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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Bad Medicine 2021
The Daughter of Alias Saga #3: Angels and Demons
Author Message
ALIAS Offline
Space Jesus



XWF FanBase:
The IWC

(gets varying reactions in the arenas, but will be worshiped like a god and defended until the end by internet fans; literally has thousands of online dorks logging on to complain anytime they lose a match or don't get pushed right)


#1
11-22-2021, 06:04 AM



                                                                                                                              

























































3A: On My Waist

“So uh… I wasn’t in New Orleans for Warfare, and as such, I haven’t commented on what went down. I feel like I should though. There is no extraordinary drive that’s prompting this confession. There’s no otherworldly force. This isn’t as much about my fight, as it is about setting ablaze every fucking barrier that could ever be used to cage me again.

Before we get into that further though, I want to also be clear that this isn’t a case of me taking an eye off of you, Tavora. Yes, this deals with what may come when our business is concluded - if it ever is - but acknowledging this issue doesn’t mean that I’m looking past you. Instead, consider this more of an example as to just who in the blue hell you’re stepping into The Void with. Who I am, as a fucking entity, compared to who I was six months ago. Can you do that for me?

Tough fucking titties if you can’t. I’m going to say it anyway.

Jim Caedus got screwed.

I don’t know your thoughts on the man, Tav’ - thanks to Betsy and Arcana, I think you know him a wee bit better than I do. Me? I don’t give a flying shit about Jimmy as a person. Nonetheless, it’s a goddamn fact that Jim Caedus should be in this match with you and I, Tav’.

Blocking a guy from cashing in his 24/7 Briefcase?

Fucking bullshit.

I’m not even coming at this from a ‘fairness’ perspective, or any airy-fairy shit like that. Remember, Tav’, I never once complained about Marfy Marf’s nose being stuck so far up your Funky Bunch that he just couldn’t resist inserting those grubby paws of his into our business at Leap of Faith. You haven’t claimed I have either, but we’re talking about me here, okay? Let me live up to that sanctimonious shit-stain label! I earned it when I first got it. Just like I earned you holding Leap of Faith over my head.

People can check the tapes though, I only blamed myself for even allowing you and Marf a sniff in. And as far as that briefcase goes? Putting the goddamn work in to earn that briefcase means that you can use it however you goddamn please, and even though this isn’t about that, it is still, one bazillion percent fair. Fuck me, Tav’, you referenced yourself how many fucking times I had to listen to people say that using a briefcase exactly how it’s designed to be used was a bitch move? This will be the most genuine apology you’ll ever hear from me: I am so sorry that you had to deal with Page straight after I did my thing. Honestly, it wasn’t until I definitively put that asshole down that all that bitching - even by the other people who shat the bed against me (has anyone heard from Chris Chaos?) - finally ceased. I suppose that makes sense, but one thing that I learned from it all was that if Jimbo wanted to roll on in and get amongst our business, then he had a damn sight more right to do so than Marf did the first time round. And if I didn’t complain about Marf, then do you think I’d complain about Jim using that briefcase in a quote-unquote ‘more honourable’ way than I did myself?

The answer is an emphatic ‘no’. I’m not going to pretend here that you would try to contradict that, Tav’. The entire fucking world knows what I would do.

I’d fight.

The same as what I’d do if Jimmy wants to come and get some when the dust has settled on our little soirée and all of that self-doubt that you definitely said you had has been substantiated.

I’d fucking fight.

And you know what? I might falter. That’s a credit to you - I’m not getting sucked into the bullshit that others have spewed about your record. I know what you can do better than anybody else can. Shit, it’s not just that you can take it out of me, you have. You won’t though. The Universe may very well decide that if Jimmy shows up after we dance our dance, then the jig is up for me. If he really wants the Universe for himself, that’s absolutely his best option. Because it ain’t happening with a front on assault.

You got that, Tav’?

It ain’t fucking happening.

And even with a briefcase, it might be a bit of a tall order. I mean, if anyone can stop a cash-in, it’s me, right? I’d sure as shit give it a red hot go.

Tavora, it’s not you.

