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Morbid Angel · (07-06-2021)

What we now know is important.

We know that what we believe to be true can be repackaged as a lie.

Morbid Angel is still alive inside Kyril and it is starting to shine through. A dream is nothing more than a want you have, even nightmares.

He knew that the pastor wouldn’t just give him the power over the church. He was just a simple pawn in this game whereas the pastor was the bishop.
Would he kill the pastor? Is this something that he could bring himself to do?
In the past he has done a lot being former Spetsnaz. Killing was a given and in time it became a craving. Working with the XWF made it so he could fulfill his needs of violence and pain. To project his anger which stemmed back to when he was a child.

See, his mother was a prostitute in a small town outside of Saint Petersburg Russia called Petro-Slavyanka.
This is where young Kyril was born. His father was never known to him, could have been a long list of Johns that used the whorehouse that his mother worked in.

The year was 1966, 25th of December.

Most of the women abandoned their children to one of the many orphanages that littered the small city.
But not Milla, she chose to keep her child and gave birth inside her dirty room.
She named him Kyril after her own brother that had died years pervious fighting for what he believed to be independence.
She loved her brother and wanted to honor him the only way she could. He had already been long forgotten because enemies of the state were burned after they were executed. No grave marker of remembrance out of their loved one’s minds.
Milla turned to prostitution in order to keep herself off the streets after her parents died.
This was a time where everything was hard to come by and when older people needed medication it was more than a chore to get said medicine.
She was 16 when she took to the life of selling her body. It was easy money because literally all she needed to do was lay there and pretend to be somewhere else.
She joined up with a pimp who owned a building in lower Slavyanka. It was a slum, but her working would pay for her room, food and even the drugs she became hooked on to try and block out the inner pain she was suffering.

Drugs to some people help get their minds off the pain they endured and it’s more than just a physical pain. Mental pain could overshadow any physical pain because it gets you deep inside your brain. Something that keeps digging in and stewing. The questions of worthlessness, the questions of guilt and the ever-looming thoughts of suicide are all the reality for those who suffer.

Milla did what she was told except when she was told to abort her unborn son. She disobeyed what the pimp said and decided to go full term with the hopes it will help her out of the position she was now stuck in.
Because of the pregnancy, her work quelled in the worst of ways. Her pimp refused to sell her, her food and drug intake had diminished with the hopes that her withdrawals and lack of nourishment would put an end to her dreams of having a baby.
The other prostitutes took pity on her and brought her some food in order to stay healthy but the stress from not having the drugs she depended on for so long caused her to go into labor 8 weeks early on Christmas day.

He was born very small and not likely to survive due to the living conditions he would be raised in…but survive he did!
His mother went back to work once she healed from giving birth and kept the baby Kyril in her room for the first year she had him before moving his makeshift crib into another, much smaller room that resembled a large closet.
He grew to be a small child, he was 10 now, very skinny which came from where he was being raised. His food depended on his mother’s work and his mothers work had to pay for the drugs first of all before food.
His clothes were several sizes too small for him, mostly hand-me-downs from the children of other prostitutes. About this age most of the other working women in the building that had children gave them up to the streets where they would start working in the same business. It’s a vicious cycle in Russia at this time.
Not Milla, she wanted to keep Kyril from partaking in the life she chose and the only way she could do it was to try her best. Even if her best was coming up short.

At the tender age of 10, he already knew what his mother did for a living. It is hard not to notice countless men entering and exiting after their 20 minutes of pleasure. He was small but not dumb and understood what others were saying even when it was about his mother.
He was too young to appreciate what his mother had done for him by keeping him around, but he was still well behaved because he did not want to push the limits of what she could handle. When she was high and working she could get very mean. He did not want to endure another beating.
Other than a few short comings, she was a good mother who loved her son enough to not abort him or abandon him to the devices of the street when he was old enough to walk. Still the possibility was endless to what could happen, but he never thought she would turn him away. No child wants to think their mother would turn them away, especially when they are young.

It was the Christmas of 1977, Kyril just turned 11 and he waited, sitting quietly. The other men in the room talk quietly among themselves thinking that young Kyril could not hear their words. He could barely make out parts of what they were saying. They were talking about his mother and what kind of whore she was. He did not care. Whores are common in Russia and hearing such things became common place.

The men joked at they awaited their turn with Mila.

The moans subside as the last act of business finishes with his mother. She had 3 more men before they could get some food. In these times food was a hard thing to come by. Russia was in a depression trying to beat the United States in everything while bleeding their own people dry with the attempt.
Moments later a man emerges fixing his belt around his waist and shortly followed by the boys’ Mother Mila, not known for her beauty but more for her bedroom manner. Kyril did not so much as look at her knowing what she was doing, a mixture of courtesy and respect for the job. Respect as much as he could considering the occupation but not knowing the difference between a legitimate job and this, this is what he knows. Having not left his house alone or even the street, not so much as a TV to update him…this was his world.

