Lycana stares down at the brutally disfigured form of Damien, laid out on the slab of stone like he was waiting for the butcher to carve the rest of his corpse up. Arcana hustles about, handling the things under the less than enthusiastic direction of the blue haired vixen, who seemed rooted to the spot. Other than answering the questions thrown her way robotically, or reciting off the steps by rote, her mind could only focus on one thing.
What the hell was about to happen?
At this point, all she could think of was what was next? With all the chaos that was presiding over her existence right now, how the hell would this little adventure end up?
Was it even possible, what they were trying to do?
She kept questioning herself, but she knew she didn’t have it in her not to at least try. It was her fault that he had ended up this way, a pile of meat for a face, brain ground into a mush within the fractured bowl of his skull. Her stomach roils at that knowledge. Her fault. If she had just done things a little bit differently, maybe it would not have come down to something this extreme. She was hurting, she was guilty, she was sad. And she hoped that she would at least get the chance to apologize. The odds of that, were not really in their favor in her opinion. Arcana would have to keep a steady stream of her healing magick going, as Lycana summoned him from the In-Between, and fed all her energies into holding that vortex open while ringing the bell.
There were three different outcomes possible.
Everything was peachy and they all walked out together.
It failed, and just the two witches would exit the cavern.
Or they would all die.
Pleasant thoughts to follow her through preparing for such an event. She had just risked her life days ago with the Gorgon venom, and then days before that during her little meet up with John Caedus... and now here she was, doing it yet again.
At least she was consistent with her frivolousness when it came to her mortality.
A check in the plus column? Maybe?
“Okay, so I got all the candles and stuff lit up. What else is there left to do?” Arcana appears across from her, joining her companion in staring down at the man they were both about to try and resurrect. Lycana flicks her gaze from the fiery haired sorceress, up to the large bell that hung over the slab. The sides were tarnished with age and grime from being buried for years, but the etchings on it were still visible. A curious design that she still had never figured out. She simply didn’t have the time. Any chance she thought she might have, something else insane popped up in her life and sent her cavorting off on yet another mission.
Arcana follows her eyes skyward, her brow furrowing. “I wish we knew more about where it came from.” she says, voicing Lycana’s inner thoughts.
“So do I. All I know is that it takes magick, preferably dark to make it work, along with ringing it the three times. I wish I had the time to do the research on it. Or that Finneas had been a little bit more forthcoming with all the information.” she sighs, dragging her stare away, looking towards Arcana. “That is everything though. Are you ready Kai?”
“I’ve been ready. We can do this!”
Lycana offers a wane smile. At least one of them had the power of positive thinking on their side. She wasn’t so sure. She steps up to the stone, one hand reaching up towards the bell. Her fingers had just brushed the frayed edge of the thick twine of rope hanging down, when she pulled them back. “Wait...” she turns and takes a few steps, pulling a dagger from a hidden compartment in the wall. She returns, placing it on the cold granite. “Just in case...” she lets her voice trail off, not needing to say anything else as Arcana nods.
She extends her arm once more, her hand gripping the rope tightly, pulling it towards her. Her free hand starts to make symbols in the air, beginning a chant in a low voice. Cerulean hued runes appear in the air for a few moments, before disappearing under her waving palm.
Across the table, Arcana picks up her task, glittery gold magick filling the air around her as Damien’s body begins to glow.
That was her cue.
Her other arm swings up, fist holding firmly onto the rope under her other hand, and she yanks with all her might, the sound of the bell loud and echoey in the deep, underground cavern.
BONG!
The air wavers around them, as both focus all their energies on their duties.
BONG!
She yanks the bell once more, feeling the pull from her energy being used on another plane, the vortex tapping into her on a deeper level.
BONG!
The third strike, the one that was supposed to bring him back from the dead. Arcana continues, sweat popping out on her brow as she pushes her healing magick towards Damien, nothing seeming to happen.
And then...
Pieces shift and move within the glow.
“Again.” Arcana whispers hoarsely, her hands trembling as she continues her intricate gestures in the air.
Lycana sucks in a breath, already feeling weakened, her hold tenuous on the bridge between the two realms. She wasn’t sure she was going to be able to keep it open for him to walk between the two for much longer, but she had to. If she failed this, she failed them all. Her teeth grind together painfully as she heaves on the rope, sweat popping out on her brow as she struggles to retain her focus where it needed to be.
BONG!
A whimper escapes her, her body starting to ache with pain. The veins, so recently darkened with the venom, pop out from her delicate skin, standing out in stark relief. Eyes wide, she looks to Arcana who stands, feet planted, her face shimmering with perspiration reflected back from the gold magick, and under all that glow... Damien’s features were starting to take shape once more.
It was working!
But she was weakening.
A hand reaches out from across the way, and Lycana grasps it, the two witches joining forces to push each other further than they had gone before.
BONG!