One would think that what you managed to accomplish at Leap of Faith is evidence to the contrary. What I managed to accomplish is how I know it’s true. I hope I don’t sound like a broken record here. Again, none of this is meant to dismiss you. I said that I’m just helping define who I am for you, and I sincerely mean that.

You are the fire?

I am born of it.

I am born of the flames; born of the fight; born of The Universe itself! I was made for it, forged in Universes past. I’m not just being arrogant here, either. I’m being realistic about one of the most unrealistic things that has ever happened in this world.

My own 24/7 25/8 Briefcase is a big part of the story that you and I are telling here, Tav’. It’s what separated me from you, even when you cremated me in front of the world. What I don’t get is why Theo Pryce would gloss over that. I guess it’s a compliment to the two of us that he sees an opportunity to leech some extra coin, not that either of us will even see those benefits, let alone care about them. But bringing that briefcase into the mix? Well, that would give another chance to make some cash money in the future, right? Just like us, right now.

But what do I know? I still don’t think I’ve even seen a fucking paycheck.

Because I’m not doing this for money. I’m not doing this for glory. I don’t need a fucking contract clause to get what I want; what I need.

I fight for it instead.

You hear that, Peter Vaughn?

Congratulations on beating a fucking monkey. That gorilla probably had a few extra IQ points on the buffoon I last fought - sorry, not sorry, Bobby.

Thing is, Petey, you came into my world back at Relentless and got in the way of my fight. Not my match, but my struggle, my mission, my purpose. I’m looking forward to getting in the way of yours.

The Universe works in mysterious ways, eh? This is the path it lays before me. As I knew that you were my next fight while I was putting Bobby Bourbon down, Tav’, now I know who is next after that.

Sooner or later, that question is going to have to change though. Not to ‘who’s next?’ but to ‘who’s left?’ One thing at a time, I guess. Peter Vaughn is a barrier to my fight. I’ll keep swinging. Jim Caedus is a barrier to my fight - perhaps a credible one given the power he now wields. I’ll dust myself up and bring my fight straight back to him.

And you, Tav’?

You’re a barrier to my fight.

A barrier I will bust open.

The Universe is staying around my fucking waist.”








3B: On My Shoulder

##There's a devil on my shoulder.
He’s rap, rap, rapping at the door.
I told him ‘Go away, you sonofabitch!’
But now he wants some more.##


~~~

I should have known that going back there would dredge up things that were best left buried. That was the intent, in a sense. But this… this has gone further than I wanted. Further than I expected.

~~~

##There’s a devil on my shoulder.
He dreams the life of the usurper.
A knife in the heart; and three in the back;
All while screaming bloody murder.##


~~~

A part of me wants to give in.

It always has.

‘Stab, stab, stab.’ I can rationalise it more successfully than in The Before. There’s less confusion; less disorganisation; less bloodlust. I don’t bark it, but rather I whisper it to myself. Still, that feeling swells inside me. It always has. Perhaps it always will.

‘I got better.’ What a fucking joke. Once a sanctimonious shit-stain, always a sanctimonious shit-stain.

Once a broken record, always a broken record.

It’s all relative, I suppose. One step at a time.

‘I got better.’?

I will.

I am.

I know it.

~~~

##There’s a devil on my shoulder
Telling me which way to go.
Lefts and rights, and rights and lefts,
Through fields of death and woe.##


~~~

Turn left.

I do.

Turn right.

I do.

Again and again.

There.

Right there.

I see him.

~~~

##There’s a devil on my shoulder.
‘You know you want to’ is what he says.
‘You could end his sorry life
In about a million different ways!’##

~~~


##There’s an angel on my shoulder.
She wasn’t there in The Before.
But after all that I have been through
She thought she would even up the score.##


~~~

Heh…

I did get better. Relatively speaking. Those struggles may have latched themselves to me once more back at the campsite, and that could very well send me off the fucking cliff again. But I was prepared for that. As best as I could be, anyway.

I’m not a monster.

And I’m not alone.

I listen to the angel, take a step back, and breathe.







3C: On My Mark

The house lights are dimmed, with neon strips splashed across the skirting. Enough to see one’s foot step into the puke and piss (of both human and alcoholic varieties) staining the floor, but not early enough to avoid doing so to begin with. Spotlights scattered across the ceiling add colour to the scene, flashing in rhythm with the beat. The palpitations of the throng of revellers distort the pulses of light further in a technicoloured fever dream. Eyes closed, all arms raise in blind obedience to the bass. All hail!

