Straight to Hell - Printable Version +- X-treme Wrestling Federation (https://xwf99.com) +-- Forum: (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=113) +--- Forum: Archives (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=13) +---- Forum: Relentless Night One 2023 RP Board (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=206) +---- Thread: Straight to Hell (/showthread.php?tid=46868) |
Straight to Hell - Dionysus - 09-14-2023 I don't really like talking about my dreams. Not with Dr. Elbrook. Not with The Many Faces. Not even with my own mother when I was a child. If I had a nightmare, I kept it to myself. I would scream, of course; who can help it at that age? But if I was asked, I would just say it was a cramp, or a charlie horse, or even nothing at all. It isn't because I didn't want to share what my nightmares were. It was because I didn't know what people would think after I told them. I woke up with a start. Staring into a blank, empty void of space. The surface beneath me was solid, and looking down I could at least see my body. I turned around, frantically looking for any sign of light. Slowly, out of the corner of my eye, a hue of purple began to glow. I turned to face it...and a familiar figure stood before me.
I say "figure" because until this day, I was unaware of who this person even was. Sometimes it was multiple people. Other times it would simply be a reflection of myself. But this one...this one figure I saw the most. Adorned in a robe, holding a staff wrapped in brambles, and wearing a mask under a hood. With the room being so dark, the porcelain white face was much more prominent. "What do you want?" I asked the figure. "What do you want from me?" But no answer came. As always. "Tell me!" I shouted, even though I knew it was fruitless. The figure walked backward into the darkness, its features now obscured by the void, aside from the lone white mask. A finger protruded from the shadows and pointed over my shoulder. I slowly turned to look, seeing nothing behind me. Confused, I took two steps forward... One... Two... And then...falling. I didn't scream. I didn't feel the need to. I was falling into void. Even as I reached out to the side, I felt nothing next to me. There was a loud snap, and suddenly I was lurched in another direction, following a long rope. While staring at it, the porcelain face looked back at me. We fell together, both unafraid, both knowing what would come to pass. The rope led toward a red mass. Our falling began to slow. I saw the top of a man's head. I saw the man's face. Devin's face. His eyes wild. His tongue hanging loosely out of his mouth, which was twisted into a wicked grin. Then I fell past the loop around his neck. All in a manner of a few seconds, I saw another loved one, dead and swinging. Another loud snap. I lurched again, falling toward what looked like a feeding frenzy. A number of strange and fantastical beasts all gathered around an undistinguishable figure...at least from this distance. But I knew what was coming. This was not a dream I was unfamiliar with by now. As we drew closer, two beasts were fighting over a gnawed-off leg. The cracking of bone and tearing of muscle and flesh rang in my ears as we fell. Three of the beasts tore into a chest cavity, allowing themselves a moment to howl in approval. The remains sprayed around the frenzy as we fell past. And staring back at me was the face of Wide Dio, eyes wide with terror and his mouth stuffed with an apple. As though he were served as an Easter dinner. Another snap. More falling. This time I felt like I was falling upward. I felt my stomach twist itself into knots. I retched as I fell from the constant shifting as vertigo began to settle in. This time there were only flames. It was almost as if I were bathed in it, though I could feel no heat coming from them. The flames slowly formed into the shape of a body, arms outstretched facing downward. While I could not feel the heat of the flame, the smell of burning flesh and hair still crawled through my nostrils. Without even needing to look, I had a feeling that the body I was now looking at was Daniel's. The dream itself was always the same. A loved one hanged. A loved one devoured. A love one burned alive. And then the laughter came. This laughter was different from the voices I heard in my waking. No, this laugh was purposeful. Not maniacal, but methodical. Practiced. Rehearsed. Deliberate. I stopped falling. I felt my feet touch hard surface once more. I stumbled to a knee, the momentum carrying me as I tried stopping myself with my hands. I pushed myself off the floor...and the porcelain face was no more than an inch from my face. I could hear the laughter coming from behind me. It was a laugh I was all too familiar with. The porcelain face slowly vanished...replaced by the familiar red and blue lights of a police interceptor. I turned to face the laughter. Standing before me was the silhouette of the man who nearly ruined not only my life, but my family's lives as well. Adorned in a tailored black suit, he paired it with a wide brim fedora. His head was looking down in a feeble attempt to hide his face. His arms were outstretched, one holding onto an aluminum baseball bat. To the rest of the waking world, this man was nothing more than a modern criminal. But to me, he may as well have been the devil himself. I could see him start to walk toward me, though it seemed like he was not moving at all. Rather, the world around him was moving on his behalf. Each step flashed an image of each of my now dead brothers...the ones in this dream, anyhow. I blinked, trying to shake the images from my mind...but no relief came. Eventually he stopped, standing one meter away from me. "It has been some time...has it not?" He stated slowly and with conviction.
