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Kraven · (07-06-2014)

Anxiety is the maiden of creativity.
-T.S. Elliot

Moonlight touches the edges of the car like tiny angels caressing the very fabric of the scene, dancing graciously along melded steel before sliding off into the suffocating darkness of midnight. It is the depth of night and all is silent except for the muffled growl of the engine. Even louder the crescendo of noise grows as the car accelerates further, until the beast under the hood screams with the hungry fury of a vengeful God, the sides of the car now obscured in a dizzy blur. Faster then the wrath of God he drives through the choking cloak of midnight, seemingly absorbing the very darkness through which he slides, feeding on the silence and the shadows that envelop his sinister embrace. We are inside now, and we see a man clothed in all black, from head to toe except his face. Seemingly this man's face is painted white, all except around his eyes and lips, there the black returns. His face paint almost the same as a mime would wear except his is more sinister looking. More disturbed, more everything. His shoulder length un combed black hair lays where it will over his face as he stares blankly at the road ahead, his gloved hands frenziedly gripping the wheel and a slight hint of a sickening smile torn upon his painted face.

His foot firmly on the pedal and the window down, he lets out a chilling, rasping laugh of shrill satisfaction as he zooms across the hot Tarmac, crossing the boarder at incredible speeds and clearly loving the sensation. Despite all that has happened over the years he almost feels that which has been missing so very long - verve, adrenaline, excitement. He can barely contain his glee as the endorphins pump through his veins like an icy tidal wave of searing energy beneath his skin. It's a feeling he hasn't felt in an age. Excitement, exhilaration, the indescribable feeling of all the tiny pieces finally falling into place. He has been waiting for this moment for a very long time, and he revels in it's haunting embrace. He runs his fingers across the soft leather of the steering wheel as the Rev counter burns into the red, listening to the cacophony of beautiful noise - finally he is again on top of the world. He remembers when this was the emotional constant. The thrill of the chase, the joy of the game. He remembers almost what it was to be a God amongst men. He licks his lips in demonic delight. Kraven has returned.

As he drives even faster across the barren, empty southern wastelands, something's not quite right however. He cannot quite place it at first. Something way off in periphery. It is then that the sudden realization hits him like a shot to the face. So caught up in the moment was he that he had almost forgotten. And after all the trouble he went to for tonight's prey, such simple errors could indeed be costly. He laughs for a moment at his own exuberance before sliding his foot off the accelerator, gradually letting the engine wind down to a gentle pur. He breathes easy as the adrenaline subsides and that sound once again fills his ears... A sound he almost forgotten about in the heat of things... A gentle, mild tapping sound coming from behind. Tonight's prey is finally awake. Kraven's sick smile does not fade for a single moment as he effortlessly slides the car off the side of the road, waiting to come to a halt under the moon's watchful eye. The grunts and stifled groans grow even louder now as the prey, the livestock begins to panic.

He makes a mental note to use a higher dosage of ether next time. It as been years since he allowed himself the luxury of these games. Perhaps time has made him sloppy? He ponders this as he opens the driver's door and strolls round back getting a ready to open the trunk and taking a second glance about the captured pawn struggling inside. There was a time where he would have simply shot this minion in the face and left his bloodied, rotting corpse for the vultures. But that was the past. And now an older, wiser Kraven is in control. Besides, he muses, guns are too easy. There's much better ways to play the game. That old trick with the vodka and flare gun perhaps? Or maybe the one with the razor wire and the super glue? Or maybe some kind of hungry, blood thirsty animal - A dog perhaps? Or maybe a wolf? No, that would surely be too flamboyant for such a nameless drone as the one he had snared tonight. Besides, he had read about the rather delicious sounding "Theraphosa Blondi", and it had been difficult to aquire. Ever since he had, Kraven had felt an unusual hunger that demanded to see what his new... Pet could do.

