1A: Tell

"Is it cliché for me to say 'feed me more'? Probably. If you asked my new acquaintance, Soldy, he'd probably try to say it was right within my wheelhouse though. It's just more of that pseudo-metaphorical bullshit. I'm out here dropping super big words aren't I? Words like 'Eat', 'Unknown', and 'Soldier'.

Shit… my bad…

Ate.

Any fucking questions?

Problem is… I'm still hungry.

You're all going to get a little tired of that motif, I can tell. For that, I'm kind of sorry. Kind of not, though. No matter what cute little quips and phrases I've tried to leave as dust in my wake, the moment I got my feet back under me on solid ground here, I felt I had to revisit all of them rushing back, reminding me of what led me here to begin with See, I wanted so badly to see the end of all of that. I burned them each to ash.

Ash, Left.

Ash, Right.

Ash, ---BLINK!---

Ash, Ever forward.

Ash, it all! I said it so it must be true. The Doctor (not that one), the artifacts, the puppets, the hospital, that cold rock hurtling through space… all of it I turned to ash. The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur, even. Every little piece of my story.

Because I thought that part of the tale was done.

Looks like Lycana was right.

I'm a liar.

The Universe needed me to tell another story for a while, so I did. But there are still so many parts of my own song still unsung. I told you all about my slumber and how I walked a tightrope between worlds. I need you all to know that with every step I took, I heard The Universe calling for me again. It told me that it still had answers for me - that I still had work to do.

It called me back from Exile.

And I heeded the call.

Que séra, séra.

You don't need to look very far to see how it's worked out for me. Unknown Soldier carries a reputation with him here that few could dream of touching. Err… carried, anyway. Like partner, like partner. Reputation - gone. Changed. Forever.

Like everyone that steps in front of me.

Put two whole fucking groups in my cross-hairs, and two months later you can't even sniff out enough of them to form one. 'Exiled', right? From OCW, sure. From XWF? 'Fleeing' is much more apt.

Is Miller Time already over? Just like that? How… disappointing

And Betsy… well… at the risk of sounding sappy, I thought we were friends. But then she saved Lycana, and not me. I knew she was going through some stuff, so I wanted to give her a chance. After all, she was one of the few who did the same for me. But if she's not gonna split like that… well, it doesn't leave much wiggle room in my assumptions, does it?

That's not exile. That's a choice.

I get it though. Not Betsy's avoidance of accountability, but this whole 'Exiles' name. It's adorable, really. I genuinely got a bit of a chuckle when I first saw it all coming together post-Purge. I'm sure you can appreciate where it all turned tits up though, can't you?

You were there, Xavier. Alongside Bets', Bam Bam, and ol' Petey Vee himself. It took the four of you, Apex, a pack of wolves, an army of zombie warriors, the Queen Bitch Werewolf herself,and a literal white whale to do the job, but it happened nonetheless. For the first and only time, my shoulders were forced to the mat in that ring. And despite the umming and ahing on your end, by sticking your beak in there, you had already made your choice.

Choices have consequences.

This is yours, Xavi'. I am your consequence. I am the man coming back around to take your name, jot it down on the inside of your mouth, and then turn around and shove your entire head up your fucking ass. See, you haven't been around for long enough to see what happens when you step in front of me. It's not out of the question, but in general I don't promise to slit your fucking throat or anything fun like that. I just promise to hold a mirror up to you to show you just how pointless your sad motivation for even fucking breathing is.

I tell a story, Xavi'. I tell you exactly why I’m going to go right fucking through you.

And then I show you.

I fucking do it.

That's not even a choice I make. It's just something that I have to do.

Something that I will do.

Ladies and gentlemen, who wants to make a wager? How long will Xavier Lux even stick around after he gets that ALIAS touch? How long until he goes the way of the others?

Slide on into them DMs and we can talk X-Bux.

Wait… do I even have any money? Where does my pay go again?"

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1B: Show

{{Like a needle threading it's way through the fabric of existence, I walk through the world. Each scar upon my body, another stitch. Each war waged is another weave in the tapestry of the Universe. An unfinished pattern, awaiting me on the loom.}}



I ran my bare left hand across the bumpy brick wall of a frigid alleyway in the old port area of Portland. It felt like ice - an extension of the snow heaped upon the ground. The tips of my fingers burned, but I waited a moment longer before pulling back my hand. I care not for the burn. Not since Then.

The moon cast its familiar glow from above. When the Universe first became mine, that lunar light burned with a frenzied orange. Before it was destroyed that is.

Here it was, however.

