Even in the darkness of his personal temple, Mystica could make out every shape in the inky black. With only a single candle before him, he sat cross-legged, head lowered in prayer. Unintelligible words spewed forth from his mouth -- some long lost, unimaginable language. As he spoke, the very ground seemed to rumble slightly, his almost silent mutterings echoing off the walls.

There came a sudden horrid creak from the massive front door as someone swung it open. In an instant, Mystica had ceased his prayers and lifted his head. Two brilliant light blue eyes glared out into the light that spewed forth from the entryway. He smiled.

"Hyphema," he called to the door. A single girl stepped into the darkness, closing the door behind her. In the dim light, Mystica was able to see her quite clearly. The white bandages Mystica himself had given her were placed firmly over her eyes. She was essentially blind, and stumbled forward with her hands out in front of her, tripping over the few rows of dilapidated pews between her and the Prophet.

"Father, I was told to bring this to you," Hyphema said, bowing her head to him and extending her left hand, which held a single piece of paper.

"Yes, thank you, luv," replied Mystica in a rather bored tone. He carefully turned the paper over in his hands and studied the text written upon it. "A battle royal on Saturday night? Somalia. Rather unstable place for a wrestling match, no?"

"I know nothing of it, my lord," Hyphema said, shuddering slightly. From beneath the bandages covering her eyes, a drop of blood rolled emerged and rolled lazily down her cheek.

"Roight," Mystica sighed, before noticing one particular aspect of the match. "Ah, John Madison will be at ringside with a spear. A bloody spear! Well, I think we've found our reason to head out to the middle of fuck-shite nowhere! Unrated, hardcore battle! A veritable crusade, luv!"

"Sounds like a brilliant means of spreading the word."

"Of course it is! Let the King himself poke your eyes out with a spear, grab some attention! Throw some blokes around, mash 'em upside the head with the good book..."

He raised a copy of his particular bible, a runic M inscribed upon it's leather surface. It would certainly make a good weapon if the need arose. It was so thick, Mystica's arm began to shake beneath it's weight. He lowered it, letting it fall between him and Hyphema. The book slammed into the tile floor, sending an incredibly loud echo throughout the temple.

"Good ol' fashioned fun," Mystica beamed, folding the paper cleanly in half. "Go spread the word, child. The Prophet is coming to Somalia. And he's bringing the good word with him."

Hyphema bowed gently, then turned and felt her way back to the door. In a moment's time, she was gone, out into the word to spread the word of the Prophet's entry into the Battle Royal.

"And maybe a knife or two." Mystica concluded, reaching into his garments and pulling out a rather large butcher's knife. For a minute, he simply stared into the reflective side of the blade, admiring his own eyes. Then, with a smile, he viciously sliced his own index finger and began chuckling to himself as he utilized the blood to paint an M on the floor before him.

"Elizabeth 7:13 -- 'There can be no release without pain, for pain is but a pulse when the sufferer chooses to be embraced by the Myst."

Achievements

• 1x Tag Team Champion
  
• August 2013 Superstar of the Month (Thank you all so much!)
  
• 1x US Champion
  
• 1x X-treme Champion