone. I WAS the fucking Left Hand.” Her eyes spit fire as her hands slowly clench into fists by her hips. “And I’m more than capable of handling anything and everything!”

“I’m willing to be there's a great deal you can't handle. Despite your.... gift. The one bestowed upon your lineage.”

Another step forward, which she matches. Her anger starting to boil deep inside overriding her good sense, a dangerous gleam entering her eyes as the violet glow flickers to life just for the briefest of moments as the beast within wakes up and growls. “My gift huh? I never needed to rely on that before. In any case, what I am has nothing to do with Baphomet or the Left Hand.”

"What you are is an aberration. A distortion of human DNA. Corrupted by the genetic mutation cryptozoologists refer to as lycanthropy. The original race itself, wondrous. But you... you're simply a human girl who received a power she never deserved. You, Tavora, are nothing."

She jerks, as if slapped, the words slamming into her with an invisible force that squeezed the air from her lungs. Hot tears prick the back of her eyes and she blinks them back, her anger now at war with the hurt she felt inside. Nothing. That’s what everyone thought Lycana was. She opens her mouth, a slew of venomous words ready but the look on his face –or rather, lack thereof- killed them in their spot. He approached, his face a blank slate, yet death itself hovered in those black depths. They were like two windows, and she was staring right into the depths of her own doom. Her anger flees, replaced once more with the dread. She begins to back away, unable to stop staring at those two onyx chips within their granite cage.

"Even with the gift you're a consummate loser. More than human...but my own painfully human little brother was able to return from years off the grid and force your momentum to a screeching halt. You're pathetic. Nothing." He approaches a step, eyes unblinking, refusing to break his gaze, as she retreats. "I can make you more. I can make you something. Powerful. Important. ...Special." Another step. "All you need do...is obey."

She suddenly realizes what has happened as he stalked towards her as her back hits the wall. He had been maneuvering her to the side of the room without the windows. The side of the room away from the hallway that led to the front door. He had been backing her up into a corner with no way to escape, and she had not only not realized it, she had obediently complied, doing exactly as he wished.

“I obey no one.” she hisses, eyes flicking about, assessing the situation.

“Oh, you will.”

He moves in, even closer now, her hair starting to stand on end.

“Or you will die.”

Her breathing seizes. Anybody else and she would have just brushed those words aside. Not now. Not with him. She had no doubt that he meant it and would follow through. She sidles slightly to the side, watching him. His body turns just the barest bit to match her move and she knew right then, any chance of just walking out of here without a confrontation was gone.

Her muscles tense as moves along the wall, trying to give herself a little bit of distance but there is nowhere to go, the gain no more than a couple of feet.

Her skin prickles under his gaze, sensing the pleasure running deep below the surface, that he was taking out of this cat and mouse game. Taking a thrill out of getting her to do just as he wished without her even grasping that he was manipulating her. The promise of a fight. The thought of killing her with his bare hands. It excited him... this she could sense without his face moving so much as a muscle, nary a twitch. But his eyes... those dead eyes, they spoke the words clearly to her, within the inky hell.

“Fuck you!”

She spits the expletive as she darts forward, aiming a hard boot to his knee, hoping that if she could just knock him off kilter a little...

… but she might has well had been kicking a tree trunk. The impact jars up her leg as she staggers backwards.

He merely cocks his head to the side about half a degree, a silent invitation and one that Lycana accepts, knowing she doesn’t have a choice in the matter. She lunges, using her agility to the fullest extent, coming in close only to strike before dancing away again. She landed blows, feinting and fast, skillfully watching his every move for a chance to get by him and to the door, and freedom. That was all she wanted, to get the fuck out and away from him. She wasn’t a fool... he could overpower her with ease, and all she had was her speed. He wasn’t even trying to block her when she lashed at him, he simply absorbed them, a particularly powerful one rocking him slightly here and there... but his expression never changed. He was like a machine... and that pushed her harder as the chilling fist of fear clenched around her. She had to get out and away or she was going to die, and she....

Let her mind get too distracted.

The impact of his hand crashing against the side of her head sent her careening backwards into the wall, smashing into it hard enough to knock the air from her. The back of her head makes a thunk noise as she slides to her knees, shaking the cobwebs out as she blinks up at him.

Fuck.

Her mind zips through her meager options as she slowly rises back to her feet. He never moves, but his whole manner has changed to one of victory. The bear sensed its prey was bruised and bleeding, and could take its time stalking it, could take it down at its leisure. Her speed had failed her so what was there left? She couldn’t talk her way out of it. She couldn’t overpower him. If she got desperate, she would simply fail under his cold, calculated moves. The unwelcome feeling of helplessness starts to drape over her like a heavy blanket, crushing her under its weight. Her heart thuds, increasing in tempo as she realizes the fruitlessness of the situation she had gotten herself into. John Caedus was going to kill her unless... unless...