It’s been just over a year since I last stepped into a place like this. I muse to myself how I hadn’t been missing much. Every nightclub looks the same. The light around the bar homogenises into more typical shades of amber and white, affording the slaves to the rave an easy path towards the myth of their sweet release. And that’s where he still lurks.

Kyril Krisciev.

Better known as the Morbid Angel.

~~~

##There’s an angel on my shoulder
Urging me to keep my cool.
She knows that in my heart of hearts
I wish to break the golden rule.##


~~~


##There’s a devil on my shoulder
Telling me I shouldn’t care
About what some fucking angel thinks
‘Go get him! He’s right there!’##


~~~

I breathe.

I be better.

And I watch.

Kyril cuts a path amongst the partygoers. The seas part as if a mystical force propels them. If you'd ask him, it does. To those whose feet are planted a little more firmly on solid ground, the explanation lies within the sheer mass of the man. Had it not been for the darkness when I first bounded up the steps into this space, I would have kicked myself for taking so long to spot him. He stands nearly a head above anybody else in the building.

When the girl - or whatever it was that spoke through her - had pointed me in his direction, there was a moment where I worried that the hunt for Kyril could drag on for months. His XWF appearances had been sporadic at best lately and if Johnny Law hadn't put him away for what four of us saw, then I figured he was on the lam. I revved myself up for another fucking spacewalk to find him, but as it turns out, sometimes the most logical answer was the best. I knew where his church was - I had been there before. Just before War Games, prior to his twisted idea of team building and salvation unfolding, Kyril had encouraged me to preach to his congregation. Despite what followed, I still knocked that sermon out of the park, if I do say so myself. As such, my face sparked astounded reactions from the parishioners when they saw me perched in one of the pews. Kyril wasn't there that day, they told me. They directed me here, where he was allegedly doing God's work.

The light from above the bar wrapped around his head in a twisted halo. It bounced off streaks of grey around his crown, casting horn-like shadows against the illuminated background. A paradoxical justification only visible from my particular vantage point, shared by the club's name scrawled in chalk on a blackboard above the bar: Angels and Demons. The hammered imagery induces a pair of rolled eyes in my skull.

I follow Kyril with my eyes as makes his way through the sweat-soaked bodies, rife with exposed biceps, deep Vs, and inhibitions freed from the confines of history's shackles. Here, the men could be themselves. Here, Kyril wouldn't let them.

Most ignored him as he tried to engage them. Some followed his manic pointing to the roof (read: heavens), and some were even brave enough to give the giant a firm shove to separate space. None of that would stop him. He was here to do 'God's work'. He could save them all!

That piece of shit.

I'm not a particularly political person and my relationship with all sorts of religions, today's and yesterday's, is fairly well understood at this stage. What I do value however, more than anything, is my own right to autonomy. It's not a difficult leap to respect others' rights too.

He disrespects them all.

Praise Jesus fucking Christ.

That's a fair reflection (through my own confessed biased lens) of what he mutters as his path through the gay bar brings him past the palisafe that separates the dance floor from the semicircular booth that I sit in. As he glides past, he doesn't notice me. I'm not sure, on his end, what would happen if he did.

His mission persists.

Mine prevails.

"Have you heard the word of our lord and saviour, Jesus Christ?" I overhear Kyril say to a pair of dancers. From my side-on view, his grin looks demented. The recoil that the men show reflects my sight. Kyril pursues them, and I shift in my seat as I prepare to intervene..

~~~

##There’s an angel on my shoulder.
And in the face of what I could do,
She reminds me what I’ve accomplished
And what path that would lead to.##


~~~

I don’t.

I watch.

Still, Kyril is relentless.

That’s not the problem, though. I could stop him in a blink. I know that. Shit, he does too, I think. We’ve danced this dance before, and even with Mastermind helping him, I already stopped him. With a giant fucking exclamation point. Whether he remembers that or not… I don’t know. I do know that he would remember me. And beyond that… the problem is picking the right moment.

It’s fortunate that I don’t need to make that decision on my own.

The girl emerges and jumps up onto my lap. It’s not worth digging into how I was able to bring her into the club with me. The world that you know is full of dark traumas. Beyond that? Incalculable struggle.

Somehow that explains her role. If you’re paying attention.

On my lap, she points.

