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Sebastian Duke · **02-21-2015, 08:04 AM**

I've spent a few weeks away from the action. Beating Eli James was cool and all, but not nearly as fun as I envisioned. I think I've come to the realization that I'm bored. I'm bored to death with the same old faces proclaiming dominance, then wetting their pants when forced to face me. Eli James, like Azrael Erebus before him, and Griffin MacAllister before him, and John Madison and Mark Flynn... they all realized it is a hell of a lot easier to talk about beating me than to actually accomplish defeating me.

The list of dominant names from the dawn of my arrival until now are forever changing and the one single thing that always stays the same is that one by one...

Mark Flynn.

Tick.

Azrael Erebus.

Tick.

John Madison.

Tick.

Griffin MacAllister.

Tick.

Eli James.

They all fall away into oblivion. Their lives and careers forever altered because they've had to step in the ring with me. Granted, some have defeated me, but they're never the same. You know what does stay the same?

Sebastian Duke.

I've lived through dozens of battles in the ring and I'll live to see dozens more.

Why?

Because whether I win or whether I lose the one constant in both outcomes is that it fuels me. It fuels me to the point where I can run on cruise control and still walk all over most of what the Xtreme Wrestling Federation has to offer.

There's a lot of new faces in the XWF.

Gator.

Doc D'Ville.

Justin Sane.

Austin Fernano.

Heartsford.

Dozens of others. None of them have ever had the opportunity to face me and have their careers altered like the others. I've stayed away from the ring since I defeated Eli James simply because I saw no reason for me to compete. I saw no reason to take my attention away from my war with the Church. I saw no reason for me to lace 'em up and knock 'em down.

Until last week.

Then this week.

Lethal Lottery was announced.

And the Intercontinental Championship.

Does Lethal Lottery have anyone elses name on it but mine? In the past two plus years, has their been anyone more dominant? Has their been anyone more consistently good at what they do? Has their been one man more lethal than Sebastian Duke?

The Lottery is mine. So is the briefcase.

And I can't really claim to have won everything ever anymore if the XWF in their infinite wisdom and their desire to keep things fresh and competitive, has recently decided to bring back show exclusive titles. Warfare is my home. Regardless of the names and faces that come and go, it's still my playground. It belongs to me. The rest of you? I allow you to play there. It's where it all began and when I choose to end it, it's where it will end. Being the very first Intercontinental Champion in the XWF seems fitting.

There really is no better feeling in this business than to chase gold. Listen up rookies, because its true. The chase, you'll learn is way more invigorating than the prize itself. Unless your name is Johnathan Heartsford. That son of a bitch just fails at every title attempt he's given. It kind of makes the chase, not so much a chase as it is a repeatedly running into a brick fucking wall.

Way to go, kid.

That's grabbing the bull by the horns.

Speaking of bull, is there a bigger load of bullshit in this fucking company than Cain? The mother fucker has changed his image more times than I've won matches and that tells you everything you need to know about Cain. The hopeless wonder that is the Messiah of Pain.

Remember Cain, I'm not one to befriend anyone that calls themselves a Messiah.

You can sit back and stroke my ego all you want, because the fact is, its nonsense. You're beating a dead horse, because I have no ego. What I have is an unbreakable amount of self confidence. You can worship the ground I walk on and kiss my fucking boots, because when you bend down to do that, you may as well just stay there. If by some miracle you manage to make it out of round one, I will happily stomp your face into the ground I walk on that you worship so much.

It shall come to pass, Cain. Only it won't be you becoming Intercontinental Champion, it will be me. Your King of fucking Darkness.

“Because when I win that championship, no other champion before me shall matter. Not even the ones before me.”

Your words, Cain. Not mine.

Those two simple sentences spoken by the man I once mistakenly dubbed the Future of Darkness. You're not the future of darkness, Cain, but you are the King of Redundancy. In fact, the only thing more redundant than your constant babble, is your failures as a man and as a professional wrestler.

So you won a gauntlet on Monday night. Congratulations. It took everyone else having already been through a match in order for you to win. There's something to be proud of.

“Sane, we haven't had much interaction since our first match. We’ve both gone down our own path, and I have to say, you haven’t done much since our match, but that doesn’t mean anything, I’ve seen what you can do in that ring, and although you do have ability, unlike virtually everyone else in this fucking tournament, you aren’t a match for me.”

Sup, Fernando?

How ya doin'?

Those were your words by the way, not mine.

I'm a match for you, rookie. Don't ever forget it.