Blackness creeps in along the edge of her consciousness, and she feels herself wavering, the vortex shuddering in response. Lycana wobbles dangerously, the darkness threatening to fully take over and suck her into its inky depths, lost to the void. Her eyes go to the dagger. Should she draw blood? Did she have it in her? Was there going to be anything left in the tank if she had to hold the gates open for another round?
She didn’t think so.
But she wouldn’t have another option.
She rings the bell, a sixth time, summoning the lifeforce of Damien back again.
BONG!
Lycana couldn’t tell if the room was shaking, or she was about to topple over. The glow was blinding now, and she squinted her eyes against the painful brightness. It increases until they both let go, bringing their arms up to shield their faces from the blinding force of it, and then it fades. Leaving nothing but the harsh, rasping pants of the two witches in its wake. They blink owlishly at each other, their heads slowly turning in unison to peek at Damien...
Who looked peacefully at repose, fully intact once more.
Lycana’s legs tremble under her, as Arcana scampers around the slab and wraps her arms tight around her. “We did it.” she whispers, her voice raspy with both strain and emotion. She pulls back, then frowns, leaning in closer to peer at Lycana’s neck. “Ly! Your veins!”
“I’m alright.” she responds softly, her voice haggard. It had been too soon. It would take her awhile to recover from this. But they had accomplished what they set out to do, saving a friend, and they had done it together. They had not always gotten along, had even been walking the line of being enemies for the longest time, utter hatred oozing between them... so much had changed. Lycana was startled to realize that she was grateful to have a friend in her. Especially given the tempestuous nature of her life lately. On impulse, she hugs Arcana who looks shocked for a moment, before a small smile takes its place, the feeling apparently being mutual.
They both peer at Damien, waiting as time ticks on. Arcana fidgets. “It took a while last time too.” Lycana softly murmurs, her own nerves tense and on edge, despite the fatigue weighing heavily on her. “I remember... It’s just...” Arcana whispers back. “I know.” came the gentle reply.
Long moments pass before a sharp inhalation of breath heralds Damien’s return to the living. His eyes fly open, staring blankly up at the bell. Vacant eyes turn towards Arcana and Lycana as they take small steps towards the slab simultaneously. “Damien, are you okay?” Arcana inquires, her hand lifting and hovering in the air, wanting to reach out and make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
With a loud snarl, Damien launches off the rock, slamming bodily into Lycana, both of them crashing to the ground.
“DAMIEN!”
Hands grab at her throat, and she swats them away, twisting her body to try and get out from under the weight of the large man. “Damien, what the fuck?!” she gasps out, her fingers coming up to clasp his wrists, holding his grasping appendages from constricting her throat the best she could. Her arms quiver with the exertion as he continues to press, determined to strangle her. Dead eyes stare at her, as the mouth opens and a strange, mechanically maniacal cackle emerges, followed by a voice, that sounds like Damien, but off. “He sent me for you. I’m going to kill you.” she was told, gleefully.
THUNK!
The dagger, forgotten by Lycana on the slab, whistled through the air to embed itself in Damien’s bicep. His head turns to look at it, then towards Arcana, then back to Lycana. “You will die! Die!” He repeats the word, punctuated by crazy laughter as the skin he was wearing begins to peel away.
Lycana stares in horrified fascination, almost losing her grip on him as the skin sloughs away in chunks, falling with a sloppy, wet sounding plop around them, revealing the horror underneath. Rotting eyes roll in their skill prison, teeth grin at her as his lips slide off. “The fuck...” she whispers, as the skeletal fingers find their way around her neck, beginning to apply pressure, as she fights under him. “You will die! You let him through! He sent me, but will come for you! Long live the King!”
“What...” Lycana starts, gagging as his thumbs press into her windpipe.
WHOOSH!
A large ball of fiery magick takes the skulls head clean off its shoulders. It freezes for a second, then topples to the side, as Lycana pushes back, out from under it, her breathing loud and ragged.
“I wasn’t done with that...” she rasps.
“It didn’t look like he was about to let you ask for story time either. What the hell was that, what the hell did he mean, and where the fuck is Damien?”
“That was, my best guess was some sort of demon that came through from the In-Between.” Lycana clambers to her feet, brushing the dirt off her pants. “I don’t know what kind, it could be a couple... annnnnnd that kind of puts a wrench in answering that last question. That either could have been a skinwalker, and wasn’t actually Damien for... however long it’s been up here living with me or... it came up and used Damien as a host just now, and his spirit is still stuck in the In-Between, without a body to come home to.”
“But he said “You let him through”...”
“I don’t think he meant Damien...”
Lycana’s eyes were starting to take a faraway look.
“Who then? What's going on Ly?”
“The Lich.”
12/25/2021
Well everything had just gone all to hell.
It was two weeks later and she was still no closer to figuring out what had actually happened to Damien. She had hoped that they would be able to track him down, and then they could all laugh about the weird clone that had been living in her house for some unexplained reason, unless it was a really terrible assassination attempt. Except, that had not been the case.