~~~

##There’s an angel on my shoulder.
She tells me she can see what’s next.
Remorseful auras of the morning
Will breed hope on lies annexed.##


~~~

Kyril is following a stumbling body as it gracelessly moves towards a door, with a glowing green ‘EXIT’ sign hanging above it. A tiger, hunting its prey.

I can tell by the look in my daughter’s eye that she knows what I should do.

I can get outside the door before him.

So I do.

“I’m going to fucking kill him.”

~~~

##There’s a devil on my shoulder.
I know eventually it wins.
No matter what I say against it,
I’ll always succumb to those sins.##







3D: On My Heart

##There's a devil on my shoulder.
I'm about to make him proud.
Revenge on this motherfucker
Is exactly what I had vowed.##


~~~

A mottled blue dumpster, overflowing with bags of garbage and smelling like literal human shit, serves as a safe spot for the girl to hide behind. The flies that flit from decay to decay are harmless enough to a survivor like her.

Like ‘father’, like daughter.

The rain splats against ponds that have dug their way into the cobbled path. At first, they were mere dots of water, some of which merged together to become puddles. The puddles themselves combined and over time became full blown water features, or more. Flowing water barracks down the half-tube gutters cut into the edge of the alleyway. A river unto itself.

Under the downpour, shelter is fleeting at light's will.

The body of another man falls against a wall. He fumbles with something from his pocket, but the rain disrupts his plans and his wallet spills out into the surface water. The current sweeps it away from him, and he lumbers after it with plodding footsteps that slosh as they hit the ground. My own feet are more deliberate. With the side of my holed shoe, I block the wallet from rushing past me, and I then bend down and pick it up. The man hobbles up to me, teetering in his drunken stupor.

“That’s mine!” he tries to say. His slurred speech is as wet as both of our heads, though his eyes are dry and barren. I have no intention of turning this into a quarrel, however. I have my own target.

I thrust the wallet into his hands and he does his very best to avoid falling over.

“You should go,” I tell him, cold and flat. I know that look in his eye. He hears something in my voice that sends a chill up his drowned spine.

And he runs.

From something that seems inhuman to him.

I turn and watch him flee. He ducks out of sight around the corner of a building, leaving me standing there in the pouring rain. I turn to look at the girl, who smiles at me from the cover of the dumpster. In her eye, I did the right thing.

Over the sound of the rain pounding the pavement, it’s a wonder that I even notice the door back into the club closing behind me.

"Kyril…" I pronounce, knowing it’s him before I even turn around.

~~~

##There’s a devil on my shoulder.
He tells me ‘Now it's your bloody chance!
Turn around and gut this pig
Don’t even give it a second glance!’##


~~~

“Oh! I know you!” Morbid Angel says, smiling as though he were happy to see me. “Wait, what’s your name again?”

I snigger. A playful barb. He knows exactly what he’s doing with that line. He’s used it before. But I’m not here to play.

“Hey, did anyone else come out here?” he asks, mind still focused on what his original plan was. “The Lord told me there was a soul out here in desperate need of saving!”

“Saving?” I scowl. “Is that what you call it?”

“Of course!” His thick, Russian accent adds an ominous undertone to any occasion when he shows this level of enthusiasm. “God Almighty has empowered me to be his vessel here on this earth! And all these poor souls are sinning against his wishes! I’m here to show them the light!”

“And if they reject you?” I ask. Even this heavy rain is not enough to wash the cynicism from my words. “If they reject Him?”

“Then they will spend an eternity in hell, having burning pokers shoved up their asses while bandicoots nibble on their nipples, and they’re spoon fed their own testicles.” It’s all so simple to him. So matter-of-fact. Decidedly ludicrous too.

“And which book in the Bible is that from?” I ask, and immediately wish I hadn’t. When I had visited Kyril’s church myself, it was so easy to fall into the bullshit banter with him even after he and I had waged war against each other once before. But now I’ve seen what lies underneath that perverted affability.

I know what ‘saving’ someone looks like to him.

“One of the later ones,” he shrugs. “I think.”

This motherfucker doesn’t even know.

My mind drifts back to his congregation, and a sense of pity taps away at my heart. So desperate they were to find something to believe in, that they’d turn to any old snake oil salesman peddling salvation.

“And those campers?” I ask.

