Post by TheNewBreed on Aug 6, 2017 22:51:24 GMT -5
“And so... one day... all will bear witness to the rising of a power so great... an evil so dark... that no crown worn by man or God shall withstand it... and only through the Bringer of Light and his carriers shall all the Universe find salvation from the Brothers of Hellfire and Twisted Souls.”
~ Excerpt from the Prophecy of the 'Brothers Who Will Come'.
~ Excerpt from the Prophecy of the 'Brothers Who Will Come'.
* * *
The sulfurous fumes that seeped into the darkened cavern from millions of tiny vents and cracks scattered along the walls and floor made the air hard to breathe. The nauseating smell was made worse by the blistering heat within this cave far under the ground, and the sweltering humidity was unbearable. Sweat cascaded down the shadowy features of Neralla's face as he blinked his icy blue eyes and rubbed the palm of his hand over his face to wipe away what he could of the rivulets streaming down his visage. As he dried his hand on his robes, he checked back behind him to make sure that his companions were in place.
There were no more tries with this... not now.
This was the only chance the world as they knew it had left, and if they failed here... there would be nothing left to save.
That they were the singular chance for not only their world's survival but all other worlds swirling out there in the universe as well was not lost on them... but the sheer magnitude of it all weighed heavily upon each and every one of them. They all had families back home of some sort or variety... relying on them for salvation in the darkness. The gossamer threads that held the very planes of existence together in their whirling maelstrom were stressed and fraying at this very moment, and at any time now, they could unravel and come apart.
Just focusing in the inhospitable cavern on the task at hand was difficult, and if even one of them failed to drown out the pressure of the task or failed to cast each and every spell just right, then they were all doomed.
There was no room for errors or everything they knew... every single person and thing they had cherished in their lives... every single beautiful landscape that caught their breath in their throat... every single moment of joy they had ever known... would all cease to exist in the blink of an eye.
All of it would be replaced and reformed to suit the Brothers... a landscape of hellish fires and jagged cliffs. Lakes of lava would pour out across the worlds for as far the universe stretched out into nothingness, and forever, the Light would be extinguished.
Crag's mottled pebbly skin stretched across his hands as he bent and moved his fingers. His eyes were closed, and softly, the grinding voice of his could be heard whispering prayers to his lord, Pelor. He smoothed the dirty, road-worn tabard of his Lord against his broad chest and smiled to himself as the golden glow of his God's power flowed through him and enveloped his frame in its protective light.
“I am ready, Neralla.” he said quietly to the icy eyed man kneeling next to him, the words careful and confident.
From the shadows nearby, materializes a small girl in leather armor with her brown hair braided tightly to her scalp. Her small hand rests too easily on a long handled dagger protruding from her belt, and the multitude of jeweled handles strapped and slung to her every free inch of armor glitter and sparkle in the golden light of the Pelorite. While she seems but a little girl, the glint in her eye as she looks upon the party assembled before her belies her age... the cunning and the knowledge within them deep and unfathomable, gleaming like her jeweled daggers and just as dangerously.
“We are undetected. They do not know...” she whispers to Neralla as he smiles at her.
Neralla creeps towards the mouth of an entrance into an adjoining cavern and looks across the vile creatures assembled before him, all manner of demon and devil... evil beyond limit... each and every one of them acting to fulfill the wishes of their masters, beholden to the cause of their infernal madness.
A glint of light flashes but for a moment high upon the wall of the cave beyond, and then vanishes back into the darkness as if it were never there before Neralla creeps back to his place against the cavern wall outside.
“Reaver is ready.” he whispers to them both as they nod acknowledgment somberly in the darkness.
“Are you ready, Everwarden?” Neralla asks to the nothingness around him.
A small brown mouse scurries across the floor towards them, and as it grows closer, a strange green light flows across its form and it begins to grow in size. It lengthens, and its tail shrivels into the new form as its tiny paws stretch out and begin to grow into hands. Moments later, where once there was a mouse, now stands a small furry cat-folk with her mottled brown and gray furry chest and legs clad in plates of hardened leather, and upon her head rests a crown of oak leaves intertwined in holly vines.
“We are prepared, Neralla. As soon as it is time, we will proceed,” she whispers to him, growling under her breath, anxiously waiting to do what they had come to do and get away from here before it was too late.
This was sure suicide, for all of them.
Neralla knew it... and so did they.
None of them had mentioned it since leaving the Citadel of Light.
They had all accepted the mission at hand of their own free will, even though so many who could have did not. The men and women the council had assembled were the greatest minds in the world or the strongest of warriors for the cause of the Light.