Given the fact that nobody seemed to be able to get ahold of him, she was of the very unhappy opinion that he was still wandering around the In-Between with no way back now that his body had melted into slop. At least he would be safe there, until she could figure something out, given that the danger was supposedly out from there... and now on the mortal plane.
The Lich.
Her stepbrother.
And she had been the one to allow that to happen.
She had held the portal open for Damien for far too long, allowing not only the whatever the hell it was to come through, but also the damn Lich King.
Round of applause for Lycana everyone.
Even while doing the right thing, she manages to fuck something up.
She had expected to hear from him if that was true, but she supposed now, that had been rather stupid of her. He wouldn’t want to make this quick and easy. He wanted to gloat over it, make it last, enjoy torturing her mentally before he even made any sort of move to let her know he really was here. He was pretty sadistic like that. Unless of course, she was not going to be the first person he came after...
Her little brother, Archie.
A long line of expletives tumble through her head at that thought. He was in hiding, from everyone. He didn’t even know that she knew where he was, having hunted him down some time before to keep a watchful eye over him.
The problem was, if she could do it, so could someone else.
Maybe it was time to pay him a visit...
“Oooh look Lycana!”
She shakes her head, pulling herself back to the present with a guilty start. It was Christmas, and she should be paying attention to the now, because there was someone here with her right now, that deserved all of her focus, especially given everything that had gone on, and probably would for some time to come. “What did Santa get you Rei?”
“A Squishmallow! A sloth!” Reika squeezes the cuddly plush close, rubbing her cheek on its soft surface with a small smile on her face. “They’re my favorite, I love them!”
“I know you do! It’s so cute! It looks like there's another present under there. Why don’t you pull it out and see what it says?”
Reika crawls under the gaily decorated tree, the lights twinkling from rainbow colors to white and then back again. She drags out the shiny candy cane striped package. “It’s for me!”
“Wow! You must have been really good this year!” Lycana inches forward on the couch, elbows on her knees, chin coming down to rest in the palm of her hand as she watched the girl tear the wrapping paper off with a flourish, throwing the scraps to join the sea that already surrounded her. She had hidden this one in the back for a reason. A gasp of pure joy is heard, hazel eyes turn her way, a grin that could light up the entire room is her reward. “It’s a real art kit...”
Reika holds up the large box full of high-quality art supplies for Lycana to see, before lowering it to stare in awe once more.
“Now you will have to make a lot more pictures for me to put on the fridge.”
Reika puts it down, grabbing up her teal blue Squishmallow, scampering over to leap onto the couch, giving Lycana a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek, before resting her head on the sapphire haired vixen’s shoulder. Lycana breathes in the scent of her wild strawberry shampoo and smiles. “What's all this for?”
“I’m happy! But... How come you didn’t get anything Lycana?”
“I did. You just gave me a pretty amazing hug. And you’ll make me a picture later, right?”
“Yeah!” Reika pulls back, the smile on her face fading slightly, sending small alarm bells ringing in Lycana’s head. “Lycana? How come nobody lives with us anymore? How come they all left? Was it because of me?”
“No baby, no. It wasn’t that at all. Finneas and Zara, well, they like to travel. You know that they were gone a lot anyway. They probably just got carried away and are exploring even more places without coming all the way back in between. You know Zara loved taking care of you, but now you get to go stay with Adalynn whenever I need to go somewhere by myself.”
“You won't go away for a long time again, will you?”
“No Reika, never again.”
“And what about Marf?” Reika chews on a fingernail, wide innocent eyes glued to Lycana’s face.
“Well...”
“I heard you.” Reika announces, interrupting. “You said you didn’t want him to come back, and that you never wanted to see him again. I was coloring, but I heard you.”
“Yes, I did.” Lycana blows some air out, steeling herself for what she expected to be a not so fun conversation.
“Why?”
“He did something... bad...” she slowly starts, trying to be delicate about it, keeping in mind Reika’s youthfulness in understanding, and the fact that the banshee could appear if she got to be too upset. “Something that isn't able to be fixed. Something “I’m sorry” cannot make better. He couldn’t control his mad Reika. He is dangerous like that... so, I don’t want him to be around us anymore Rei Rei. Ever...I’m trying to keep you safe. That’s why I said that and...”
“Is that why Damien isn't here either?”
Lycana blinks.
“They had fights a lot. I could hear them. They would stop when they would hear me.” Reika informs her. “Did he hurt Damien?”
The girl's ability to put the dots together was astounding sometimes. There were times she would draw on the wall just like a toddler and have no idea that it was wrong, and then there were moments like this, where she came out and shocked Lycana nearly speechless. She wavered between honesty, and wanting to protect the innocence.
“Yes. It was a bad fight. He was... hurt... very badly...Damien is... He’s... gone.” she falters, coming short of admitting death.
“Will I ever see him again?”
The question slams into her, ripping the choice from her hands. She swallows hard. “I don’t... I don’t...”