She did have one more thing.

And he still might kill her... but she wouldn’t make it easy on him.

With a snarl low in her throat, her eyes begin to gleam violet as a crackling fills the air. Black fur pushes through splitting skin as bones snap and reshape, until the wolf stands before the man. Her hackles raise along her spine, ears flattening as she drops her head, lips pulling back to reveal a flash of fang as she growls.

He stands still, watching. His lips twitching upwards for a mere second, but the message sent.

Bring it.

He wanted this. He loved it.

Sleek muscles gather under their obsidian velvet covering, launching her forward and into the air. He lifts an arm to block, and her teeth sink in, the hot, coppery blood spurting onto her tongue as she shakes her heads before letting go, dropping swiftly as his other hand passes harmless over her. She darts back, her teeth catching his thigh before she is gone again. She continues her assault, the wolf's agility lending her the upper hand as she continuously scores victories with her teeth. But still, no opportunity presents itself to get by him. She tries to trick him and slip through in between his legs, but he slams them shut, and she snaps her jaws shut on his calf in anger. She spins and hurtles into the air once more, his hands closing over the thick fur of her shoulders, trying to hold her out from his body. She lashes out, sharp nails digging deep into flesh as she squirms, her slick coat aiding her in slipping from his grasp, leaving him with nothing but two handfuls of fluff. She backs away and he shakes them off, as the pieces of her pelt drift softly down to the floor.

Lycana pants as she stares at John Caedus, streaked and coated with blood seeping from his wounds, the majority of him now crimson hued.

And still he stood firm.

As she stares, he smiles.

If she had blinked, she would have missed it... but she saw it. A blinding terror smacks into her with the force of a tidal wave. He wasn’t human. She didn’t know what the fuck he was, but he couldn’t be human. There was no damn way... None.

With a guttural roar she flies again, seeking desperately to either go for his jugular or right over his damn body, she didn’t give a shit which at this point, but monstrous hands pluck her right from the sky, one wrapping about her throat rendering her fangs useless, the other, a tight grip on the tender flesh of her inner thigh, holding her nearly horizontal. She snaps, her jaws clacking together uselessly as long strands of slobber scatter around. He squeezes, silencing her growls into croaks, and still, she struggles on. She gags, her tongue turning purple as she flings herself every which way in a determined bid for life.

Instead, she feels herself being dipped down, then lifted up fast, launched over his head. Her body soars, but he doesn’t let go, tearing a chunk of fur and tissue from her leg. She yelps as her skin gives way, and again as her body meets the unforgiving wood floor, bounces, and then slides wildly, leaving a scarlet streak as she skids along.

She struggles to get her paws under her, her only thought survival as realization dawns that she is now on the opposite side. She forgoes another attack, instead choosing to whirl galloping forward at full speed away from her tormentor. She knew it was stupid, but it was her only chance. She pins her ears back, eyes closing as she vaults herself up...

And directly into the large window on the side of the room.

The pane shatters with an explosion of glass shards, the sharp edges ripping through her body like a knife through butter. She grits her teeth against the searing pain, hopping up on the ledge and flinging herself off, down onto the ground. She scrambles in the sand, risking one glance behind her as she gains her footing.

Inky eyes watch her from above.

She turns and makes a break for it, leaving a trail of gore behind her, her paws eating up the ground as she runs for her life.

_______________________________________________________________________________



“Ever forward.

Isn’t that something you used to push all the time?

It’s a good one, one that more people should focus on but all too easily fall under the weight of their own expectations of themselves. Allowing the heavy yoke of self-doubt and need for accomplishments to all but strangle them, dragging their shoulders down to the ground, until it is all but inevitable that they give in to it, begin to yield to the burden and fail not only themselves, but what they could be. When one sheds the concrete collar of expectations, and traverses the path free, unburdened, letting the world be their guide to what they should strive for, letting fate nudge them in the direction they were meant to go in... why, one can obtain almost anything.

Like the Universe.

That is not to say one will not face their ups and downs on their journey. Again, if the expectation is to just careen through on the path to greatness, no roadblocks... one sets themselves up for some damn disappointment. But if one moves ever forward, accepting and using their failures as fuel, the world is simply an oyster waiting to crack open and reveal the glimmering pearl of success as a reward. The swirling opalescent surface laying a buffet of offerings to select from, if they would only reach out and take it.

Sometimes the trail there is downright ugly.

Sometimes, you make a lot of mistakes before your vision clears and you understand what you are meant to be, and do.

I have been in the XWF for nearly a year now. In fact, Bad Medicine arrives a single day before I hit that anniversary. Who would have thought this is where I would be, and what I would be doing? I certainly didn’t.

I never expected to be standing with the Universe that I didn’t think I wanted, lingering just beyond my fingertips.