I said nothing. No words would ever escape my lips...or at least, I tried to. "This is only a dream," I said aloud. "This is only a dream...this is only a dream..." "...Indeed," He confirmed. "And yet you continue to return here, knowing the pain it causes you." The man lifted his head, revealing the porcelain face at first. Then, in a flash and another crack, the mask was gone...leaving a gaunt-looking man with a clean-shaven face. Otherwise indistinguishable, the only identifying mark was a leather eyepatch adorned with a silver rose. His smile revealed a set of crooked teeth, two gold crowns offset within his mouth. "Do you think that I wish to do this to you, in this place? To haunt you for all eternity?" He chuckled as he asked his rhetorical question. "You have had plenty of opportunity to leave my nightmares...but still you remain," I retorted. "I have half a mind to-" "Aha! There it is!" He exclaimed. "That never-say-die attitude that drove me to madness. Your father had it too, you know." I could feel my hands clench into fists. He noticed, wagging his finger in my direction. "Now now. What will fighting me in here get you? You bested me in a dream? Good for you. I still came back, did I not? And I always will...so long as you continue to hold me in your heart..." "...Dear Nephew..." As I said before. To me, this man may as well be the devil himself. But to the rest of the world...this was Anton Heedon. Con artist. embezzler. The man who nearly destroyed my family. ...And also...my uncle. Hi ho. Hi ho. Its off to Hell we go. ...Forgive me; I'm not much of a whistler. This could easily be the most unique locale I've had the pleasure of competing in. Or it would, if pleasure meant unbearable heat and hearing the sounds of the lost and the damned constantly ring in your ear. Although I have traveled to Tuscon, Arizona before... Regardless, wherever I compete, whether it is a small gymnasium or a sold-out capacity stadium, I never really felt imposed by the surroundings of a place. Perhaps that is just the natural performer in me; I'm there to complete a task and move on my merry way. And perhaps catch the sights in my free time. Though I highly doubt they are offering guided tours of the nine circles...nor is Dante around to gush over how much of a self-insert fanboy he is to the hell mythos. And yet, "self-insert" is a quite proper description of Slade Durant. A self-described, self-important competitor who has made it his undying mission to end the machinations of one man and one man alone...at the expense of letting his one goal prevent him from any kind of upward mobility. Slade, you and I both know that revenge is a dish best served cold. And for good reason. A warm meal is meant to be comforting, reminiscent of mother's meatloaf. A dish that is cold is typically left unattended, with disinterest and possibly gathering flies. In other words, unappealing and not at all desired by the recipient. However, with this single-minded goal of yours, that dish can only be enjoyed once. Consider, for a moment; you are standing above your greatest rival, your most hated enemy. And you deliver the exact kind of revenge that you want to bring. ...What happens then? Is it coming up with flimsy justification to pursue a new target of your revenge? Is it hanging the boots up and calling it a career? Is it putting all other opportunity aside and only stay the course of your plans? Revenge is only a good plan if you intend on actually acting on it, and often. It isn't enough to get your come-uppance; you have to also drive the point home, leaving no room to question, until they yield. Left unattended, that dish will grow mold and rot, becoming useless to you as it festers deep down inside. See, that's the difference between you and I. This isn't a matter of who is good and who is evil. This is a matter of who has the most conviction. You are entering in this match with a single-minded goal of gaining petty revenge. I am entering into this match with the intention of not only retaining, but retaining in a glorious fashion. Which brings us now to the match stipulation. Now you may be wondering, "Well Dionysus, what kind of convoluted scheme of a match are you going to do this time? A Lava-Chugging Match?" And the thought had crossed my mind of having more elaborate contraptions in spectacular and bizarre fashion. Perhaps a chariot race where the winner is determined by who is thrown off their vehicle. Or perhaps an Aggro-Crag style climb to the top of a mountain where the loser is the one thrown from the summit. Then I remembered. We're in Hell. And nothing would bring me more joy...than bringing you, Slade Durant, into The Devil's Playground. Unlike the past few matches, this structure is quite simple; a steel cage at half the height, surrounded by a cell. Weapons of all kinds strewn on the outside of the ring, within the cell. A good old fashioned beatdown, where victory is only achieved through knockout. Such a brutal style of match is perfect for the setting. Imagine it; the combat taking place as gouts of hellfire and smoke billow from the cavernous walls. But of course, there must be a good reason why I would pick this kind of match for you, right? ...In truth, you did not even come up as a thought. What I am looking for in this division is competition. This is not a secret to anyone. I don't want someone to just come and take this title from me. I want them to earn it. I want them to have to fight tooth and nail, to reach my level, and earn it. In order for the person who manages to defeat me to earn the Television Title, they will need the same desire I have. You and I do not share that desire. So put simply, this match is your punishment. It is strictly designed for a beatdown. A bloody, messy massacre. I want you to know that specifically, Slade. I didn't make this for fun. I made this to work out some frustrations. So as a kindness, I must inform you that these next few days are going to be extremely important for you. You have some really critical decisions to make. And the first decision you should really consider is conceding prior to the match. Because I'm not going to hold back. I can't guarantee what is going to happen to you. There is no promise of your safety...or anything, for that matter. So you really should just consider the concession at this point. And if you will not concede...what would you like me to tell your family? Food for thought, Durant. |