Wednesday night, I show Hysteria what it means to be King. I show him why Warfare is still my playground. I show everyone why Sebastian Duke rules the roost. I show the entire world that Darkness will always reign supreme in the Xtreme Wrestling Federation.

In the final analysis, who am I to deprive all these new names and faces the opportunity to face me? Maybe some of them will even beat me. I'm not unbeatable, but it is damn hard to do it. Especially when its something I really want.

That's not bravado or ego, it's solid fact.

Friday, February 20, 2015 | 6:11 PM Local Time | Illuminatus World Headquarters | Death Valley

Your King of Darkness rests in a dark and secluded corner of the sprawling underground compound that has become the headquarters of the Illuminatus. For the last few weeks, since learning of his mothers death at the hands of the King of Darkness, Prince Thaddeus has remained silent, unwilling to talk to his father.

Unfortunately for Sebastian, he's been busy. Too busy to focus on his troubles with his only son, and that too, stresses him out. The King doesn't do much loving. It's not how he was raised. It's believable to count on one hand the people he has any amount of love for. His father, Asmodeus. His son Thaddeus. His half-brother Theo Pryce. His best-friend Jacob. At one time you could have included Caitlyn. Sebastian's wife and the mother of his son. It's easy to see that perhaps part of him still does love her. But the Illuminatus is his top priority and anything or anyone that chooses to stand between him and his goals with the Illuminatus stands a very good chance, if not a definite one, of being permanently removed from the situation.

Still though, he often wonders if it was the right move. He often thinks of her with fondness, rather than her treacherous behavior at the end of her life. When he failed to save Thaddeus several months back, she left him. He understood that. It happens all the time in this world. When a couple loses a child, they lose a huge piece of what makes them a whole unit. As unfortunate as it is, the death of Thaddeus Duke caused a giant, gaping hole in the fabric of their marriage. Months later though, she came back. She wanted to patch things up and resume their life together.

Truth be told, he too was a wreck over Thaddeus' death. It's quite obvious, that they needed each other, they needed to lean on each other in order to get through it.

Of course, Caitlyn had turned. No one knew it at the time, but she'd aligned herself with the Catholic Church in an effort to assassinate the King. Upon this discovery, the King had to do what necessary. He had to end her life in a way that was symbolic to the Church. To warn them against trying to kill him. He hanged her, along with a Cardinal captured many months prior in a siege on a Monastery in northern France, from the obelisk in Saint Peter's Square.

The King's train of thought is broken by a knock on the door behind him. ”Enter,” he commands without ever turning around.

The door opens just enough to allow a little light to pierce the darkness. ”Sire,” a man says in a thick British accent.

”What is it General?” the King asks of his Commanding General, Benjamin Cornwallis.

”We're ready for you, Sire,” Benjamin replies.

”I'll be there in a minute.” Commanding General Cornwallis starts to retreat back through the door when the King asks him a question. ”General, have you seen Thaddeus?”

”Not as of late, no Sire,” Ben replies. ”He's mostly holed up with Jacob, sir.”

”Thank you General.”

Benjamin nods his head and retreats into the lit hallway, leaving Sebastian Duke in his dark misery. A few minutes later, Sebastian enters the war room by his lonesome. The usual suspects are present. Asmodeus, Matthew, Benjamin, Jacob, but no Thaddeus.

”Where's my son?” asks the King, looking directly at Jacob.

”He's not coming,” replies Jacob immediately.

The King shakes his head and turns to Matthew. ”Place the call.”

Matthew does as he's instructed. After a few rings, a young sounding voice answers in German. ”Hallo?”

”George von Hildenberg. Please hold for your King,” replies Matthew as he looks at Sebastian.

”George, this is your King, how are you?”

”I'm well, Sire,” replies George in a heavy German accent.

”Do you realize why I'm calling?”

”I do sir.”

”And do you have any reason to defy this order? Any hesitation whatsoever?”

”No sir. I do not. Your cause is my cause. Your wish is my command. I am honored to help secure Germany for you.”

”The Illuminatus thanks you for your service to the cause, son. We will be there to be your shoulder when its done. A boy should always mourn the loss of his father.”

”Thank you, my King. When should I move?”

”We'll be landing around this time tomorrow night. You must time it appropriately. He must be dead when we land, but he must not be discovered until we've taken the Chancellery during the night, is that understood?”

”Completely, Sire.”

”Good. We'll see you in a day,” he concludes, then nods at Matthew, giving the signal to end the call. He turns to his father, ”have you informed France of our intent to use their airspace?”