They were all capable and trusted... but most of them were afraid and for the very best of reasons.
Of them all, only this handful had undertaken the journey and hefted the weight of their mission onto their shoulders, and as they left the Citadel, the men and women who did not come lined the road as they left, weeping for their courage and their bravery.
As the gates closed behind them that night and the journey had been fully begun, the braziers upon the walls of the Citadel were lit in honor of the men and women who would try to save them all.
To them, it was if they were each watching their own funeral biers burn brightly into the night, easily rivaling the very stars above.
No matter the outcome though, they were here, and they were as ready as they could be to do what it was they came to do... for it had to be done to save them all.
* * *
“Shadow Lord, Magnus... we are ready to begin.” gurgled the mewling voice of an infernal imp as he crawled up the stairs nearby towards the throne of the Avatar of the Brothers overlooking the ritual chamber below.
“GOOD!” the booming voice of the Shadow Lord bellowed from within its casing of blackened infernal steel. Gnarled and twisted demonic faces intertwine across the breastplate of his armor in grotesque visages of horror filled pain and anguish. The helmet, wrought of the same black infernal steel, tipped with blackened horns that spiral into the air above it, covers his face behind the polished ebony hued steel, but his voice echoes within the armor, deep and joyous as it chuckles at the news.
“Send word to them that all is prepared.” he booms as another imp scurries to carry out the order immediately.
“Once the portal is opened... this pathetic world is all but OURS!!!” he cheers out across the cavern as his voice echoes among the rock walls.
The Shadow Lord makes his way down from the throne's vaulted balcony high above, and the entire cave shakes as each massive metal clad footfall reverberates off of the cavern walls. The very air crackles with electric energy as he makes his way down the long stairs and stands by a stone pedestal admiring a large gem placed upon it in the center of the room.
The gem's smooth surface should at least flicker and dance in the bare torch light, but oddly, there is no reflection at all.
“For decades my Brothers and I have scoured the planes searching for all of the ingredients to craft this masterpiece... this... weapon. Everything we have worked for since taking our freedom back from that flea bitten bastard, Rashomar... it has all come to this! FINALLY!!! The day has finally come that we will claim this world for our own and rend it asunder to be remade in our own perfect oasis at the center of everything! Never before has anyone DARED to claim this plane as their own! Never have they challenged the Accord and defied the very existence of the Laws of Discord to rip it all apart and reforge the very universe around them! Never before US has anyone held the power to DREAM of this feat, let alone MAKE IT A REALITY!” it bellows as it's laughter peels across the room.
From a cavern beneath the rocky outcropping below the crudely carved staircase emerges a line of men shambling forward wearing red and black robes with the cowls pulled low over the faces and the hems at the bottom dragging the dirty floor. Their hands are tucked within their own sleeves, and no skin could be seen along the line of men. Behind them, however, comes five menacing demons with the heads of vultures, feathered sparsely across their entire bodies, their gangly arms and legs impossibly thin for their massive size, and each stretching a pair of filthy, feathery wings as they come into the room from beyond.
“It is time, Acolytes. Begin the ritual.” the Shadow Lord commands as the Vrock demons gather in a small ring around the stone resting upon its pedestal in the middle of the room. The men in robes gather in a ring outside of that, and the Vrocks begin to sway back and forth as they begin to hum inaudible things with their forked tongues darting between their sharp beaks lined in rows of thin needle-like teeth. Soon, the men in robe join into the swaying motion and the circles gyrate around each other rhythmically as the humming turns into words of the demonic tongue of the Abyss, and the stone begins to glow with a red light from within. As the chanting grows to a fevered pitch, the Vrocks leap into the air in unison, turning around and around as they begin to flail their arms in a synchronized cadence as they begin to move around and around the stone, still dancing their odd dance for the ritual at hand.
“Yes, minions! Open the portal to bring my Brothers and their armies into the world of men, so that we may burn it to the ground!” the Shadow Lord bellows again, rapture and joy for the violence and bloodshed to come in his deep menacing tone.
* * *
“It's time...” Neralla whispers to his companions huddled behind him, shielded from the goings on the next chamber by the thick rock wall.
Crag, the Pelorite, stands slowly, his massive frame extending nearly to the ceiling in the cavern, and straightens his robes as the Halfling melts into the shadows once more and is gone.
The Everwarden closes her eyes, and her fur begins to stand on end, the green electric light crackles across her hands and swarms up her arms as her fingers grow thicker, and claws protrude from her fingers tips as her palms turn from soft furry flesh to thick leathery pads and she falls to all fours as she turns into a massive dire lion there in the chamber. She growls low, and pads away towards the other side of the chamber where she is met by her two other dire lion companions, and she rubs her face across theirs lovingly. The three move away from the chamber and down a corridor into another room disappearing into the darkness, the Everwarden looking back over her shoulder once more before fading away.