He smiles at the very thought of it. "Theraphosa Blondi", known to the world as the dreaded African Bird Eating Spider. The largest known to man, a beast known to eat prey twice it's size. A vicious, menacing, calculating predator with fangs the size of a human finger. He muses for a moment over the identity of tonight's subject. He thinks back to that hot summer's afternoon and the cheap suit who's arrival at the hotel had filled the air with the pungent scent of disgrace. He remembers thinking to himself at that very moment "This man needs to die". The amount of planning required was minimal, this minion was far too easy. A simple trap for a simple mind. And now this man's fate was in his hands. Just the way he likes it. Too glorious shall be the blood curdling screams. The beautiful agony of his captive as those huge, venomous fangs pierce through his flesh, tear through skin. Injecting one of the world's most agonizing venoms. The merciless screams could go on for hours... Not that it mattered. Out here in the suffocating darkness, not a soul would ever notice.

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Are you reading between the lines, little minion? Because that's what you are. A little minion just like the rest of them. So easy it was to snare you, almost too easy. And to think, you had such potential. With the right moulding, the right mentoring you might've been a ruthless, savage predator. Instead, you flew directly into the spider's web. Caught, trapped... With no where to go. The only thing you can do is wait. Wait alone in the dark, envisioning your end. Perhaps if you weren't so naive, or so quick on the trigger there might have been hope for you. Instead, you will be just another victim, my first in quite sometime. The anticipation is eating me alive I cannot wait to feel that sudden rush as my entire body and mind is engulfed in a sea of adrenaline as I watch you beg for mercy before the end. However I show no mercy...

So easily you were lured in, such a shameful display... An embarrassing display. I am obviously better then you, I thought that was a little too obvious. Like I said, maybe one day in the future with the proper mentoring you might've stood a chance against me. But that day is not this Wednesday. And now, you must live with the reality that you were done in, hook, line and sinker. Cope with the reality of defeat before I hand it to you as I submit you to my will.

They may call you Mastermind...

But let this be a lesson learned for you and for all that I, Kraven... Am the master.

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As he rests against the still warm Venice of the car, he listens to his prey's panicked squels. Surely the air inside must be running out. But the crushing pains of suffocation would be nothing compared to what this dead soul would be about to witness. At first there would be confusion. Kraven learned long ago that covering the eyes heightens the terror. He imagines the fear as a enormous spider crawls across a cold, sweaty face. It's prickling hairy legs across fragile skin as it moves forward, patiently waiting to strike. The last moments of this drone's life would be spent with a sensation like bubbling acid behind the eyeballs. His veins burning like napalm as muscles contort, struggle and tear. In some cases the venom can be so potent the subject can snap their own tortured spine from the sheer force of the agonizing convulsions. Black spots fill the skin, each pushing through flesh as tiny air bubbles puncture the skin cells, forcing a bloody and bile like substance to pour out from the pores.

Oh, what a road lay ahead. Kraven chuckles with sweet anticipation. This nameless victim would feel the wrath of the Angel of Death. Few have ever crossed Kraven and lived to tell the tale. And for each unlucky minion that dares cross his path, an excruciating feast of agony and fear awaits you. Yes indeed, Kraven thinks to himself. Tonight's puppet certainly has felt his wrath, his power. He even ponders on opening a bottle of champagne later. After all, tonight is nothing if not a celebration. The plans for XWF were now underway and running smoothly. Soon his name would be burned into the pages of wrestling history as the most sadistic ever to step foot inside the squared circle. He will be remembered as a man who forever cast a suffocating shroud over the world of wrestling. But greatest of all, he will be remembered as the man who tore the XWF apart, piece by piece, talent by talent, in a sick collage of violence, bloodshed and flames. It would be glorious. A individual who would echo through the ages.

But that was the future. Now Kraven must concentrate on tonight's festivities. He can barely contain the excitement as he reaches into his trenchcoat for car keys, ready to unlock the boot. Tonight would be glorious entertainment indeed.

A prelude, perhaps to the crushing of Mastermind this Wednesday. Kraven lets out one final terrifying laugh as he remembers what his drunk, abusive father used to tell him.

Life is nothing without sport...

This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but with a whimper.
- T.S. Elliot

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