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JimCaedus · (11-26-2017)

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(continued from "King of the Mountain")

"24/7 v 20"

The primal, guttural roar booms a third time from whatever bowels of Khawa Karpo mountain the chamber's yawning off-shoot cavern leads to.

As unbelieveably winded as I am, barely standing in fact, resulting from the combination of high altitude thin air and my fight to the death with the monk, I hold my breath.

I'd like to say my mind races, attempting to theorize on and demystify the identity of the roar's source to strip myself of the fear radiating within me but I don't. I nearly shit my pants is what I do, each successive roar lending a realization that whatever it is, it ain't no animal I've ever heard, neither in person nor via video/audio recording.

I look to the dying monk. All things considered, he looks to be at peace with his situation, half buried beneath the rubble of the demolished deity statue, his lower half surely crushed. Physically, he doesn't even look to be in shock over the trauma, which is pretty amazing.

Honestly though, I couldn't give less fucks about the monk at this point. In lieu of EVERYTHING having to do with MY situation at this moment, all I want to do is get the hell OUTTA he-

THE FLAG

-butts into my panicked thoughts, overriding musings with a firm command set before my mind's-eye.

Fuck THAT and fuck YOU! is how I respond to the "psychic force", turning to the end of the crevasse I'd fallen through several minutes earlier, eyes searching for a way I might scramble back up and out onto the mountainside and have my waiting party evac my ass with the AC313 chopper.

My first step towards escape may as well have been setting foot on a land mine as my brain suddenly explodes with an agonizing migraine. I fall to both knees, clutching at my head.

The torture subsides moments later and I can't remember ever feeling so grateful...despite the fact I'm being forced to do the bidding of whomever or WHATever is behind this.

I turn back around, scanning the crevasse at the opposite end where hangs precariously the flag I've been sent to collect. It's a good, I guesstimate, 25 to 30 feet above me at the center of the chamber floor where the monk currently lay dying.

I can't reach that!

USE THE SPEAR

Spear, what fuckin' spe-

Of course, I recall now...the deity statue was holding a spear before I obliterated it with the monk's body... And there it is, lying in close proximity to the monk, the deity's dismembered hand still attached.

Holstering the shotgun, I stoop to snatch up the stone spear, hefting its balanced weight then looking to the side-hanging flag and pole above. I catch the rising pound of heavy footsteps echoing up from the off-shoot cave entrance and my heart leaps.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh FUCK! HURRY!

I take several hurried steps back to get a good angle at the flag...

...I take aim and cock back...

...I let fly...

...and the spear misses the flag pole's planting point by inches, chipping at the rock beside it.

I make sure to catch the spear as it drops, afraid it may shatter on impact with the chamber's rocky floor.

Frantically I step back and take aim a second time...

...I javelin the spear...

Please...

...BULLSEYE!!

I scoot from ground zero as rock, spear, snow, flag and pole rain down, the spear indeed snapping in half upon falling to the ground. Once the mini avalanche has ended, I lunge for the flag pole, ripping the flag itself (oddly reading JC!) free.

Success. Endorphins release in my brain...and something else... I swear to CHRIST I instantaneously no longer feel weary. In fact...I'm completely revitalized and I feel fanfuckingTASTIC.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

I don't want to turn and look...but I do-

(mood music)

A massive yeti (what the _FUCK_!!!!) emerges from the cave.

My heart skips a beat then thumps so hard it hurts behind my ribcage.

The abominable finds me with it's forward set line of sight, meets my gaze, predator looking on prey, and makes its intentions known.

I'm frozen in place, my eyes immediately welling with the tears of unbridled terror. Unable to blink, unable to think, unable to react other than a slackening of the jaw, a frown of disbelief and oculars so bugged out I feel they may pop free of their sockets.

Standing what must be around 6 and a half feet tall and undoubtedly weighing around a quarter ton, covered in course, filthy white fur with a patch of red atop it's mildly pointed head, the yeti explodes into action, suddenly and swiftly loping my way on all fours.

I backpedal, stumble, fall to my back.

In a panic I pull the shotgun from its holster as the yeti covers the distance between us with unnatural speed. I sit up and raise the weapon in the creature's general direction in desperation and fire, the kick buffeting my right shoulder.

I hit it but I can't tell...because the beast doesn't slow. It growls as it closes in.

I pump once, empty shell discharging, and the yeti is upon me, raising it's arms from an upright stance to pound me into oblivion.

Instinctively I loosely aim the barrel between his legs (my eyes catching a glimpse of an alarmingly miniscule apeman pecker) and pull the trigger.

Flesh and fur explode, dick and balls vanish. I pump. The yeti shudders, an unreal howl escaping from his lungs...but he REMAINS STANDING, pinning me with a red eyed glare of rage, bowing-up and leaning slightly down and forward to effectively damage my ear drums with a point blank roar directed at my face! Hot breath hits my nostrils; death.

In a flash I level the barrel at the yeti's open mouth mid-roar and fire.

Simultaneously with a pained and gurgled grunt, huge pink-stained fangs shatter, fat tongue and mouth interior splatter in a shower of gruesome blood and gore, a thick spout of arterial spray launching from a ragged hole in the yeti's throat, his nose and eyes exploding, mangled beyond recognition.