“Good luck. For the Light...” Neralla whispers to them before he stands and makes his way towards the entryway to the ritual chamber.
* * *
The red light of the gem floods across the room as the Vrocks whirl and chant around the pedestal. The men in robes sway back and forth in time to the rhythmic chanting that fills the room as Magnus watches on within his metal casing of infernal armor.
Suddenly, as the ritual reaches a frenzy of chanting and motion within the chamber, a pinpoint of purple light winks into existence and begins to swirl above the gemstone, thin wisps of black smoke coalesce around it and wrap it within its tendrils of hazy clouds, and it begins to grow larger and larger with each moment that passes.
“YES!!! Open the portal and bring our armies into this world!” the Shadow Lord booms in rapture.
Then, just as the light had begun to grow into a hole rent in the very air of the chamber leading to other planes of existence, a bright white light explodes near the ceiling, and column of radiant light and holy fire splits the room in two as the Vrocks and the robed men are blown away from the pedestal and left in piles of smoking ashes and cinder upon the floor. The purple hole surrounded in a maelstrom of inky black smoke stops swirling, and then changes its direction, swirling the other way before it begins to shrink, and suck itself back into the pinpoint of light from whence it came.
“NO! What's happening? What...” Magnus screams in horror as the portal reverses the direction of its spin, slowly at first, but begins to swirl faster and faster as it grows wider.
* * *
The ruddy, rust colored sky of the Abyss hung darkly over the black sand of the barren landscape pocked marked with sharp, glass like outcroppings of rocks as far as the eye could see. Arranged in battalions lined up in all directions was splayed a massive demonic army of minions devoted and subservient to the Brothers cause. The four black rings intertwined on a red field waved high upon the banner poles of the army and were emblazoned across each and every monster slavering to dive headlong into the battle that would be forthcoming... as soon as the time came... and the portal was opened.
A massive Dias sat in the open sands, built of massive granite slabs perfectly interlocked and seamlessly laid out in the standard of the Brothers. The deep red stone slabs intersected with broad swaths of black in the same rings pattern, and upon the stones stood two figures.
The first, a massive monster of a Vrock with mottled gray and white feathers stained black at the ends, and taunt, pale gray skin stretched too thin across his knobby bones, stood regally stretching his enormous wings, anticipation and a fury burning deep within his craven eyes as he clacked his beak together once, twice, and a third time.
Beside the behemoth of a Vrock demon stood a thing that was, at first glance a plain man in a travel worn red robe, then a moment later, a divinely beautiful blue skin goddess of lust, her whip-like tail twitching seductively behind her. Then, mere moments later, it was but a tiny Halfling astride a grand red rooster in golden armor and saddle.
“The time is at hand. I can feel it, Brother Nivek.” the Vrock squawked at his continually morphing companion.
“Yes... it won't be long now, Rannos. Soon enough we will be the most powerful beings in the Universe,” it said slyly in reply as it changed from a slobbering glabrazue into an armored elf.
Then, the familiar pinpoint of purple light winked into existence and began to gather and grow as it started to swirl with violet light and the black wispy clouds coalescing all around. A cheer rose up from the throngs of demonic soldiers filed in rank order as they beat on their chests and stomped their monstrous feet or clanged their various weapons upon shields or armor. Finally, they would be able to march to war!
A crackling bolt of purple energy raced across the surface of the portal then, and a blindingly white flash of pure energy followed as a boom of thunder echoed out of the growing purple rend in the worlds before latching onto itself and beginning to pull itself back into its own mass. Collapsing before them, Nivek and Rannos scramble to stabilize the portal and reverse whatever had happened as they twirl and twist their digits, infernal energies passing among their furiously casting fingers like tiny bolts of amber colored lightning dancing across their hands as they each chant words of the demonic tongue.
Struggle as they might, the portal pulls itself back into a tiny pinprick of violet light before exploding outward in a surge of energy that blows the demonic soldiers nearby into the air and flings them backward for hundreds of feet. In a moment, the tiny mote of light expands and tendrils of purple energy lash out, grabbing onto Nivek and Rannos and yanking them bodily into the void of purple light before, with an audible thud, the purple portal slams shut for good.