~~~

##There’s a devil on my shoulder.
He simply doesn’t understand.
‘The man who killed her parents
Is right there, so play your hand!’##


~~~

On the wind, I can feel the girl’s chest tighten.

~~~

##There’s an angel on my shoulder.
It promises so much more.
All I need to do is stand my ground and
Resist kicking down that dark door.##


~~~

Morbid Angel struggles to even register what I said

“Campers?” he responds. The gears turn inside his thick skull. With a slow grind, they eventually click into place. “Oh, the campers! I remember! No, I don’t think that they’ll be in hell. So many of them pleaded for God just before they passed on, so he definitely would have saved them. Except maybe that Asian couple… I think they were Buddhist or something. Who knows what they were saying?”

“Korean,” I say. I can also play ‘matter-of-fact’.

“So Commies then?” he chuckles. “It’s been a while since I had to deal with any Commies!”

“South Koreans,” I correct him. Fuck me, why am I still even engaging in this bullshit?

“Oh, okay.” He seems nonplussed. “Well, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go back inside and save some more people. It’s really weird that you’re just standing out here in the rain, by the way. I bet it makes your hair smell funny. Come inside and let me get a sniff of it. Then, I can save you too, just like while we were camping!”

‘We’? He wasn’t even…

He turns back towards the door.

I’m there.

As he turns the handle and pulls the door ajar, my hand slams against the wet surface and drives it shut again.

“Hey, stop being a weirdo,” Kyril says, looking down at me.

I look up to him full of fury.

~~~

##There’s a devil on my shoulder.
He’s cackling with glee.
After months of silently waiting
I’m now what he wanted me to be.##

~~~


##There’s a devil on my shoulder.
The angel’s left the building.
She could not dare to fathom
Whose dream I will be fulfilling.##


~~~

Kyril moves back out into the rain. It beats down harder than ever before, matching his purported determination in its effort to cleanse the earth.

“You do need saving, don’t you?” he says, opening his arms wide and turning in a delirious spin as he looks up at the dark, water-soaked sky. “I was able to bring the team together, wasn’t I? Faith Unites Coreytopia and Korea in a Triumphant Holy Alliance of Distinction prevailed! I was the Faith! And the Holy! And you were the Triumphant! And the Distinction!”

“So did you kill those people to bring us together or to save them?” This is the thing that tends to happen when you hold a microscope up to the kinds of bullshit that conmen sell. It crumbles.

“Both!” He brims with pride.

“There was a child…” I hiss. Morbid cocks his head.

“A child?” His face scrunches in confusion. “Whose? Yours? That would be terrible, right?! Imagine you as a parent!”

“The campers, you sack of cunts!” No more hissing. I bellow, loud enough to stop the rain. I am the thunder of my own. I am the fire. I am that which is more than human.

RUN!

RUN!

RUN!

RUN!

















A delightful pitter-patter of footsteps tinkles off the graffitied brick and stone that lines the alleyway, as if someone was walking atop the ankle-high water. Were it not for the heavens subsiding against my ire, neither Kyril nor I would have been able to hear.

With the way things tend to work out for me, I’m sure I would have felt it.

And I’d have made Kyril feel it too.

“Oh, hello there,” Morbid Angel greets the girl as she steps out from behind the dumpster. “Have you heard about our lord and savior, Jesus Christ?”

The fucking gall of him. I ball my gloved fist, preparing to bring the fucking fire.

“I am the fire,” I whisper quiet enough that even in the rain’s absence, it still goes unheard.

~~~

##There’s a devil on my shoulder.
And a flaming blackness in my heart.
I’m about to take the step I should have taken
Right back at the start.##


~~~


“Wait a minute!” Kyril near-jumps in excitement. He turns back to where I stew. “Is this the child you mentioned? You’re crazy! Why is she even with you and why would you bring her here?”

Death becomes.