The creature crumbles forward, his weight pinning my left leg to the chamber floor as I try rolling away. The metallic scent of blood, the combined stench of earth, never-washed hair and never-wiped ass forces a gag out of me as I tug to free my leg in vain.

A chorus of roars and hoots suddenly ring out, a cacophony of terminal threat. My head swivels to the cave entrance...

...to see MORE YETI spilling out, all smaller in stature than what was apparently their red-headed leader but nonetheless massive. I nearly pass out from fright.

In a move of terrified thinking I pump the shotgun, place the barrel at the dead yeti's huge left shoulder area and pull the trigger. A chunk of flesh pops away in pieces, lessening the mass enough in that area for me to finally pull my leg free.

The first few yeti are already charging in as I stand, trying to formulate a futile plan.

Fuck it.

Pump.

BLAM!

Pump.

BLAM!

Pump.

BLAM!

I let loose the final three loaded shells in rapid succession, spraying the oncoming trio and thankfully halting their progress as they grunt and yelp, pawing at their faces and upper bodies in angry confusion.

Pump. Tunkle tunkle. The last shell clatters to the floor.

Pull, click, pull, click, pull, click, pull, click-

I speedily pull four more from my bandolier and load them as a fourth yeti charges through the halted trio. It effectively halts MY progress out of sheer horror and launches at me, looking ever so much like it's fucking SPEARING me!

"Fuck!"

I dive to my right, away from the dead yeti and most likely now dead monk, the fourth yeti NARROWLY missing me by a hair!

I spin as he lands and twists back towards me, tendrils of drool whipping from lengthy canines.

Pump.

BLAM!

He takes a close shot to the chest, a large chunk of flesh and hair scattering from dead center.

Pump.

He falters to the side but lunges, swinging a massive arm at my head.

I crouch.

BLAM!

The second shot point blank shatters uncovered ribs and breast bone and the fourth drops (two down) while I frantically hop away to avoid him, nearly falling to the ground.

Pump.

The trio once more charges in, howling over the death of yet another yeti.

BLAM!

Pump.

One stumbles to the chamber floor, knee ragged and bleeding.

BLAM!

Pump.

The remaining two screech as their faces are peppered from just far enough away to survive the shot BUT CONTINUE IN RAGE!!

They're upon me as I reload a single shell, their eyes squinting through the blood coursing down their faces from forehead furrows.

I take a hammering blow from the one who's crimson-cloaked face resembles war paint to the chest and find myself flying back off my feet to land some distance away in anguish, losing my grip on the shotgun.

I groan, rising, expecting to be set upon and pummeled into a mash of viscera, to see the war paint yeti curiously holding the shotgun and looking down the barrel while the other pokes at the trigger.

BLAM!

War paint loses his head and a stream of urine is loosed from its nether region as arterial spray shoots like fireworks from the stump as the shotgun is jerk-thrown away, sliding across the chamber floor towards me.

The other yeti jumps in fright, hoots in shock, growling a question at the still standing headless yeti.

Objects in my periphery draw my eyes to a group of (One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight......Good fuckin' GOD) SIXTEEN YETI bunched together nearby, all as well staring in fascination as the horrid headless scene plays out before them.

I rise partially, grab the shotgun and move to reload-

Wait...that shit I "borrowed" from Thaddeus's armory when I dropped in on him awhile back...

I pull the shotgun shell-sized metallic cylindrical object from the bandolier, arm it and lob it...

...not a single of the sixteen notices as the device lands among them and the incendiary explosive detonates.

Sixteen yeti, some missing limbs, some merely felled via the blast with burst hearts, all of them aflame, drop to the floor of the chamber, the vomit-inducing smell of burning hair and meat forcing my gorge to rise. I swallow it and rise myself.

A struggled, muffled grunting calls my attention to the lone survivor yeti buried beneath three bodies of his clan.

Pull.

Click.

Pump.

I level the barrel at the survivor's face, the only part of his body visible beneath the pile of burning yeti. His eyes soften...

A vision of Harry Henderson flashes before my eyes.

I...can't do it.

The yeti growls and spits a massive glob of bloody saliva, hitting my chest.

BLAM!

"MotherFUCKER!"

.............

"There he is!"

::In the early Thanksgiving morning light, Main spots Jim clawing free, pulling himself up out of the low end of the crevasse he'd fallen into::

"He's hurt! Give me the pack!"

::The translator snatches the skydiver chute off the wall of the AC313's interior and tosses it to Main who sets about tying weighted material to the pack.

The Omega then slides open the hatch, spies Jim rising to his feet, waving both arms and underhand lobs the pack::

The pack falls like a rock, splattering into the snow on impact a few feet away. I wave to my brother Main, he waves back from the hatch then slides it shut and the AC313 moves away.

::BVVVT::

Who the fuck-?

I pull my phone free and check the text notification.

I accept your invitation, I'll come find you in Beijing tomorrow, we'll talk about it.

On the wind I hear the roar of more yeti echoing from within the chamber below me.

JESUS!