”I wanted to talk to you about that first, son,” Asmodeus says as he stands up and begins to walk toward the King of Darkness. ”I don't see the need to inform them of anything. We're only flying overhead.”

”It must be done. The French would see hundreds of unidentified aircraft flying over their land. They could think it was an invasion and they'd respond as they should.”

”You mean by raising the white flag over their capitol?” Jacob jokes.

”Jake, this is not a laughing matter,” the King informs of his most trusted subordinate. ”If they're not aware we'll be using their airspace, they have every right to shoot us down. A war with France, while we would win it, would be disastrous to what we're trying to accomplish.

“We don't want all of Europe thinking we're an invading force.”

”But we are an invading force,” Jacob replies.

”Perception is reality. We need to look like exactly what we are. An armed force just stopping by temporarily on our way to somewhere else.”

After staring at his feet for a few minutes, taking in exactly what Sebastian just said, ”you're right. We must not appear to be antagonistic towards other nations in the region.

“Make the call to the French President.”

Matthew does as he's instructed. Except when the person on the other end of the call answers, its not the French President, but a female voice. ”Bonjour?” says the mysterious female voice.

”We would like to speak to the French President, Mademoiselle,” Matthew says in his kindest, softest voice.

”Who is calling on him at this hour?” asks the woman, presumably the wife or mistress of the President.

Matthew looks at his King, who then looks at Jacob. ”Tell her its an occupying forces leader,” Jacob whispers to Matthew.

”Mademoiselle, I have the leader of an occupying force waiting to speak to your President,” Matthew states.

The woman hesitates to respond as she ponders whether the caller is serious or not, ”une moment.”

The men in the war room look around at each other as Asmodeus nears the microphone. Moments later the voice of the French President is heard. ”Who is this?” the man asks in English.

”Mr. President,” Asmodeus starts. ”In less than twenty-four hours, my forces will occupy one of your neighbors. Out of respect for the French population, I'd like to formally request the use of your air space in order to get where we're headed.”

”Your intended destination,” says the President. ”Where might that be?”

Asmodeus looks over his shoulder at his son. His son nods. ”Germany.”

”I might have guessed,” he pauses. ”Why might I allow such a thing? For seventy years, the German people have been a peaceful people and a strong ally. I'd prefer not to jeopardize that... whoever you are.”

”You can call me Asmodeus.”

”I feel like I should recognize that name, however I do not.”

”Mr. President, our goals here are not to bring havoc and destruction to Europe. Our enemy is a small one with its location in Europe. All I ask is that you play ball with us and afford us your air space in order to get to our next destination,” Asmodeus explains.

”Again, my question remains, why might I allow such a thing?”

”To spare your people.”

Silence on the other end of the line.

”It's really quite simple,” Asmodeus states. ”Order your military to stand down. We're flying over your nation whether you agree to it or not. You may as well agree to it because if your birds engage ours, we'll be forced to bomb you into submission.

“Trust me when I say this, Mr. President, if we are forced to engage your military we will leave nothing untouched. Your beautiful nation will be nothing more than a burning and smoldering pile of rubble.

“Consider it less a threat, and more a promise,” Asmodeus concludes.

”And what if I agree to allow your planes to fly over my land?”

”Then you will be considered a friend, and no connection to what we're doing and what you've allowed to take place, need ever see the light of day. Your hands remain clean.”

”How much time until you need an answer?”

”Mr. President, you're already out of time.”

”What is your intentions with the German nation?”

”To occupy it. To use it as a base of operations. To employ its unemployed in manufacturing goods for our cause. To help the German people the best we can while we are there.”

”And when you're through with Germany?”

”It will be returned, as unharmed as possible, to its government and its people.”

”Unharmed as possible,” says the French President with a hint of confusion. ”What exactly does that mean?”

”What remains of the German government will likely try and resist our occupation. We will chase them out of the nation, if need be, by any means necessary.”

”You mean kill them,” interrupts the President.

”No. Not preferably,” Asmodeus answers.

”France will play ball, Mr. Asmodeus. I shall give the stand down orders first thing in the morning.”

”I can not begin to tell you what you've just done. You're a champion of your people. If you resisted in assisting us, it would have cost France a great deal of pain.

“I like France, Mr. President.

“It would have hurt my heart to destroy it.”

Matthew looks up. ”The line is dead. He's gone.”

”Get our planes in the air. Remind them their target is the airfield in Connecticut. Refuel, then head to Europe.”

Hell hath no fury like the King of Darkness with a vendetta.

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