It lit the way for me again. Another thread for me to sew into place.

"Hey there, good lookin'," a woman purred from within a small indent in the side of the building. A faux fur coat shielded her from the winter as she hunched her shoulders forward and drew a long drag on a cigarette. "Sure is a cold one tonigh'. Howzabout you and I keep each other warm? I'm sure we can come to some sorta arrangement."

"No thank you," I said with a smile. "I quite like being cold actually."

Cold. Hot. It doesn't matter which extreme, it all feels the same to me.

Like I'm alive.


"Second door on ya lef'," she said, returning my smile. From my voice, she knew.

I nodded in acknowledgement and continued along the path. Behind me, the end of her cigarette flared once more as she took another hit. Soon, she will only have footprints in the snow to remember me by. Even those will fade.

Still, she knew.

A water rat scampered across the alley in front of me. It stopped a few feet away and glanced up. Not stopping my forward momentum, the rat was forced to flee lest an unfaltering boot squish it into the ground.

I followed the voice of The Universe.

"Come! Come! Come!"

Second door on the left, just as the whore had said.


{{At times, I struggle finding the right balance between worlds. How long can I beat this same drum until the rhythm falls apart? The song has changed and I… I have struggled to recognise this. In a sense, the crisis has been resolved. More accurately, it has evolved. When The Universe calls to me, I have never been wrong. And somewhere along the way, its voice rose above all the others, ringing loud and clear.}}



I stepped out of the fireplace, and for the first time entering this space, my hands were empty. I bore no gifts nor trinkets, and even if I did, there was nobody to receive them.

The dust had settled thick atop the furnishings of the 'room' in the months since I last visited, and a Salmom-Coloured Minotaur-sized hole was evident. Without his vast, space-bending frame lumbering around, the distance from the shabby single bed tucked against the wall next to me across to the scratched and splintered desk on the other side felt daunting. Cracking my neck and taking a deep breath, I stepped forward to meet the challenge.

Bookshelves of old tomes and artifacts shaped a labyrinth for me to follow. I took in their histories with each step. There were scriptures of the old gods - those slain (by my hand or not) and those who just disappeared. Objects that birthed shadows of memories: a blowtorch that never dies; an empty briefcase; a young girl's doll. The winding space carried me through, until it spat me out the other side in front of the desk. Where once The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur and I would plot my course on a map stretched across its beaten surface, the desk now remained mostly empty and the map, well, it now sits, bite-sized, as one of five small ornaments lined along the desk's top edge.

The others are there too:


~~~


The map, inherited as it was. Left behind by a force that can’t be found.


The dagger, taken as it was. Obtained from my enemy through sheer will.


The rope, created as it was. A symbiosis of those whom would harm and help.


The stone, gifted as it was. (From an Exile, no less). Visions of tomorrow when today, the hand is withdrawn.



~~~


They once sat on mighty altars, shielded by the light from would-be tormentors. Now, they're basically Monopoly pieces.


~~~


The final altar was bare.



~~~

Empty as it was, it became no more than a discarded pebble.

"Soon." I told The Universe.

It knew I fucking meant it.

From behind the blacked out windows of the enormous wall windows that covered three of the four walls, it replied.

"Come! Come! Come!"

At my suggestion, the blinds rocketed up. Through one window, Saint Peter waved 'hello'. Through another, the devil himself beamed. But it's the one in the middle that I stepped through.


{{I was not welcome in either place. It was not my time, they told me. Truthfully, even if it were, I'm not sure to which I would belong. How will the scales balance? What will the image finally look like when it's finished? There are more dimensions to that question. When will it be my time? Will it ever? We know that time is malleable. When phone booths can slip in and out of the timestream where the need fits or when alternate realities can be frozen completely in place, it feels selfish to even think of my own place in it all. Why then, does The Universe call?}}




Though still technically freezing, my old friend the sun greeted me as I stepped back out into another alleyway. The paved ground was soggy with the leftovers of the night's snowfall. The rain was supposed to come today as well, but if it had already, it had since taken its leave. Temporarily, at least.

I was greeted by another rat. It looked at me the same way the one in Maine had several days(?) ago. For a brief second I wondered if it was the same critter, but it scurried away before I had much more of a chance to settle on an opinion one way or the other.

"Hmph." I let the thought run away with the rodent.

With the first few steps I took, I kept the ball of my foot off the ground to keep as much of my foot out of the puddles as I could. Tiptoeing through the thin layer of water, I made it to a strip of slightly drier ground. The sound of honking cars and choking trucks drew me in the direction of a street that the alley opened up to. Hopping from dry space to dry space like a frog to lily pads, my path took me by a group of three men sitting on a small set of concrete steps leading up to a nondescript door.