Quickly I slide my phone into my pocket, remove the weighted material from the pack, apply it to my torso and secure it. I double check that the flag is safely tucked away, then take note of the wind's direction, jog along with it...

...and leap from the rocky outcropping.

□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

--WALDORF ASTORIA IN BEIJING--

--THANKSGIVING DAY--

I peer through the peephole of my suite's door to reveal the identity of whomever it is who'd interrupted my trash talk tirade ((as seen in "King of the Mountain")).

Who... Ooooooh SHIT!

I unlock and fling the door open.

"Come on in."

::As the scene FADES TO BLACK, we catch a glimpse of an unidentified female entering with a smile::

--SOME DAYS LATER--

::FADE UP on Jim, hair wet, a towel wrapped around his bulging pelvic region, drops of water cascading down his bare chest, sat on the bed.

In the background we hear the unknown female humming in the running shower::

"I guess I get somethin' to be thankful for after all. That mean I'll be takin' it any easier on the lot o' you in the Shove-It rumble?

Ain't no fuckin' way, regardless of the cynical buffoonery and dipshit's theories flowin' from the mouth of Chris Chaos, doubting the good Doc will be offerin' any sorta worthwhile reward, yet, signin' the fuck on anyway like the smoke-blowin' dullard horse's ass he is as he queefs out strategically-full-story-omitted or flat out THAT forgetful "facts" about his past dealings with his opponents from betwixt his rubbery lips.

Nah, ain't no fuckin' way I'll be slackin' off like the rest o' you...like Danny Imperial with his Psych Gimmicks for the Tired and Uncreative clusterfuckery; still stuck in the same spot, struggling to come to grips with reality, still monumentally lame. It can be smartly reasoned if the man can't find it in himself to advance out of the ring, he'll more than likely find himself falling short IN the ring, despite that soon-to-be-wrestled-away-by-my-bro-Main Hart Title around his waist lending more cred than he deserves to his ability. Danny may have been able to get one over me in our first round...but he was among the defeated following the Leap of Faith rafter match I walked away from victoriously...and I'll do whatever it takes to ensure that's repeated in full when I'm standin' over TWENTY tossed twats in the wake of Shove It.

There won't be no backin' off from me like that fuck-up embarrassment to the Uni Title Robbie Bourbon, still silent among those of us competing. What a shock...you are what you beat, fat boy, a no-show. What's wrong, thought I'd be cashing in on you and ignoring the mystery prize? Basically giving in, KNOWING I'll take that strap when it suits me? You ain't no champ...just gimme that fuckin' title, to hell with a match. I'll boost it back up to the status it held in MY hands before it drew out three asshats who couldn't be bothered to entertain the fans and have sullied the damn thing thrice over. Fuckin' shame...that time limit on 24/7 briefcases should've been invoked LONG before Blingsteen cashed in on me, all this tarnishing of the XWF and it's top title would've been avoided. Like Bourbon is avoiding any sorta action that a MAN would be makin' in his place. Bitch.

For fucksake you tubby tittied taint, SCULLY has been comin' at me...albeit, like Danny Imperial, with the SAME dusty, ineffectual, unfunny insults he's been jerkin' outta that lengthy three stiff inches since Leap of Faith...which he lost...but at least the limey is trying.

LACERTUS...the NEW GUY...put in more effort than you, Rob, with an autism-nightly story time epic detailing a bit o' the larger than life man's background. Though, I'm thinking, Lacertus may not be seen again until he enters the rumble. I could be wrong, I don't claim to know it all like Chaos does but it seems to me Lacertus has already found more intimidation among those of us promoing than I assume he expected and could very well be intending on cowering until the clock runs out. A shame really...I see potential in that one.

Hell Rob, your OWN teammate WAR PIG has been puttin' in his usual semi-sensical work, not realizing the only victory he'll be tasting in context with Shove It will be the small victory in his (hopeful) ability to still turn door knobs with broken fingers and the only Hog's Leg he'll be smokin' on will be the one I rip out of 'is hip and shove in 'is mouth.

Shit, even the great Ozma herself has stepped from her Emerald Basement and deigned to join in with at least a SINGLE vignette. Seems some people deserve more respect than they receive and others...like you Rob...deserve the opposite. None whatsoever.

Coward...you make me sick. I PRAY it's Jim Caedus that manages to power your tonnage over the top rope to inexplicably explode at ringside in a shower of viscera and half digested TV dinners.

Nah...Jim Caedus won't be takin' it easy on any of you. I don't give a shit what the Doc offers as a prize, I wouldn't give a fuck if it was a handshake, it's the prestige accompanying winning the event that is at LEAST half the prize if not in whole...though I refuse to believe a legend like Doc D'Ville wouldn't provide something worth HIS time puttin' this all together.

Unbelievable, idiots. Not a one of you truly recognizes what this is all about, what a valuable opportunity this is...therefore, its more than likely none of you will stop the one man who DOES.
True, anything can happen in the XWF...but unfortunately for all of you, among those possibilities resides an authoritative outcome...

J
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"

I hear the shower cut off. I smile wickedly.

"I'll be seein' you all very soon..."

::STATIC::

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