Hello, XWF. Remember me? Now, while all of you who've been watching long enough to remember my last match in an XWF ring laugh and shake their heads no, and the new viewers scratch their heads, asking who the hell I am, I smile and offer an answer. Kinwrathi. For those of you in the latter group, here's what I did the last time I was in an XWF ring nine months ago; I beat Theo Pryce. The then King of the XWF and current Universal Champion. Something Morbid Angel can only claim as a technicality and Peter Gilmour couldn't even dream of doing. And that was after a lengthy sabbatical as well. Though, looking at the current state of the XWF I have no qualms about saying it; there won't be any sabbaticals after this one. Not when the XWF is weakened so badly that conquer would be effortless. Thank you for that. Making yourselves all such easy targets. Though, enough about you. This is about me, after all. Me, and my struggles at dragging a massive, sniveling, should've been abortion to a victory over a fucking delusional steroid addict and his legitimately mentally partner. Maybe struggles is the wrong word, because it should be an easy, straight forward task so long as Ghost Tank's tears don't make the ring too slippery to actually compete in. But I'll get to him later, I have opponents to discuss.

Or do I? Really, when you think about it I don't. Because all Gilmour has to do is open his mouth and he'll have already trapped himself in a makeshift grave encased in concrete. He does so every single time he tries to speak and his actual wrestling ability isn't much better. Matter of fact; I don't know which Peter's worse at, talking or wrestling though I'd wager he's better at both than his perennial whipping boy Pest. You all know him as the guy who tries to argue with you in hopes that you'll take him seriously despite the fact that he can't do anything other than lose to Gilmour ad infinitum. Then there's Morbid who really does do the same thing. He says stupid, half incoherent bullshit through angry grunts and steroid injections because he's too fucking brain damaged to know any better. Fucking cunt. And these two guys are the men Ghost Tank's lamenting facing off against for what reason, exactly? Because he bought into every word they said? Oh, fuck me good and hard, I have possibly the biggest of them all on my team. Luckily for me, the team of GIlmour and Morbid Angel can't even use the numbers game to their advantage and lost a handicap match with the numbers on their side! But that brings me back to Ghost Tank, doesn't it?

Yes, I am your best bet of surviving this match with a victory. You're very lucky to have me and you don't even know the half of it. Though from the fact that you're legitimately intimidated by a wannabe God and Peter Gilmour's tough talk without any way of backing that up, I'm sure you have problems understanding a lot of things. I'm sure it's nothing personal but I'd hold my tongue when discussing me any further Ghost; just because we're partners doesn't mean I won't hesitate to cut your throat. Metaphorically speaking, of course. I would never dream of doing such a thing. Especially not when I could easily get it done, unlike say Peter Gilmour beating somebody whose name isn't Frodo Smackins or Pest.


"I tell you to do one thing, one simple thing, and you can't even do that?" asks the poorly-attempting-to-be-calm voice of Lady Gonnerah as she stares daggers into her troublesome Chieftain. Kinwrathi simply smiles at her and leans back into the hardly comfortable, floral print chair. His fingers drum against the armrests, as his heart begins to beat faster and ever faster. Gonnerah, or more accurately the maid she possessed to deliver her scorn sighs and begins to pace around the room.

"Gotta say, your random appearances are getting pretty old."

"All you had to do was keep up the human facade--"

"Speaking of that, Itaria's still pissed you wiped her mind for that."

"Do I have anything to worry about from her?"

"See; Itaria. What do you think?"

"Very well then. Back on track, it wasn't a very hard thing to do and yet you couldn't even go a few months."

"I guess I've been spoiled, ma'am. Living so long as a God tends to make you ill equipped to live as a human. Not that you'd know anything about that."

He chuckles and pushes himself out of the chair, walking close to the Maid/Avatar, smile spread wide across his face.

"Right, you can't even come over here to stop me; do you really think that this wittle scolding's going to make me stop?"

"I had expected you to not act like such a fool about it, if I may be honest."

"Hey, I wasn't the one who trapped myself here. Don't blame me for doing what I do."

Another smile as he pushes by the Maid/Avatar, or at least tries to. As the pair brush arms, the Maid latches onto his wrist. He doesn't bother to acknowledge it as he continues his walk towards the door leading out of his hotel room. The Maid digs her nails into his flesh and grits her teeth, which causes Kinwrathi to stop.

"You're funny. You know that? I don't get you though."

"I'm not done talking to you."

"You are aware that the spic bitch you're possessing has a really fucking weak grip, right? It's only out of respect that I don't just pry her hands away from me and push her out the nearest window."

"Respect, right. That's why you're abandoning the Joltinen?"

"Exactly. I'm abandoning them to move on to bigger and better things. Why be the God of a minority of lunatics when you can bend an entire planet to your will without interference from a band of cunts to act as a barrier?"

"Because the only reason you're a God of anything is because of me."

"Yeah, you really should've thought that one through a bit more."

With that, he pries the Maid's hand off his wrist and slams her up against the wall. His forearm presses against her throat, though it's not until a few moments later when a look of fear fills her face. Eyes wide and mouth open wide enough to rest on Kinwrathi's arm, she gurgles out in Spanish some plea for help. Immediately thereafter, he loosens his grip and backs away, smile still on his face.

"Tell anyone and I'll have you fired for theft, cunt."

Still wide eyed and shocked, the Maid wastes no time in getting the fuck out of the room and taking off down the hall. Watching her as she puts as much distance between them as possible, he laughs and falls onto the bed, before the ever so familiar sound of footsteps coming down the hall and closer to his room fill his ears. Three sets of them; two light and the other heavy, thundering almost. He sits up as the pair of footsteps in lead emerges from the doorway. A woman, face covered by a brown burlap sack.

"It worked!"

"As if there were any doubt. You know who I just spoke to? Go on, guess."

"By how fast that maid was running, I'm guessing our ever so gracious leader," Arrellia says with a laugh.

A chuckle escapes Kinwrathi's lips.

"Exactly."

"Did she at least apologize?"

"No, the rude little cunt didn't, Itaria. Though, I guess I got her back when I so cleverly decided to withhold information about what you two were up to. Is he ready to go? No disorientation or anything?"

"None that he didn't already shake off. Come in, Briarth. Let's get a look at you!"

"For the record, I can speak for myself," Briarth says as he steps out into full view, a scowl already on his face.


"Lighten the fuck up, will ya? And stomp marching like a soldier, you're supposed to look somewhat inconspicuous."

"And yet I look like a deformed freak."

"Yeah, I may have messed something up there. No bother, at least you're here!"

"And now, we have to go. I have plans for today, and they don't involve being sitting ducks."

Kinwrathi stands up, making his way to the door that the trio seemingly just came in through and steps out into the hall. Briarth follows immediately thereafter and the four are tailed by the two women. Whatever it was he was planning, they knew it more than likely wasn't going to be pretty.