ENGY DEATH CULT RECAP! Engy used to be used and manipulated by a death cult of Aiwass worshippers, but after he got smart he assumed control of the cult, which includes a legion of loyal guys in cowls who are definitely not Klan members!

Hope you're already cupping your balls, because you're about to be dropped into some creepy shit! The shot opens in what looks like some horrific inversion of a Christian church, like every stereotype of a Levayan Satanic temple that 1980's scaremongerers could possibly dream up, given form and B-horror movie function. It's got skulls. It's got candles. It's got an altar which bears some engrained mysterious rust colored stains. Books that just might be bound in human flesh line a fine carved bookshelf on the far side of the room.

And then, sitting in a semi-circle, are guys dressed like this.



....I mean, can you believe it? A Ku-Klux-Klan member?! What part of this outfit screams KKK? One of the hooded cultists opines.

A cultist sitting adjacent to him reorients his hood a bit and says, I don't know, I've always thought these robes were a little problematic. I think they should be black. Black's more chic and I can't think of any other color that says “primordial pagan death cult” any better.

One of the other cultists, holding a fresh cup of joe from the coffee maker next to the pile of bloody animals bones sits next to them. Man forget the robes, when are we gonna get that pension plan ?

The other two look at each other, tilting their heads. Yeah, I don't follow.

The third cultist pulls up his hood to nose level so he can drink his coffee, dropping it back in place when he's done. You know, a pension plan! I want to be able to travel the world when I retire, not scrounge in my couch for nickels for Bingo.

The first cultist scratches his head. You, uhhhhh, you do realize this is a DEATH cult, right?

So?

It's right in the name, bro. DEATH. The end game here is total global destruction. Maybe even the collapse of the entire universe on a good (bad) day. Survival is not really in the cards.

Retirement cultist holds his hands up. Hold up, hold up. We're all gonna die?!

The other cultist snickers. Alright Donny, jokes up. Just because it's second nature to you doesn't mean playing stupid's gonna work on us.

I'm not Donny!

I'm Donny! Hey guys! Another cultist sitting across from them waves his hand in the air emphatically before going back to playing Youtube cat videos for a couple other cultists standing just behind him. They all share a good natured laugh at that darn cat.

Ohhhhhh shit, you must be the new guy! He points at him and has a good belly laugh. Wow, the interview process just isn't what it used to be I guess.

HOLY FUCK! I don't wanna die! The cultist drops his mug of coffee and lunges at the door....

….just as Engy pulls it open! The cultist stops dead in his tracks, paralyzed by fear. Engy cranes his neck to look around him, smiles and says, 'Nother runner?

The other assembled cultists all shake their heads in unison. Engy looks at the robed man in front of him. Yeah, this is always awkward. He reaches up and snaps the runner's neck in a flash, screwing his head all the way around. The body drops to the floor and two more cultists leap up out of their seats unbidden to grab the dead guy's arms and start dragging him away. Engy splays his arms out in welcome. Gentlemen and...ladies? We got any ladies anymore? The cultists all look at each other. No? Wow, sausage fest. It's worse than an IT department around here. Anyway, thanks for coming on such short notice. Guys, I need your help with something very, very important.

A torrent of compliance follows:
“Oh yes your greatness!”
“Absolutely, whatever you require my dark magister!”
“I am unworthy to tongue the shit from your soles, but I will try to not disappoint excessively!”

Engy nods with satisfaction. Great! Meet me in the main hall, I'll provide further instructions there!

A SHORT TIME LATER....

We reappear in a cavernous hall built out of darkened rock. Sconces light the way, but so deep is this cavern that we cannot see the end. Medieval looking dragon's head sculptures are affixed to the walls, and a bloody admixture spills from their mouths into waiting creeks of the foul red stuff below.

The cultists are arrayed in two rows of equal numbers facing each other. Each one of them is armed with a blunt object, from kendo sticks to wooden swords, to broken table legs. The hooded men consider the items in their hands, and even with their faces concealed their body language makes it readily apparent that they're pretty confused.

Engy stands before them. Alright guys, here's the deal. Peter Gilmour, my opponent at Warfare, is a formidable force, and I need to get my body ready for someone as nigh unstoppable as him. I need to purge myself of all weakness, leaving nothing left but a cold hard outer shell that is as immune to pain as he is. And I know he's immune to pain because he suffered absolutely no consequences whatsoever from being in an exploding ring.

Wow, really?!

I know, right Donny? Pretty scary shit. If I'm gonna defeat that I need to take drastic measures. So are you guys familiar with running a gauntlet? Yes? Maybe? Ok, well before it was co-opted into homoerotic college fraternity hazing rituals, it was serious business. A man is forced to run between two rows of soldiers who would beat the victim mercilessly until they each reach the end or died trying. It's been a form of punishment used for hundreds of years. There's even a badass version called Spiessgasse from the 1500's where the soldiers used pikes. If you don't believe me it's the only picture on the “Running the gauntlet” Wikipedia article I looked up 5 minutes before I walked out here.

One of the cultists hesitantly raises his hand. Engy points to him like he's calling on a student in a classroom. My liege, please cut out my tongue for even daring to question you, but are you thinking of having us STRIKE you with these implements?

Engy shakes his head “yes” like it's self-evident. Keep the tongue, and yes....yes, that's exactly what I was planning.

The cultists start shooting glances at each other and shuffling in place. Engy sighs, picking up on their discomfort. What?

Well, lord, it's just that....

Engy cuts him off. ”It's just that” it's an ORDER, is what! Now get those weapons ready and whoever pulls their blows is getting a one way ticket to the De-scrote-alizer.