I, the gunslinger, draw. Metaphorically of course (you know how that goes).





...

I don’t shoot.

The girl steps closer to Morbid Angel. And she doesn’t cry.

She cries around everyone! Everyone except…

~~~

##The angel isn’t on my shoulder.
She walks beside me on this earth.
Gentle eyes of salvation bred
A tangible rebirth.##


~~~


“You did a bad thing,” the girl says, with an eloquence beyond her childish voice. She stands barely higher than his gigantic knees, but you wouldn’t know it from the way she holds herself. It may just be my warped perspective, but Kyril himself seems to shrink before her. “If there is a God, he wouldn’t be very happy with you.”

“And what would you know about, God, little Commie?” Morbid says, deliberately condescending.

“I know lots of stuff,” the girl replies. She reaches out towards him, and a genuine force compels Morbid to return the gesture.

Everything turns white.







3E: On My Word

“We both have led interesting lives, haven’t we Tav’?

Is there an understanding between us? Sure. In some respects. The things we’ve seen, the stories we could tell… you’d have to be crazy to believe any of it. What does that say about the two of us, eh?

It’s only gotten more complicated, too. Even away from the bloodthirst of those whose own stories lead them to coming to watch our melees, our lives now begin to intersect in ways that are both fascinating, and I think I can speak for both of us when I also say, unsurprising. With the role that we’re both acknowledging the other plays in our respective tales, of course things would build up from there. Of course everything would escalate, right?

What I find particularly interesting is how the sides have shifted. See, back when you were pledging nightly allegiance to the ballsack of Cthulhu, or whatever Baph’ had you fuckers doing, you were so desperate to stake your claim inside the darkness. A devilish little minx, you would’ve had us all believe. By proxy, I wound up finding myself the angel by default, and if I’m being honest with you, I tried to resist that as much as I could. ‘I’m no hero,’ I said. I’ve had to periodically remind people of that ever since. But that’s not the dynamic that we’re dealing with today is it? Black and white isn’t how the world works, and it’s not the position that you and I find ourselves in. Angel? Demon? We’re both floating somewhere in the middle. Unlike last time, there’s no struggle about which side of the aisle we’re on. That’s a good thing too. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never really bought that religious mumbo jumbo that I sometimes leverage as being anything more than a convenient storytelling device for this preparatory ‘verbal crap’, as you so aptly describe it. I use myths and lore because that’s what I relate to. And I use your words to help you relate to it too. Is that twisting them? If you want it to be. No more than you putting words into my mouth about promising not to do that, though. Pretty sure I gave credit to you too about how all of that ‘turning me to ash’ business (my how nonchalant we are when we talk about that now) could’ve just been in the… ahem… heat of the moment.

Here I was hoping to celebrate that someone was finally listening. At least you’re trying. Whether you’re able to make the links needed, eh… I’m doubtful. But still, at least I’m not having to say the same fucking thing to people who think they’ll be able to skate by on swagger or reputation alone. Newsflash, cunts: that won’t ever be enough.

I’m not really an enigma though. Not in the way that you’re thinking, Tavora. For all the metaphors and motifs, you’d do well to not lose track of what’s sitting there on the surface. None of that’s a red herring. It’s a part of me, as much as any other piece is. As much as this crisped-up hand of mine. As much as ‘ever forward’ was.

As much as the fire.

I’m just a story-teller, remember? I thought you said you were into that?

I don’t hide my motivations.

I’m here to fight. For me.

And apparently, you’re here for me too. All those options you could have chosen, and it’s little ol’ me who popped your lady boner? How adorable. I mean… it’s not like being the ‘one’ person to have got up on me this year had anything to do with that? No! It’s because I’m special! Because I’m different!

Insert wet fart noise here.

Could you have beaten Corey? Could you have beaten Jim? You haven’t. Look, I know I said I wasn’t going to bang on about your track record, but if you’re saying that you could have set your sights on anybody, then I’m gonna have to question that. Would you have even been in the running for a shot at any of them? I know it seems weird playing this down when I’m out here swinging that intergalactic dick, but humour me a moment, please. What we do know, Tav’, is that even if you asked for a shot at either of them - or any of the others for that matter, what, no love for gal pal Betsy? - it doesn’t mean a damn thing. Shit, just look at that bullshit with Jim himself!