"Hey, check this guy out," one of them said to their companions, patting the nearest on the leg to get their attention.

"Pfft," another scoffed. I see the handle of a handgun poking out the side of his trousers. His shirt doesn't quite cover it. "He ain't even worth the effort to rob."

"Oh, hi guys!" I smiled again. "Don't suppose any of you have a light?"

The men didn't even flinch when I reached into my pocket to pull out a pack of smokes. I fumbled one into my mouth, and the men? Each of them lit a flame.

Like the woman back in Portland, they knew. They knew my voice. They knew my song.

They knew who I fucking am.


{{Graffiti paintings in the dark of night bring new images each day to the streets of the desolate. Each picture is a snapshot of life; of existence; of The Universe. Like a needle threading it's way through the fabric of existence, I am that which sews it all together.}}

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1C: Do

"Let’s wind the clock back, eh Xavi'-baby? Let's talk about how the rumblings of a war breaking out between OCW and XWF began. Them No Good Bastards, Thaddeus Duke, and even Betsy Granger herself (so trustworthy that one) just waltzed on in and and sunk their teeth into that other company. That wasn’t a war by any means. That was just Bastards doing what bastards do.

And they fucking poisoned it.

Venom.

And you? Well there you were, sitting pretty at the top.

The venom doesn't fall far from the fucking snake. Nor the shit from the asshole. And with you on top, the fucking shit sure started getting all over everything, didn't it? Of course, it didn't last long. For all of two and a half months you stayed on top. Not even long enough to see that clumsy fucking slap war through. Outcast slipped on in, then Vaughn, and you fell on down to, what was it? The Parasol Champion? Paradigm? Fucking Paradox is more like it. You're a 'someone' outside of these three letters. That's what you said before Fire and Ice to the Cosmic Lion Starboy.

- Sheesh, and I thought I was bad with the labels? -

A former World Champion, yep - that's you.

Yet you can't fucking cut it.

It was less than six months ago that you were champ, my man! How the fuck does someone fall that fast, that quickly, without being named Charlie Nickles and suffering an identity crisis? I mean… I guess congrats are in order for beating Drewski over in Thunder Pro, but everyone here knows that the only thing Drew's good for is making unreasonably delicious kale smoothies. You? I'm still trying to figure out what the fuck you're good for.

Venom.

OCW never figured it out either.

That's why they fucking axed you. And while they may have axed your fellow Exiles Bitches-who-got-Fired, at least they saw enough in the rest of them to send 'em on over our ways beforehands so that they could try and rid themselves of what The Bastards haphazardly gave them. OCW never saw that in you though. When push came to shove, they didn't think sending out you, their former World Champion, was a worthy endeavour. They knew what we've all seen by now, Xavi'.

You. Can't. Cut it.

You couldn't then, and you damn sure can't now.

I bring this all up, Xavi', to remind you of where this all started. Uncle Theo swooped on in and promised Vaughn the world. Not you, though, eh? You were an afterthought.

But not for me.

Everything that happened between the OCW and the XWF, and then between the Exiles and Apex… it all led us here. It led me here.

To you.

Venom.

Whenever anybody winds up across from me, the conversation inevitably degenerates into me haranguing the hapless fucking tool on the other side of the exchange about how this isn’t their story. It's mine. This is no different. Do you fucking hear me? I fall a-fucking-sleep for as long as you were champ, come back, and I’m still exactly who I was fucking made to be!

I AM ALIAS.

I don't say that because I expect it to incite fear or awe in you. I say it because of all that it entails.

I AM ALIAS.

I am everything I say I am. I am everything you say I am. I am everything that the kids whisper about on the playground. I'm the reason the sun rises and sets. I'm the reason the earth shifts along its fault lines. I'm the reason your mother fell on your father's cock and shat you out several months later.

Take all this literally or take it as a metaphor - I don't give a flying fuck! All you need to know is that a far as you and I are concerned - I am fucking everything!

I am The Madness.

And I'm the fucking cure.

Anti-Venom.

You told Raion that you're here to win wrestling contests. Bully for you. Unfortunately, that's not going to help you here.

This isn’t a wrestling match and me? I'm not a wrestler.

I'm a fucking World-Eater.

And look at you… a former World Champion. Another day, another meal, baby.

You spent so long denying you were a part of the Exiles. It never would've mattered. You were there that night, and that was enough for me.

I was always going to Eat Xavier Lux."