One of the cultists claps his hands together and makes a pleasured murmuring sound. Engy points him out. Not you Thomas, I know you like that you sick fuck. You're getting water boarded. Now let's do this shit!

Engy draws in a series of deep breaths to center himself as the cultists reluctantly ready their weapons. Engy counts out 3...2.....1 on his fingers before plunging into the fray! The blows from his obedient minions reign down fast and furious! GACKT...ugh.....FUUUUUUCK! Engy goes down and one of the cultists instinctively reaches down to help him up, so Engy punches him in the balls and forces himself to his feet. He soldiers on as the blows land on him relentlessly. He slips again and again picks himself up. **Pant** Ow, ow, ow, OW GOD FUCKING SODOMIZING FUCK SHIT BITCHES! **Pant** **Pant**

Finally, mercifully, Engy makes it to the end. He collapses to the floor, pain wracking him with every intake of air. He lays like that in silence for quite some time. One of the nameless approaches him.

Master, are you ok?

Engy waves him away dismissively as he continues to collect himself. When he finally speaks it's accompanied by an agonized wheeze. That...still....hurt. Need....to do....it....again.....

Sir, I beg you to reconsider!

Engy flips over onto his back, anger burning in his eyes. AM I...NOT....**wheeze**...THE INCARNATION OF....**gasp**.....DREAD AIWASS?!! SCOURGE OF THE MULTIVERSE...HE WHO WALKS IN THE IMPOSSIBLE ANGLES....HE WHO BRINGS AN END TO LIFE AND DEATH....HE WHO.....whoa, room's getting' spinny.....

Engy passes out.

MORE LATERER....

Engy comes to in his evil lair's infirmary, which actually just looks like a regular infirmary complete with a “Hang in there” kitten poster on the wall. He looks around, sees he's alone, and lays his head back down on the pillow. De-scrote-alizer. Every. Single. One. Engy lets a frustrated blast of air pass through his pursed lips. Eh, I suppose that's not fair. They were just looking out for me, right?

Engy looks at the camera now, and adjusts his weight on the bed with a wince. Ya know Peter, the whole absent opponent angle only works if your identity is actually a mystery.

Are you my guy or aren't you Pete? Huh? Because if you WERE my guy you would have already pointed out like 12 different films I lifted my dialogue from, 8 grammatical errors, 3 logical fallacies, and a partridge in a fucking pear tree. But you haven't. You're sitting and spinning AGAIN. What's your day job exactly and why is it more important than the Universal Championship you claim to hold so dear?

God DAMN IT man, I WANT COMPETITION! I want heart, and passion, and grit, and I want someone to call me a “hack” but not use that word because let's face it, it's a bit overdone, eh? I want....I want.....oh, who am I kidding, I want Jim.

Engy looks up at the ceiling as a bit of depression tugs at his features. But he's gone. He's dead. And right now I'm stuck with you. A guy I heaped praise on in my last promo only for you to once again make me look like an asshole simply by you being you and not giving a shit. LOOKS LIKE ENGY'S WRONG AGAIN!

You know what Peter? Give me that fucking number. Number 32. Give it to me. You don't care. If you did, you'd be screaming to the roof tops how much being top of the food chain here matters to you. But instead you'll continue to pointlessly pass through, bitching about nobody respecting you while you sit on that list with betters above and below you, stewing in your own stale fetid juices as you continue to need other men to carry you to title wins. And yes, I'm officially dropping that pretense. You wouldn't have gotten one over on me without Chris. Everyone knows it. Helen Keller knows it and she was gassed so hard by the Nazi's she went blind and deaf.

Am I seriously going to have to turn to James Raven to give my reign with this title the credibility it deserves? To say nothing for the fact that he's gonna run down that little Kraut clinger Finn Kuhn for winning Shove-It and getting an “unearned” second shot at the Uni when he himself couldn't even be bothered with the event that got Finn there in the first place.

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE?

I'm actually starting to believe that I HAVE lucked into an era of unparallelled uselessness in the XWF. Where even the so-called “legends” give a chance at the Universal Championship a shrug and a “meh”. Well you listen to me you fucking PRICKS! My Universal Championship is not “meh”. You want this shit you speak your piece. That's how it's done. You whisper sweet nothings in its ear and you tell me just how bad you're gonna skull fuck me for the honor of holding that belt. And Peter you will, right? Eventually, right? After you slam a couple Xanax and moan about how busy you've been all the while your ass expands on a bar stool at your favorite watering hole. Busy my left nut. You're just doing what you always do. Putting forth a modicum of effort and expecting maximal results. The problem now though is that you did just that in that tag title debacle and it paid off. You won by half assing it because you had a partner who actually came prepared for me. And now you're feeling entitled. You're swimming in a false sense of superiority thinking that what you brought THEN is going to do it for you NOW.

It won't.

Because this? It's just you and me. No Chris. No Joachim to, rightfully, leave me hanging. I see now that what I said in my first spot was just wishful thinking. I was hoping that maybe if I bolstered you a bit, gave you some recognition, maybe you'd rise to the occasion and actually become what I said you were: a man worthy of respect. But it's just gonna be the same old bullshit from you right Petey boy?

Fuck you, go die in a fire. Oh wait, you can't can you? I guess I'll just have to settle for verbally spit roasting your fat ass while you pretend this title means something to you. I'll probably see you a couple more times before Wednesday. Maybe you'll remember how to give a fuck by then.

Engy casts one last disgusted look at the camera as the shot closes in on the infirmary lights before fading to black.