It is interesting how you pointed out the champions that you could have faced, instead of dropping names like Lou or Robert Main, though. It’s almost like champions are on your mind. Hmm… I wonder why.

I’m just playin’! Kind of.


You said as much yourself, Tav’: there was only me. You’re here because you’ve actually done it once before, against me. I guess in that sense, this whole thing is a uniquely me deal, isn’t it? My story, just like I fucking said. Play your part, girlie. Make me better.

Again.

Hey, how about we whip that blowtorch out again! What do you say? For old time’s sake? If that’s what it took to ‘stop’ me last time… well by casting it aside, wouldn’t you be denying yourself ‘whatever it took’ to do the deed? Maybe with it you’d be able to actually do it again! That’s a long, hard ‘maybe’ on your end, but fuck it, it could be fun to find out! Wouldn’t it be fun to find out what would happen to me next? To be fair, that’s gonna be fun for me whether I bring the torch or not. ‘Cause it’s-a coming! But I’m not quite sure you’re even ready for what I am today. You’ve got it twisted, Tav’! You didn’t kill the god-killer! You killed what came Before. And then? You squatted down there at ringside, dropped trou’, and fucking birthed him.

Put that period wherever you want. It’s easy to say a movie ‘stopped’ when you pushed the button before the tape ended.

It’s like if I claimed January was the end too. It wasn’t. And admittedly, it’s less convincing given that it wasn’t one on one, but if you’re trying to count the notches on each others’ belts and compare it to how it would look if it were you and Jim, please don’t forget about how I gave Jenny fucking Myst one up on you. Please don’t forget about how I ‘stopped’ you then.

Boy that word is starting to lose its impact, isn’t it?

With where we’re at here, there’s a tinge of deliberate irony pasted to my very use of it. ‘Stopped’. Clearly, you continued after that, didn’t you? By my own logic then, I didn’t stop shit, right? Save for those wet dreams you and Marf had of ever wearing those tag team championships in the middle of one of your backwoods blood orgies. After running through me, you fuckers never got off the ground. Now take that ‘stopped’ and line it up with what happened that night at Leap of Faith. How are we looking?

That’s what I fucking thought.

Remember, Tav’, I’m the one who said ‘yes’. I’m not really the type to turn down a fight, not with that good ol’ fashioned drive I’ve banged on about, but I still didn’t have to take you up on this do-si-do. You just happened to skip along right at the time when I needed someone to play a role; right at the time when I’m rebuilding myself after an end back at Relentless. You didn’t have your pick of everyone to choose from.

There was only the ‘one’. And I’m it for you, aren’t I? As much as you want to be it for me. As much as you ‘were’.

I’m the one thing that you have to hang our hat on. Fuck Page. Did that bitch even win a match after I took his Precious?

You’ve only got eyes for me.

You want to hang your hat on snapping some sort of winning streak, back in The Before. Heh… you know, it really wasn’t even that much of a streak. For comparison, I’m just about to double that when I put you down.

When.

Because I will.

You’ve already given me the insight that I need on that front. You’ve spoken about how you don’t think the dynamics have changed. Welp… that’s gonna be a problem for you.

I’m different, remember? Oh, I know I’m being cheeky here, but those are your words. And yes, I’m being like that.

Because I’m using them differently.

Because I am different.

I am more than I was Before.

At least double even, tee-hee.

But you’re not. You’re the ‘one’ who was able to take advantage of the blinkers that I was wearing. Just like Thaddeus Duke was last year. Just like James Raven was over a decade ago. The one? I guess not. A one. One of, well… not many. Nobody will ever be able to take that away from you.

But none since I became who I am today.

None since I became something… else.

Remind me again what it is you do when faced with people like me? Fight? Or flight?

Tee-hee.

Again.

My eyes are wide open here. You should see what I see. I see the person who thinks they’re going to get respect - nice work dropping that word by the way - by doing something that they’ve already done before, rather than proving that they can overcome barriers that have caged them before. Jim’s beaten you so somehow that means you don’t want to fight him? Way to make yourself look like a ‘fraidy cat! Notice I’m fighting you instead of beating up on Chris Page again. And it would be so freaking easy. And when I’ve repeated? Lou - who I note you’re not calling out, and Atara, who cashed in for her own shot.