* * *
The tinkling of chains echoes off of the seamless red stone walls and the highly polished black flagstone floors of the throne room of what once was the seat of power for none other than the former ruler of the Nine Hells of Baator, Asmodeus himself. The Citadel had stood for millennia, ever since Asmodeus had tricked the naive deities into signing the Discord Contractual giving Asmodeus leadership of the new plane he had created, the Nine Hells of Baator. It was an amazing plot to wrest power away from the Gods and guarantee a place he could work towards his own nefarious plots and plans well away from their prying eyes and interference. He had even made them think it was their own idea... and when they realized what had actually happened, it was far too late.
As masterful as he had been, Asmodeus had hoped to merely be left alone in his Hells, and be allowed to rule and thrive there indefinitely. He ruled with an iron fist, and all who would oppose him in the Nine Hells would suffer endless horrible tortures at the hands of Asmodeus and his Taskmasters deep within the dungeons beneath the Citadel.
Eventually... even Asmodeus had made too many enemies among the Devils of his creation.
During the ages of rebellion, a great Kyton General emerged from the forces arrayed against him, and he was fierce and capable. Fearlessly, he spoke out about Asmodeus and his ruler ship. He spoke out about the nepotism and ineptitude arrayed around the Counsel of the Damned who served Asmodeus as advisers and made no secrets of his ideas about how the Nine Hells could be even greater than they were... if someone like him were in charge, of course.
Eventually, Asmodeus caught that Kyton General and murdered him before he knew the Devil King was even there. He tossed his shredded body from the parapet of his tallest tower and into the void below the plane of Baator itself, and then hung his severed head from his own chains above the door of his Throne Room as a lesson to all who would enter there.
The Devil King's assassins scoured the planes for the followers and descendants of the fallen Kyton. One grandson of the would be usurper was hidden away all those years ago, in the Abyss under the watchful eye of the Lord Grazzt, the Nefarious, himself. For ages the young kyton, Gorgoth was trained in the arts of war and deception by the finest infernal tutors Grazzt could find, and now... Gorgoth sat upon the throne of the once great Asmodeus in his own castle as the ruler of the Nine Hell of Baator, and it was the Devil King's head now mounted upon the wall above the entryway bound in his Grandfather's razor sharp chains as his head was for eons.
Gorgoth lounged in his throne, one leg carelessly tossed over the obsidian arm, swinging back and forth freely as he twirls a spiked chain thoughtlessly around and around as it whirls in a small arc. He lays his head back at an angle looking up at the ceiling high over head and sighs a deep sigh of boredom and anxiety.
“Come on! Just open the damned portal already Magnus!” he grumbles to himself through the thick veil of infernal iron razor links that shroud his face and body. Blood lust and the desire to finally achieve the power he and his brothers had always dreamed of drove him to near madness waiting on the opening of the rift that would allow them to claim the Plane of Men.
Finally, as he sat swinging his chain wrapped foot back and forth impatiently, tapping one hands worth of sharply clawed fingers against the arm of his throne with a heavy clacking that echoed around the empty chamber, and twirling another chain with his other metal clad hand, a spark of purple light flashes into being in the middle of the room. It blossoms there, swirling around and around itself as its inky swirling cloud begin to gather around the opening of the much-anticipated portal.
Gorgoth laughed to himself then, a deep laugh, rumbling across the chamber even over the growing cacophony of the maelstrom of violet crackling light and the swirling ebon clouds before him. The chains around his body tinkle and rattle among themselves as they writhe and slither across his body like hundreds of snakes. A knot of them work their way behind his back and lift him up slowly from the throne to stand upon yet more undulating chains under his feet as they begin to lift from him and form a network of rungs to climb towards the portal floating in the center of the room growing by the moment. He takes each step slowly, staring at the wonder of the vortex before him, each movement upon his floating chains deliberate and methodical. With each step, the sounds of tinkling chains rattle across the room, and Gorgoth grows closer and closer to the swirling storm of violet filling the room as a vile smile spreads across his twisted demonic face.
The Kyton King's laughter froze in his throat as he chortled, making his way up the floating chain staircase before him, and he could feel it... the holy righteous power flooding into the portal itself, flowing towards him faster than he could imagine. Bolts of purple lightning streaked out across the room, and suddenly, the brilliant white light exploded from the violet portal with a sonic thunderclap and washed out across the chamber, knocking Gorgoth through the air tumbling end over end as the holy fires of Pelor billowed from the vortex. As he flew through the air, his chains unfurled and spider-webbed themselves across the chamber, latching onto buttress and pillar alike to create a net in mid air to catch Gorgoth, trying in vain to recover from the blast.