She couldn’t say she didn’t think so, even though she hoped so, could she? Wouldn’t that just confuse Reika more? Trying to explain her own power over life and death was confusing even for most people in her experience, even herself. It was complicated, didn’t always work, and she could not guarantee that she could even get him out of the In Between, if indeed he was there, especially now that his body was gone. With a shaky sigh, she goes for the direct approach.
“No, Damien is dead Rei.”
Tears well up in Reika’s eyes, her lower lip starting to tremble. She falls forward into Lycana’s arms once more, whimpering cries shaking her slight body as Lycana wishes desperately that she could take the young girl’s pain away. Her own vision wavers as the hot sting pricks at them.
“I know, I’m sad too...”
“I HATE them! I hate this! I hate everything! I hate it all!” the girl blubbers against Lycana’s chest. “What if you never come back one day? What if you die too?”
What if indeed?
She already had, multiple times, especially in recent times. And she had put herself in that position a good percentage of them as well. Guilt courses its way through her, as she hugs Reika tighter. She couldn’t make a promise that it would never happen, there were far too many moving gears and one could never know what was in store, especially in her life. But she could do the right thing and not put herself in that position on purpose...
“I am going to do my best to make sure that never happens. I promise.”
“And you’ll never leave?” Reika whispers, pulling her tear-streaked face back to look at her.
“I have to Rei, you know when I go wrestle and...”
“I wanna come too.”
“I thought you loved having sleepovers with Addy?”
“I wanna come too!” stubbornness laced the voice, despite all the sniffles, as Reika swipes at her eyes, her eyebrows crashing down.
“Okay... okay... You can come with me as much as possible.” Lycana makes some quick mental calculations, hoping that Adalynn and her mother enjoyed trips as well. “C’mon, you’re supposed to be happy today. You got me out of bed early so you could open your presents. You didn’t even let me have my coffee!”
“You promised waffles.”
“Why don’t you go use your new art kit, and make me something while I start those?”
“And bacon.”
“And bacon.”
“And sausages.”
“And sausages.”
“And cinnamon rolls?”
“Now you're pushing it kiddo.”
This earns her a smile and her heart lurches, she shoos Reika off and up the stairs as she walks towards the kitchen, knowing damn well that she would be putting cinnamon rolls into the oven as well.
She sets about making the massive breakfast, her mind sliding into her well of thoughts once more. Poor Reika. There was a lot for her to process through. So much had changed in such a short amount of time. She had been through a lot, with Lycana herself not being around and then the loss of so many within her life, in various ways, concluding today with the news of Damien’s apparent death. No... not even the conclusion... but Lycana wanted to wait a bit before adding the blow of what had happened with Arcana to the list of things for the poor girl to sort through.
She was still sorting through everything herself.
She had been there, on Anarchy. She had gotten her snow globe from Santa and retreated into the back, gotten all her gear and left to get home to be with Reika, secure in the knowledge that Jim was there to have Arcana’s back, the entire reason she had shown up in the first place, despite her fear of John Caedus.
She had found out the following morning what had happened. To say she was stunned was an understatement. She knew the man was evil, but to be able to do... whatever it was he did, flabbergasted her. John Caedus had planned this all out down to the most minute detail, she had no doubts. Arcana had been spooked by him, with what he had done to Lycana herself. She had seen her directly after that, and had seen it firsthand. Something was wrong, that much was certain. There was no damn way that she had done what she did on her own accord. Not a damn chance. Arcana was too sweet to turn towards a man like that with anything other than hurting them on her mind. She rid the world of the depraved, she didn’t go swooning over it for fucksake. No, something was going on and... well, just add this to the list of crazy things going on in her life that she was determined to figure out. The stack was getting mighty high. With any luck, some things would right themselves out before she had to tell Reika that even her buddy Arcana, was now not going to be around as well. She would be hurt. Hell, Lycana herself was hurting, and she knew there was something afoot, that this had not been a deliberate back stabbing.
Nevermind how Jim must feel.
If it had been anybody else, it would have been bad enough. But it had been John, his own brother. He had had to sit and watch the match, which had been more so Arcana battling a brick wall that was hell bent on hurting her and keeping her down so that he could put his nefarious plan into play. Then he had to watch as John had flung Arcana’s body around like a broken doll, flinging her out the door before he crouched over her and... THAT happened. She didn’t know what “That” was, it was the moment that everything got blurry and she was drawing a blank... but he had acted oddly right then. She was willing to bet that was the turning point.
Jim had flown in, the cavalry sending John into the shadows and then... Lycana shakes her head. The confusion had been clear on his face when Arcana had pushed him away, then blasted him scross the parking lot with her magick.
The look in his eyes when she had walked to John, and tucked herself right under his arm, staring at him with adoration... There were a hurricane of emotions swirling around those ice blue eyes that Lycana could only guess at, though she herself had just been experiencing quite a mess of them all herself. They confused the fuck at her, all mixing together in a jumble. She couldn’t possibly fully understand how he felt in the moment... his own family... Arcana...
