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(Gravy_Xtreme_5000) · **04-12-2020, 01:27 PM**

A simple "kickout..." would have surficed...

📌

Atara Raven · (04-12-2020)

The incessant attempts at removing from Aphrodite's scion her Girdle of Xtreme have incited a detestation and murderous wrath from Olympus like no other. Their chosen, first amongst the Hellene, endlessly harassed and distracted from the work fate as deemed for her? The hubris of these peons of Warstein's kingdom have been deemed unnecessary and their fates decided.

Kronos, king of Titans and master of time, with his razor sharp scythe hacked at the fabric of physics and all things deemed possible. With a puncture, what is and what was now is no more. Through the void Graves is consumed....

Gravity loses it hold and the challenger, weightless, tumbles helplessly through Kronos' tunnel. End over end, again and again, the tunnel shows no signs of stopping. His speed increases with every moment passed until what light can be seen is but a myriad of streaks in his peripheral. On and on and eventually blackness. Graves is brought to sudden stop.

Violently crashing into some unseen surface he loses consciousness. For how long, who knows, but it's the sound of voices that eventually stir him back cognizance. Cheering voices. Thousands of them. Naturally, his first thought is that he had achieved goal. He had pinned Atara and this thought filled him with an exuberance that filtered through mind into his muscles and bones.

Jumping up, heart full of ecstasy, hands lifted in the air to welcome the adulation of the fans. Beaming with pride he finally opens his eyes....

His senses fully come back, Graves his assaulted with the smell of bloodied sand, of sweat and even a hint of the sweet meats and pastries being sold in the crowd. Taken aback, this was not where he was and his pin victim is no where to be seen. He takes a turn, eyes fixed on the frenzied populace and their eyes on him. His gaze soon finds a center to this crazed circled structure and their seated beneath a covering....is that..is that Fuzz?

[Image: 3371540b193a1fa71e6a9a390058071c.png]

Maybe, maybe not. The resemblance is eerie all the same. Whoever it is, is decked in all the finery of Imperial regalia and with only a single gesture silences the crowd. Stood, he moves to edge of his podium and looks down on Graves.

"A simple kickout!? Is that what you said? Do these people look as if they want a simple kickout? Have you and countless others not put heart and soul into these pathetic attempts at glory only to be answered with that one singular word?

You bother our champion day in and day out, clawing tooth and nail but for a passing moment of her attention and when she answers...when she, the generous and benevolent being that she is acquiesced....you turn your nose?

Nay boy! You waste her time and continue to waste her time. Well Michael Graves, time is precious and once lost can not be regained, but....what you have taken from her she can take from you.

You want Atara, you want her attention, her time. Then make ready and behold....

With another gesture, Imperial Fuzz motions behind Graves and instantaneously the crowd erupts again feverish bloodlust as Graves turned to face a giant door way.

"Goddess of Extreme, Purveyor of Kickouts, Mistress of Pins, and the end of Michael Graves existence..."

Slow and ominous, the click and clack of chain and gear was audible as the gargantuan wooden doors began to creep open....

Wider and wider.....

Wider and wider...

A silhouette takes form but not before a voice pierces the cacophonous roar of the audience.

"Hello Dove..."

"Kickout"

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