His mother looking thin and used. Long hard days worked. Today she decided to end business early and have some dinner with her son on his special day. As memory serves, there was an argument between the men and Mila over her canceling their appointments. Each appointment meaning more to them than her.
What is more important to a man than the almighty orgasm?

In the argument young Kyril took notice to the men now forcing his mother back into the room where she conducts her business. He knew that this was not how business worked. The men started beating her with their fists. He could see into the room from where he was sitting as they did not shut the door. He jumped from the chair and grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter to help her. The small boy jumped into the room with the knife screaming like a wild animal slashing with it! Forcing the men to one side of the room. His mother still on the bed covered in blood half naked for them forcing themselves on her. He lunges at the men with the knife trying to scare them out but is quickly disarmed by the larger men.

They slapped him around and forced him to watch as they cut his mother’s face with the knife, then they cut off one of her breasts and threw it at him, blood gushes from the wound. They then turn the knife on him, cutting his back and face then dragging him into the Kitchen and boiled some water telling him they were going to burn him with it. Trying his best to remain unafraid but could not as they pour the scalding water on him! Burning him down his torso and legs.
He passes out from the pain only to awaken on the floor in that same pain from his wounds. His skin bubbled up blistered and peeling away.
Cuts on his face clotted and dry yet still making it painful to speak…He looks up and sees his mother crying…missing a breast and with a swollen face from the abuse standing on a chair looking at him.
He did not notice the rope at first as she just stood there looking. She didn’t look to be in any pain but that could have been the drugs masking what she feels.
The rope was tied to the ceiling pipes in the small rundown apartment.
She gave him a weak smile as a tear fell from her cheek.
She kicked the chair back and slowly strangled to death with her son watching.
Her gasping for air and clawing at her own neck as regret set in for a desperate attempt to save herself from a bad decision
Kyril just lay there on the floor not knowing what to do as his mother’s face turned a dark shade of red, her eyes swelled up as the blood constricts before passing out from lack of oxygen to the brain then shortly fading into eternity.
He watched as the life drained from her body as well as the color. Her face turned a dim purple as the rest fell to a greyish hue.
The boy laid back down as he was filled with sorrow and eventually passed out trying to escape the Hell he was now in.
There are a few things that could change someone for the extreme worst. This is one of those extenuating circumstances that would make or break someone, adult or child.

Over time he was able to turn his sadness into hate and anger for his fellow man. He was able to do despicable things and even ended the lives of several people. All the while pretending it was for his revenge.
His brutality and sheer hate he had for the human race caused him to join the Red Army and become apart of the elite force known as Spetsnaz.

Known for his use of the blade and his ability to make people suffer, he was truly a monster. All the anger and hate built up over the years after his mothers death gave him the desire to pour suffering upon the human race with complete disregard for the hopes and dreams of others.
He loved the suffering!
He got high off that shit! The sense of fear when someone saw him, the look in their eyes. Complete superiority, dominance and ability. This is what makes people powerful!

At the age of 25 he was already feared. He went from a small, skinny boy to a large and very much in charge monster standing at 6’10 and with his rigorous training he swelled to almost 300lbs of just raw muscle!

After the fall of Soviet Russia, he continued with the army for several years before moving to America…and so his new life begins!

We see Kyril sitting at his kitchen table preparing to eat his morning breakfast. Years upon him, he is now 55 and a shell of his former self. He is a man of God wanting to become more than just a lowly accountant after his great fall back in 2016.
The thoughts of killing the pastor excited him. He knew it was wrong and he should not think of such things. He was trying to be a reformed person, but this did not stop his mind from eagerly planning the potential death of his boss.
He knew the likelihood of him getting away with murder was good.
That pastor was old and overweight. Perhaps poisoning would do the trick, people would think he had a heart attack and died, maybe even a stroke and no one found him in time.
But what poison would he end up using?

Methlocloryde, not an easy chemical to get ahold of but it’s still something commonly found in society. Some factories have barrels of it and all he needed was one cup worth of this substance.
Its base chemical compound is the same as Isocyonate, which is the active ingredient in the date rape drug. It is what puts someone in a comatose state. Too much and someone would be paralyzed as they fade from this plain of life.
It’s not imagined to be a painful death, mild consciousness as your organs slowly shut down, gasping for air. Blood slowing to the brain as the endorphins release so you do not go into a full-on panic. It is presumably a relative peaceful way to go.