She knew the sight of Arcana and John standing together made her want to vomit.
She surmised he was worse off... much worse.
Loss, no matter the type, was always a bitter, hard pill to swallow. It didn’t matter the circumstances; it was a blow to everybody that it touched. It could be expected, unexpected, you be the guilty party, or totally blameless, a friend, family member, lover... The end result was a wound to the heart that took ages to heal, if it ever did. Lycana was of the mind that you just stuck Band-Aids on it, and either succumbed to it festering, or grew numb to the pain, until someone came along and gave the bandage a yank, freshening it up for you.
DING DONG!
Lycana looks up from popping the tray of cinnamon rolls into the oven, a frown creasing her brow. Who the hell could that be? She wasn’t expecting anyone.
With her luck, it was the Harbinger, coming to kill her on Christmas.
She wipes her hands swiftly on a towel, and goes to peek out the window beside the door, as the bell insistently rings again. There was a delivery van in her driveway, stark white except for the name down the side, in printed, plain black lettering. “Shipmentt.” How... original. She had never heard of them before. And they delivered on a holiday? Convenient and dedicated at least. She pops the locks and pulls the door open, her eyes settling on the driver, who matches his vehicle in the nondescript department, wearing an all-black uniform. Bland brown eyes with zero depth stare at her. He holds out a box to her, and she takes with automatically. He turns without a word and saunters back to the van, gets in, and backs away, down the driveway. With a shrug, Lycana turns back inside, her eyes falling to the box in her hands.
Brown paper covers it, neatly creased with zero flaws. So perfectly done, she would say it was about militantly precise. Her name and address were typed out on a neat white rectangle, stuck in the exact middle of the top. No return address. She tilts it slightly, looking all around, confirming that there wasn’t anything else. Who the hell was this from? Maybe it was from one of the wolf clans or something. With a small smile, she sets it on the side table and begins to tear away the paper covering. She could tell Reika that she got something after all.
Inside, was just a regular cardboard box. She tugs at the tape holding the top seam together, dragging it down until she could pop the flaps open and peer inside at the contents.
A frown appears on her face.
What the hell?
A small, smooth, rounded blob sits on top of a folded piece of paper. She squints, peering a little closer, noting the darker marks around where it touched the paper, and some dotting on the object itself.
What the fuck was it?
She carefully reaches in to poke it with her finger. It was... cold, kinda squishy... a weird texture. She makes a face as she lifts it, the paper coming with it, stuck to the whateverthefuck by....
Blood.
Dried blood.
Her fingers automatically release, and it drops to the table with a dull noise, slightly dislodging from the paper it was glued onto by the gore. She carefully grips the edges of the plain white sheet, giving it a firm shake, followed by another to fully knock it off, making it fall alone with a little splat, to sit by its gruesome self on the polished mahogany surface.
She still didn’t know what the fuck it was.
Her eyes go to the folded piece of paper, dried brownish sludge on it, but beyond that, she can just faintly see some markings. A note. She unfolds it, her eyes scanning the page before her, having to read and reread, then a third time, before the typed words really sink in.
It’s the left one, I promise.
I know you aren't the type to inform the authorities.
Enjoy.
The paper falls from her hand, her eyes widening as her gaze flies to the little blob. Bile comes flying up the back of her throat as she lurches backwards. That couldn’t mean... It wasn’t...
No...
Absolutely not...
But it was.
She was staring at a testicle.
One that had been removed while its owner was very much still alive
The LEFT one, if the author of the letter was to be believed. And she believed it. She couldn’t prove who sent it to her, but she had her suspicions... and there was little doubt in her mind on both where, and from who, it had come from. She could be completely wrong but... the nature of it, the sheer perfection in every single detail, the blasé attitude towards sending her such a thing. The signs all pointed towards one suspect...
The sudden screech of the smoke detector makes her jump nearly out of her skin.
“LYCANAAAAAAA!”
She uses the paper to grab the unwanted nut and throw it back into the box, then yeets the entire thing right out the front door as Reika runs down the stairs, her hands over her ears. She whirls and gallops towards the kitchen, which has smoke drifting from it.
It is time for me to lace these boots up and make my way back into the ring again.
The last time I did that, I traveled across time and space, it was a battle that was unlike any that I have encountered before. From zombies, to dire wolves, to whales. From snowballs, to rusted swords, and fire. It was something that I will never forget, and my partner in that dance is one that will always force me to be at my very best, and even at that it was not enough to capture the Universe. I would be lying if I said I counted that evening a total loss, not only because the barriers one breaks while pushing themselves to the brink, but simply because the thrill of that fight... no, that battle.
It was the type of match that thrills me, the type that keeps me in this game, and the type that raises the bar for every single one that comes after it.
And I have to be honest, I am not really sure any that I have from here on out will be able to hold a candle to it, though I hope that I am proven wrong and my skills get tested just as strongly as they did during Bad Medicine, or that the stipulations make things just as wild and crazy. It would have been a hell of a way to end the year, but I decided to jump in, and make my return on the very last Warfare for 2021.