And in truth, it is not the Universe itself that draws me now, it's everything that it represents. I could care less about adornments, visible and tangible trophies to tote around. That is something I have said from the moment I walked in the doors here. But this particular glittering gem is something that is coveted by the majority here. To wear it is tantamount to catapulting your name into the record books. But more importantly, it garners a bit of respect, grudging or not. And that, that is one of the main reasons I issued the challenge that I did.

I might not have the best record or run that anyone has ever seen, hell... most would argue that it was the opposite. I stepped in and took loss after loss after loss, but what I did afterwards, was get myself up and keep moving, never letting the defeats, defeat me.

Ever forward.

I let the losses teach me, counting that as a win. A factor that I have been mocked for constantly in this federation for. By Caedus, by Thunder Knuckles, by who knows who else... at this point I’ve lost track. Probably because I've ceased paying attention. It’s not my fault they are blind to the heavy amount of truth behind that statement. They merely see the setback, feel the unwelcome sting of humiliation because a win means so much to them. They fail to see the growth and resilience that can be gained by getting knocked down. Refuse to see the determination and ferocity that can bloom in the soul of one who looks at their losses as a lesson.

And fuck, have I learned a lot in the past year.

Not only in that ring either, though putting in the hours has refined a lot in that aspect. I’ve learned my strengths and weaknesses. I’ve learned more about myself than I cared to. I’ve learned how to grow and evolve, to step outside of the cage I had placed myself in. To become uncontainable.

I went from the girl with the most consecutive losses and the most sneered at, to someone who managed to accomplish things nobody ever saw coming. And through it all, I managed to garner the same half compliment, half complaint that always seems to come my way.

Lycana never gives up.

Nah, I will cheerfully remain a thorn in people’s ass cheeks as long as it takes to get what I want. And what I want, and what I seem to fail to earn despite the months of work, walk hand in hand.

Respect.

Oh, not for me. There are plenty who don’t like me.

Perhaps people still see the dark pus that was the Left Hand oozing over me, though I shed that skin long ago. Perhaps it was the actions and words that occurred during that time. It’s fair. I know who I was, and there are parts of that Lycana that still live on, parts that creep out to add another layer as I evolve. Perhaps they are just passionate within their hatred of me. I detest many right on back. I don’t care if people don’t respect me as a person... What irks me is the lack of it surrounding my abilities in the ring.

And I know exactly what things cast the heavy shadow of doubt over that.

Marf.

Gasoline.

Blowtorch.

Inside cradle.

Flukes.

Ah, that last one will forever be my favorite. My wins are all flukes, because... reasons. Even when none of the above mentioned are around, there will still be another reason to be found on why it was of little significance, of no merit, by somebody.

Wins over the likes of Betsy Granger, R.L. Edgar, Mark Flynn, North Korean War Criminal... all shooed away with excuses. It was a tag match, you didn’t do anything. Oh dear, a belt was put into play! Goodness! Marf was around and interfered!

Cutting Chris Page’s ten month win streak off at the knees? What! Marf was out there! He didn’t do anything, but that doesn’t matter. That silly little inside cradle, that didn’t mean a damn thing.

And then there was that time I stepped into the ring and became the single blight on a year's worth of victories... but Marf! And fire! And bolt cutters! Oh my!

All sniffed at due to circumstances.

And that, that’s where you come back in Alias.

That is why I spoke out about the circumstances surrounding this one the way I did. To put away anything that can be seen as interference, or a hindrance, or that could be used as an excuse. Just you and me, head-to-head and having it out one more time. Once more... bigger stage, bigger risk, bigger rewards. For the both of us.

Everybody knows how last time went down.

It’s no secret that there was a heavy amount of doubt that I had actually earned that X-treme title belt, and more importantly, the win over you. No matter that there were no rules, and I merely used what I had to my advantage. No matter than you would have dumped the fuel all over my body, and lit me up to roast marshmallows over for s’mores. The fact of the matter, is that the doubt is there... and being the only one to have beaten you in a solid year, just makes it even more stark to those on the outside looking in.

That won’t happen again.

But the end result will.

You got it all wrong the other night Alias, in the ring during Savage. I have all the confidence in the world that I can come in and snatch another win right out from under you. I already did. Why do I feel the need to prove it again? Just to show that I can, and that I don’t need anything else in that ring with me to do so. I don’t need Marf’s help. I don’t need a chair or the ring stairs. I don’t need a blowtorch to light you up...

I have the fire in my own two hands.

Confidence.

If I wanted to, I could have just laid out my desire for another match, leaving out my desire for it to be just us. I didn’t. I put myself at a “distinct disadvantage” going by most outsiders, and likely your, perspective.

Because I know I can do this.