This puts us in an interesting predicament, Tav’. I know you’re over in Fight NYC as well - you could have just as easily gotten a second win over Page there to feed your weirdo need to suspiciously avoid any opportunities to avenge your previous failings against Jim and co. But you didn’t. You’re here with me. That tells me one of two things, Tav’: either you’re here for the Universe after all - and everything you’ve said for months about not wanting these shiny toys is a load of shit; or you’re recognising what I’m telling you.

I’m different, heh.

In the way that I mean, not you.

The dynamic is different.

And that’s why you want to stop me. Again, if you really want me to impale you with that sword. Your refusal to acknowledge that seismic shift, is the reason why you think you can do it at Bed Medicine. It’s time for you to get in touch with reality though. I touch base with the land every time I get set to throw down. I remind myself that I’m not unstoppable. I remind myself why I fight.

I fight because every day could be my last!

Then I look someone like you in the fucking eye and tell them that I won’t let it be that way.

This is not the day that I find out whether I’m an angel or demon.

I fucking fight.

For me.

For the Universe.

As I have done since the moment I stepped foot in here.

Oh yeah, good ‘buddy’, we’re talking since before Big Bitch Baph’ got shat out in our ring. You want to know why that book got slapped shut without completion like it’s you telling your tale about when we met in what sounds like the greatest night of your life? Because The Left Hand was never the end goal for me. That’s not to diminish anything about what happened during our prior conflict, but you need to recognise why I refused Baph’ to begin with - kicking off that whole saga-within-a-saga. It’s because I refused to let anyone stop me from getting what I needed. And when I got what I was after? Well… taking up arms against the two of you just didn’t seem that important anymore. My fight has been going for decades. Knowingly or not, The Left Hand sought to derail it.

But it didn’t.

Even with you walking out of that cage, in my mind, taking the Universe made it all worthwhile.

Please don’t forget that I invited you to come try your luck again back then, Tav’. Why is it that it took you so long to do so? At least we can rule out chasing those shiny trinkets, right? HA! You’ve had so much practice at saying that, but you really still need to work on how you frame that. Far be it for me to twist those words! I wouldn’t want you to throw a wobbly about it while simultaneously trying to use my own points against me.

Oh… awkward.

Sigh. Don’t be doing this, Lycana.

L to the O to the L!

They all do that. I’ve explained how I’m different. To them, and to who I was in The Before. I’ve shown it even. But with things like that coming out of your shit-eater, you’re really not doing a good job of convincing me that you are too. In fact, it’s almost like you’re just saying ‘I’m the same in all the ways that mean I win’, but then not saying what they are. But you wouldn’t do that, would you? Not in what’s just a conversation to you!

Look, I’ll give you this olive branch, okay? I’m just doing this shit the way I’m doing it here, for the fun of it. This isn’t one of those ‘gotcha’ games. Unless you want to take us there.

I am gonna getcha though.

When the long-winded bitch runs out of breath, I’m gonna get her.

And they always run out of breath.

You’re no different.”








3F: On My Watch

I’m clutching the girl in my arms as we slip into a doorway, ducking out of sight of flashing red and blue lights. Sirens wail as the police car shoots by.

I hadn’t taken my revenge on Morbid Angel. I hadn’t need to. Like life imitating the bullshit I spew, revenge isn’t the game anymore. I said as much to Lycana, but if the gloves fits, I dare say I’ll go ahead and repeat it. Repetition is kind of my thing.

The girl assured me that she gained everything she needed from the encounter. I knew that I was taking it on faith to trust her, but that faith wasn’t blind. It was necessary.

The police were a different story. They spotted us as we emerged from the alleyway, and I could tell by their body movements that there was something about us that piqued their curiosity. I had thought back to the phone call that the lawyer from New York had made as we exited the building, and didn’t want to risk anything. I was so damn close. The girl said so! We were so damn close!

The lights subsided and soon, the howling police cars were no longer heard either. It was just the two of us now.

And the person who opens the door.

“Comrade Alias! American-style good evening!”

...

Do you have a light?

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