So instead of going out with a bang with main eventing a PPV in one hell of a wild way, I will be stepping in to test my mettle with not one, but two brand spankin’ new to me playthings in a lovely little triple threat match... and I’d be lying if I said that the ones that I’ve been pitted against don't intrigue me quite a bit. How could they not? They are not your typical, run of the mill type of opponent, and that in itself, is always a refreshing factor.
Let’s start it off with the one who is the most likely to do what they can to draw blood, even in this standard environment...
Doesn’t that sound like fun Mercy?
You know very well that the idea of turning this seemingly standard affair into a bloodbath tickles your fancy. That sort of thing is right up your alley, and if you have been paying any attention at all, you know it is mine as well. It really is a pity that they never seem to put someone like you in the type of match she deserves, the type of match she can really shine in. Always hampering the ability to use the toys and tools to create pain and havoc, ripping and flaying the flesh wide open and watching the scarlet waterfalls cascade from their veins.
Believe me Mercy, I know.
I understand.
But let me tell you my darling, I fully plan on bringing my own weapon to this match. Wanna know what it is?
Me.
That’s all I need to do the damage I desire.
Sure, shears, knives, and blowtorches are a ton of fun, but I don’t need them to make you bleed, to split your skin then dig my fingertips in, prying it back further and further, splitting you open like a ripened peach. I don’t require anything other than my thumbs to gouge your eyes out. Nothing more than my boot to crush your larynx, watch your tongue loll out and turn purple, see the capillaries around and in your eyes burst as you struggle for air. Now that, Mercy dear, that is true entertainment. Never having to worry about having a tool by one's hand to be able to do what we both enjoy. I thought you were supposed to be the type to cause pain and suffering in inventive ways? A Pain God. But you need tools to do it? No baby, just get your hands dirty. It's so much more fun to do it on the sly, sink yourself into your work. Using some real depravity whilst also using your fighting ability, combining the two so you don’t have to wait... Silly girl, I think your little buddy Razors has been holding out on you. Telling you that you had to hold out until after the bell rang... I saw what you did during Bad Medicine... you have the drive, you just need to dump that collar of yours, it’s holding you back.
Should I be talking to him instead of you? He seems to be the one who handles it all. Not real sure if he lets you watch this, or just kinda gives you the play by play. Maybe you won't know shit about what I have to say. Maybe he doesn’t want you to know that someone might think you are better off just being let free to destroy at will. He just says go kill this one, go clean up, go do as I say, and you obey like the obedient little bitch you are. Well trained. Perfectly housebroken. No voice for yourself.
You know, a true Pain God would be able to make art with whatever mediums are available.
You aren't a god, not even damn close. What you are is a puppet to someone else's desires. You are something for them to use to create their own art, making you simply, a tool, not even the artist... You are something that comes out gnashing their teeth like a vicious dog, but one that is effectively leashed and sedated by the one who really runs the show. Controlled. Owned. Cowed.
Pathetic.
All I have to even go on with you, is what he tells us. How do I know he speaks all your deepest desires, and that they are not his own instead? I saw you bite a chunk out of someone’s face... and yet there is your little handler, telling you no no... that you must wait until the match is over. Depriving you of what YOU clearly want, for his whims. What that makes you appear to be to me, is nothing but a pitiful little pet. Shiny fangs covered by a muzzle, there to admire but not to fear, more for show than anything else. You are a showpiece, something he trots out for his own benefit. You won that match Mercy, but what is going to happen when you start losing? Your value will plummet, your worth less than nothing as he casts you aside for something new and shiny to train to make his art.
According to your master, you like when things fight back, and it has been awhile since you have gotten a chance to encounter that... annnnnd that is still the case, let's be real. We aren't going to bother to count Bianca. She didn’t do shit. An attempted moonsault and then a whole lot of nothing.
But this match?
Oh honey if you like someone who fights back, you will get that in spades.
But you'd better be careful what you wish for. You can come at me any way you desire. As hard as you want. As vicious as you need to. You can take my recommendations and use your nails and teeth on me. But I will not be a Bianca. A one move wonder. I am not one you can sleep on. I am not going to cower and cringe from you. You’re stepping in there with a fucking wolf Mercy, whatever you do to me, I will step up and return the favor double. I don’t just fight back; I bring the fucking war right to your doorstep and kick the damn door down. You have never tasted the flavor of one like me in the ring.
I don’t give a shit about anything when I am in there.
You want to hurt me... and I want to hurt you.
I love some brutalness. It's kind of how I get my emotions out and fuck me Mercy, do I have quite the mess of pent-up shit that I am bringing with me for this party.
And you seem like just the one to take it out on.