And earn the grudging respect that I want. Let's be honest, nobody will want to show it, because nobody else has managed to accomplish what I have. I took you on and won, during the middle of the hot streak you are on. You rolled through the loss and took the Universe from Page that same night, busting through the rubble I poured on your path, making it clear once more.

Ever forward.

And up to the stars.

Since then, you’ve kept right on going, destroying everyone who is set before you. For nearly a year now. You can nearly claim to be undefeated for an entire year. So damnably close to that... but for one little imperfection marring that record.

Me.

Maybe you see this as your chance for retribution for Leap of Faith.

Perhaps not.

You’ve never been one to march to the beat of the expected drum. You always decided to bound off the beaten path and make your own way. You’ve always been different from the rest of the roster. It’s something I said way back when the Left Hand was still alive and well, and we had our tag team match. You have always intrigued me with the way you do things, how you handled the remarks and skepticism thrown your way. We are similar in that aspect, even if our individual approaches were unique to ourselves. Parallel paths that snaked their way through twists and turns, only to intersect on occasion, leaving an intersection to find a new trail to follow. Now, our most recent crossroads, has sent us on one that I don’t think anybody could see coming, not even us.

The dynamic has changed.

That was the understatement of the century.

I’m not talking about what happened with our careers, or the new stipulations that surround this coming match, those are all givens. I’m talking about the big one.

You and I.

We are no longer sworn enemies. Though, that was more on your end than mine. I was only doing what I needed to, in whatever way that was offered to me. You wanted to spill my blood and put me down like a dog. Hell, I saw that red haze drop over your eyes. Let’s speak plainly. You wanted to murder me. At that time when we first entered the cages, all you wanted to do was break me down and make me pay for everything that the Left Hand had ever done in the XWF. You turned into a feral creature, and I bear the scars to prove it. But I survived.

I survived, and I won.

Now that’s gone, your all-consuming desire to rip my head from my shoulders, and shove it up my ass so that I could watch you kick it.

Or I’m making the guess that it is. Maybe it still simmers deep inside of you, refueled with the need for payback.

In any case we are... whatever we are. I’m not really sure what kind of name to put on us. I’ve never been much good with labels. We aren't quite friends. Allies then, or merely a support piece hovering in the background of our lives where we never expected one to be. From fangs at each other’s throats, to teeth sheathed, eyes watching the back now, instead of for a chance at the jugular. I helped you. You helped me. It’s really kind of funny how life works. If you had asked me a year ago if I thought I would put aside any differences with you, to assist you in finding out what you needed to. I would have laughed.

Or cackled maniacally, like a good cult member should.

So, what does that mean for us now? This new change in dynamics. You being different. Me being different. Our relationship status changed from “Enemies” to “It’s Complicated”?

It means that you will be in full control of yourself. You won’t be blinded by rage and vengeance when you step in between the ropes. You will be more dangerous and more focused on me, knowing that I will watch your every move for a sign of weakness. You are stronger now. Your strength and ability confirmed as you stand in the center of the Universe. You have cracked the glass and exploded into the expanse of space, beyond ever forward.

While I... well I still wander. My own history now riddled with more loops, lumps, and spins than the biggest rollercoaster. I have had my ups and downs, but am firmly back on the rise again. I am not the person I was when I walked in a year ago... my dynamic has changed. But I still hold onto all the parts you should be worried about Alias. All the little pieces of me that took advantage of your slip ups and cost you that win over me, they are alive and well. I will still never give up. I will still give it my all. I will still do and use whatever it takes to get what I want. In this case, it won't be tools... it will be my own damn body. I will sacrifice my flesh, bones... every damn droplet of blood that courses through my veins if it means taking home that Universe.

You said it’s going to be a fight... You have no idea.

It will be more than a mere fight Alias. I expected you to FIGHT. This is going to be a battle. The air between us is crystal clear. We have tasted each other’s blood, forced enough sweat to make the skin slick, pushed each other to the limits, shattered boundaries, crashed through any expectations that were put on us. The last match... that was a fight. This, my sweet friend... this is going to be a war. This, is going to be like nothing ever seen before... because you want to hold what you’ve got.

And I've never wanted to take anything more.

You said I will be entering your Universe... You are damn right I will. Just like I entered the cages... Those cages represented what anyone thought. Trapped, destined for a loss. And I fucking broke them. Just like I’m going to break through, and take your Universe for myself... I am going to play amongst the galaxies and send you plummeting back to Earth.

You have always had bad luck with fire Alias, despite rising from the ashes. The rest of your history with it has been less than stellar. The odds are stacked against you. And when it comes to Bad Medicine, you are going to get a taste of the flames once again as they char you and any chance you have, to nothing but mere flecks of embers floating about. Fire once more defeating you. But this time, I don’t need a blowtorch or gasoline to provide the inferno that will be your undoing.

I only need myself.

I am the fucking fire Alias.

And I’m going to set your whole fucking Universe ablaze.”