It can only be assumed because no one knows for sure. No one has recovered from a full overdose. [/b

[b]“It would be perfect!” He thought to himself as he sat eating his bowl of Cheerios.

Inside he was still fighting off the urges of being the same bastard he was. It’s not really a skill to be a prick. He could get a job as a hitman and make more money than working at a church.

He has visions of the future…Not like actual visions but ones created by his own mind, thing’s that he could make work, things he could change and make better.
On TV you see these preachers selling their souls for a few lousy dollars. They preach for the Almighty, but they do not actually believe in any of that shit. How could they and then go buy private jets and mega mansions and treat their own workers like garbage?

It’s all a simple ploy to get your money and sadly it’s something that a lot of people are a sucker for. Easy answers to life’s most complicated questions.
Why look deeper into life when the quickest and easiest answer is God? Why make things more difficult than what they should be.

The scene fades to black.

Morbid Angel finds himself in deep contemplation. He has hit a vein of bad luck and can’t seem to stop the bleeding.
His string of losses are starting to pile up and cause him some discomfort.
Discomfort for someone that has only known victory for so long now had hit a spot where losing seems to be commonplace.

He is seen sitting in a dark room, the curtains were closed, the lights were off and he was sitting in the corner.
He has a match against Thad, someone he’s never faced but is someone that is well received by the people and is also a champion. This is another chance for Morbid to receive gold but does he have what it takes to reach out and take it?

Even in his own mind he wonders if his time has passed and this new line of fighters are just too strong for him. He is aging and is sitting at middle age. His hair is greying and his muscles are proving to be harder to maintain as his testosterone levels drop.

He contemplates doing steroids again even though he was already in good physical shape for his age. He could still shame a 25 year old with his muscles but it doesn’t seem to be something that helps him.

“What could it hurt.” He thought to himself as he stroked his beard.

What could it hurt? Just a few injections for a few weeks couldn’t hurt. Boost his stamina, his strength and his ability a little. He still knew where to get his beloved juice and the thoughts were just overpowering in his mind.

Should he revert to his old ways and regain what he lost. He could still be a man of God and be on steroids.

Maybe just try a little…just to see if he still likes it.

He picks up the phone and dials a number he hadn’t dialed in years and placed his order to the familiar voice on the other end

Morbid places his order and hangs up the phone.

Now he waits.

Does this signify the end of Morbid Angel and his journey of light?
Or could this be the rebirth of something greater?

He has a match against Thaddeus Duke coming up for the Hart title and it is something of a challenge.

See, people don’t just beat Thad. You don’t just come in thinking it’ll be easy then walk out again claiming victory.
His ability as a fighter is far surpassing anything anyone else has done.
Morbid knew this would not be an easy fight. He knew that Thad would test his very ability and pressure him to the extent of what he could do…After all, Thad was younger and in a better physical shape that him.
But, Thad lacks what Morbid has and that is complete desire.
What does Thad need with a title? So he can flaunt it around and feel like a badass?

Fuck him!

Morbid has twice the desire to take that title than he had to win it. He does it for the thrill of the victory whereas Morbid Angel does it for the ability to do it.

Doesn’t seem like a thrilling reason but that is for those that never had the opportunity to hold gold.

Twice Morbid Angel has held the Universal title. Would have been three times if it wasn’t for a goddamned cash in.

What would you do to remain relevant? Would you hand your morals on the coat rack for a while to regain what you lost? To recapture the glory?

To him it’s time to awaken some of the past. To bring Morbid Angel to the future and let him reap the souls that once trembled before him.

But this time he’ll do it for God!

The scene fades to Black!

“Oh, Thad. What could I say other than what an experience it was to hunt you.
Most people would consider it concerning that I did such a thing and got away with it but I guess you could say that stalking is my forte.

I had a dream about us.

It wasn’t sexual but it was somewhat arousing.

Me and you, in a match together….ooh, how the fans are going to love it! It’s going to get HOT!
No, I am not going to try and grab your dick. That’s not me…I am a religious man and homosexuality is a sin…says so in the bible. This doesn’t take away how I feel about you though.

…Not a gay feeling…It’s normal feeling, like, uh.
I just feel like we have some common ground and fans will love the fight.

I can’t say you’ll be easy…it’ll be the exact opposite of easy in this match. It will test everything I have to see if I can beat you.
I did lose my last few matches with lesser people. I admit that. I misjudged them when I shouldn’t have but I know what I am up against now. I know I am in a fight for my career at this point. You won’t just lay down and take a beating and I know I need every last bit of what I Have to even have a chance.

Thad, this is where things stand. We will face off in the ring at Madison Square Garden and it will be epic!
Hopefully there will be a lot of blood because I like that shit! I like it when people bleed!

It’s a religious thing.”

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