Nothing super personal girl, you’re a big ol’ bitch... I need to see if you can take just as much as you seem to want to dish. Your boy seems to think you are this embodiment of darkness, this bringer of doom, the one who is coming to kill us all, and let me tell you, your soul might be dark... and he might have broken your brain... but you ain’t the epitome of jack shit. I know what real darkness is. I have looked into the eyes of true evil, and it's not something that even I want to be standing across from. It spooked me. You? I’m looking forward to you. You aren’t it, not even close. Truly wicked and depraved people don’t have to shove what they do down the mass's throats. They also cannot be tamed.
There is nothing in this world, that will soften someone who is truly evil Mercy.
And you are under the complete control of someone, who I’d say is likely more depraved than you can ever hope to be.
But he’s too chicken shit to put his body in harm’s way against someone like me, so he uses you.
You do things when he allows you to. He has distorted your way of thinking to make you this creature that lusts after blood and hurting people. You are nothing more than a mere machine, put together on a whim, leaving him holding your remote control, ready to flick that off switch whenever he grows weary. Wired to be and do, what he wants. And you accept that as your existence. You are a walking NOTHING Mercy.
You are in the ring, hurting people, because he has decreed that you do so... and if he bade you stop, you would... scampering to his heel and looking up with reverent eyes, waiting for the next command to tell you what your next move should be, hoping for a bone to be thrown your way as a reward.
No, you are just a falsification. A trained animal whose owner is more dangerous than they are, simply because they hold the key. And Razors over there? He is making you out to be a lot more than you actually are, pumping you up like you are the queen, when in reality, you are just his pawn.
Ironically, you are at the mercy of the man who made you.
You’ve been around awhile Mercy, you have a bit of history here and there within the XWF. You’ve stepped inside the ring with some pretty well-known names in your time. But like I said before, you have never taken on someone like me... I get in the ring because I live for the fight. I do what I do because I enjoy pushing my body to its limits. I like the way the pain punches my adrenaline up to new levels. I like to take out my aggression and frustrations out on other people. I enjoy the mind games and the strategy and the way your brain always has to be calculating during every second of the match. It is fun for me. I don’t pretend to be something that I am not. I own up to both my desires and my failings.
And I don’t rely on a mouthpiece to handle anything for me.
I don’t need to run and hide out for full months or entire years, time after time like you have.
I’m going to be perfectly honest with you Mercy, my eyes are locked onto you tomorrow. I have seen what you like to do and I want you to attempt that on me. I want to teach this new and improved you a thing or two. Not everybody is going to be a pushover, princess... You are not walking into the ring looking at an Edward or a Bianca. They are nothing to step onto a high horse about. You are not crawling into the ring stalking a simple sheep, you have another predator in your crosshairs, one who will just as soon spin around and bury her own teeth deep into your jugular without batting a damn eyelash. One who would think nothing of disposing of you within the confines of that bell, or out. I’ve already had chunks of flesh bitten from my body in that ring. I’ve had my blood spilled more times than I can count. You want to play in that capacity... I am fucking down to play right along with you.
I just hope you and your sniveling twat of a keeper don’t fucking cry when I do it better.
That goes for you too, Mr. Omega.
Hi.
You’re new here, and I hope that you have taken the time to do a bit of research on just who, and what, you are stepping into the ring with. If you have not, in which case, shame on you... please allow me to introduce myself.
I’m Lycana, the one known as the Dark Vixen of Violence.
It’s a pleasure to meet you.
I’ve earned that little moniker due to the delight I take in, oh shall we say, being a tad aggressive towards the people who step in the ring with me. X-treme rules matches are kind of my thing. I love them. No rules, no limitations. I don’t like to be contained Jay. I enjoy having a multitude of options provided for me, variety is the spice of life and all that jazz. But when it comes down to it, I can flourish all the same when that option is taken off my table and they settle me into an ordinary old match. Would you like to know why?
Because I simply exchange the blowtorches or chairs, for my body.
And do, whatever the hell it takes.
Even if it means sacrificing myself to do it.
When I am in that ring Jay, I don’t really care about anybody's safety, not even my own. My focus is on hurting you and making sure I leave quite the lasting impression. And the thing is, I’ve heard a little rumor that you might just be the same way, which piques my interest. Both of us going balls to the wall reckless, that sounds like a dream come true to me. Do you like pain Jay? That is part of what drives me to do what I do with that. The knowledge that I not only took down my opponent, but the pain that comes with surrendering your body, makes the adrenaline surge through my veins, pushing me to come even harder. It is like a high, one that I am loathe to come down from.
Let me tell you the type of person you are getting in the ring with.
I dumped gasoline all over someone, and then proceeded to light them on fire, and walk away from their burning body.
I avalanche moonsaulted someone off of a rollercoaster platform a dozen feet in the air, onto the asphalt.
I had a burning hand shoved into my mouth, and simply bit down on it and wouldn’t let go.
I don’t give a crap about anything when I'm fighting Jay, not me but least of all you.
I know that you and I are kind of birds of a feather in a way, both of us not hailing from your typical type of backgrounds. You have dealt with things within space, aliens, intergalactic journeys and all that, thing that I’m sure that I wouldn’t have a damn clue about. Perhaps you think that makes you some sort of extra powerful force to be reckoned with. Maybe you think it gives you an extra leg up on anyone you face, the edge automatically implied, the odds tilting in your favor no matter who... or what... you are going up against.
It has certainly given you one hell of a cocksure attitude.
Don’t think that you not having a match or history within these walls made you safe... I’m always watching, always keeping notes on whoever I am going to be meeting up with, and you my dear... you have been firmly on my radar with your antics that have been available to take a little peep at.
The way you strut about tells me everything I need to know about you.
You might be just as into the fight, and just as willing to take a risk as I am... but that attitude of yours, tsk... you might as well be slapping a set of blinders on yourself. That is just begging anyone to take advantage of all the mistakes you make because your ego gets the best of you.
And believe me Jay, I’m going to be right there, ready and waiting to do just that.
But hey, you can at least look on the bright side... You aren't here looking to have a flourishing singles career anyway, right?
So, it doesn’t matter that your first showing here, doing the sport that you love so much, could very well end in total failure, leaving you nothing to do but take the slow walk of shame back to your wifey and girlfriend. Odds are, this time they will be more than happy to finish without you. Because of course like the puffed up, egotistical and probably lacking in both gear AND talent opportunist you are, you just slid right on in when they had already gotten everything warmed up for you, allowing you to slip in for the easy win.
It wouldn’t shock me if you tried to do the same when it came to the match. Allow myself and Mercy to get each other all hot and bothered, then you try to step in with your flaccid attempts at being something more than a lackluster waste of time, nothing but a flop at the end.
Hell, you’ve been doing it these past two weeks, remaining as closed lipped as possible while waiting for us to get the foreplay started. You scared boo? Do you fear your ability to... perform... that much?
Pussy.
You were so quick to flash your little menage a trois to the world, but when it comes to the real meat, the nitty gritty, the verbal barrage that we are all waiting for, to see what you have to actually say, you seem mighty scared to ah... shoot your load too soon.
You know, for as tough and adventurous that you think you are, and that you want to portray yourself as to the rest of the roster... all you really are is a timid little bitch, seeking out the path of least resistance.
You would have been better off just sticking to figuring out Timastenzi's plans and not bothered to actually step in the ring and make a real attempt at being an actual competitor. I mean, if you somehow think that the tag team titles are going to be your big ticket to your answer, more power to you but this Warfare? It is only going to get you a one-way ticket to making your buddy, who I’m sure is watching, laugh at your ineptitude at even taking care of two women, never mind some interdimensional villain like himself. What an embarrassing way to show him that you are onto him.
Oof.
Harkening back to your background... it doesn’t make you special around these parts. You could be an orange polka dotted alien yourself, and you would still just be another face in the crowd. Here we have vampires, werewolves, serial killers, mind-controlled douchebags, body switchers, pyromancers, dream walkers and more. Shit, some people are multiples off that very list. I’ll let you pick through there and figure out just what you are going to be dealing with. Nobody around here is really a stranger to the odd things that exist in this galaxy, or any beyond it for that matter. Been to a few myself. In a phone booth no less.
Hope you put in the work and don’t think this one is in the bag.
That’s a pretty damn stupid thing to assume.
Look Jay, I know that you have been doing this a really long time. I studied everything I could get my hands and eyes on about you. In doing so, I learned quite a bit about your escapades, and what you have been through. It is enough to even make me cock a brow with the sheer amount if it all. I know you started training and wrestling at a young age, eighteen to be precise... but uhh, does it really count after you were dumped in a tank and then fished out as a new version of yourself after you were unalived? Does this new version come equipped with all the same experience? I’d imagine that no, much like a new car engine, them miles started brand new and at a whole ass zero. So how much experience are you really stepping into the ring with tomorrow?
In the end, it really doesn't matter.
I come into every match with a fire lit under me Jay.
It is something that I am well known for within this company, and something that you will swiftly learn during our match. I don’t give up. Ever. No matter what is going on, however the odds are stacked, I just will never give in. I will fight until there is nothing left, and then I will flip the reserve switch and fight even longer. I don’t care who I’m up against, the type of match, or anything of that trivial nature. The who, what, where, when and how... none of those matter... I walk into them all seeing you as something to vent on, something to put down, and a new challenge to test everything that I have learned on.
We might be opening the last Warfare of the year, but it will be a match that everybody remembers.
The teeth gnashing, one track minded, macabre twat.
The time hopping, intergalactic, cocky fuck.
The long winded, never say die, canid bitch.
What a damn combination.
Three sparks set to meld together, creating a veritable inferno of pain, bloodshed, and destruction in that ring, two of us set to be burned alive, while the last stumbles through the smoke to claim the victory. But let us not rush our way to the end... let us put on a damn clinic and do this right, show everybody that we are not the opening act... that we are the ones setting the damn stage for those who follow us to meet where we set the damn bar... and I expect us to set it pretty fucking high.
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