Then, as the chains catch their masters tumbling body, the vortex collapses in on itself before expanding and swirling the other direction. Purple tendrils lash out across the chamber and grab at Gorgoth, but his chains defend him, striking at the tendrils to try and drive them back. As each one arced through the room and connected with the tendrils of light, they were each reduced to brittle rusted flakes that fell to the floor in a shower of metal bits. The tendrils, undeterred by the feeble chains, snatch Gorgoth as well and drags him through the portal in one harsh yank as it collapses in upon itself once more and winks out of existence.
* * *
Magnus screams in horror as he realizes what is happening before him. The tendrils of light flail and wriggle all around the room as the violet bolts of lightning dance around the swirling portal and crackle and pop as they go. Suddenly, Nivek, Rannos, and Gorgoth are flung into the room through the portal with a thunderous crack as each one winks into existence clenched tightly in the grasp of the purple tendrils of energy.
“Magnus! Gather the Assemblage. They will know how to reverse this. You will need the stone!” Rannos screams at the Shadow King as the tendril flicks and tosses him about the room.
“Take the Stone to the Cove of Shadows... summon them there. They will need the Library and Demogorgon's workshop.” Nivek screams at him as his shape changes from moment to moment, but none of them allow him freedom from the flailing tendril of light.
“Avenge us, Brother!” Gorgoth growls as his tendril smash him across the far wall and then sucks the three back into the portal of energy and just as it came, disappears with a thunderous crack that sends Magnus to the floor beneath its fury.
The once black void of light that was the Oracle Stone lay in pieces upon the remaining rubble that use to be the pedestal in the middle of the room. Magnus shakes his head, bringing his infernal iron clad hand to his helmeted head and takes the casing from his face, lifting it off. Beneath, pale, hairless skin of a massive man with soft features, etched in rage and fury at the audacity of those who cause this emerge. His bald head melts into wide, strong shoulders skipping the neck entirely.
“WHO DARES...” Magnus begins as he stands up and puffs out his armored chest, but is cut off as a black feathered arrow plunges deeply into his eye socket and he screams out in agony.
Another follows in the base of his calf muscle, just above the lip of his armored boots and through the leather under armor beneath and Magnus falls to one knee. As he catches himself, another arrow finds its mark under his arm in the creases of leather beneath his breastplate, and he screams out again.
Magnus, enraged now beyond compare, snaps the tiny shafts of the annoying arrows off and whirls around the room, looking for the archer in the shadows as he stands again, drawing to his full height.
“YOU FOOLISH MORTALS!!! Don't you see what you have done? Don't you see what horrific fate you have wrought upon your world now? Allow me to show you what I mean!” he bellows as he stretches his arms out to his sides and clenches his fingers tightly together before relaxing them again. Magnus stretches his neck to one side and then the other, and as he cracks it, he laughs out loud, that same joyous booming laughter as before, but now, Magnus begins to tremble, shaking with laughter as the very room begins to rumble. Dust and dirt float through the air as the stone of the chamber begin to crack apart, and Magnus begins to grow. His shoulders burst through the leather of the under armor, and the breastplate of demonic faces flies from his frame clattering to the floor at his feet. His breaches split at the sides, and his leggings split and twist as the metal groans before giving way, as do his boots as they clatter to the ground. Magnus continues to laugh as his muscled body outgrows his armor and splits out of it, the rumbling in the very stone here continuing as he grows larger and larger by the moment. His voice deepens, and the boom of his words are tangible now, a force driving into the very mind of Neralla, Crag, Reaver, and the Everwarden hiding nearby.
“You will pay dearly... as I become the embodiment of the true powers of the Brothers of Hellfire and Twisted Souls!” he shouts as the walls crack apart and the very mountain top is blasted from its foundation opening a crater above them to the sky beyond, showering the land with boulders and stone for miles around.
Magnus scans the room, growling deep in his throat before he finally spots a tiny movement near the shards of the Stone at his feet. He bends low, looking at the thing scurrying beneath his gaze before he can truly see the thing is a tiny girl, much smaller than even the smallest of gnomes, and she is shoving the pieces of the Oracle Stone into a bag slung across her chest. We see the Halfling girl with the brunette braids there trying her best to recover the shards, shrunken to minuscule size. Magnus chuckles to himself as he looks down at her, and smiles a wide toothy smile.
“But girl... those belong to ME, and you will not be leaving here alive, let alone with MY STONE!” he threatens as he raises his foot above her, poised to crush the life from her tiny frame.
As his foot crashed into the stone floor, the ground crumbled beneath his foot and split into fragments below him. He pulls his foot from the hole and shakes the rubble from his toes as he chuckles to himself. Suddenly, he stops mid laugh and swats at his neck with one thick fingered hand. He spins around, trying in vain to swipe at his back as blood runs down his calf and sizzles as it contacts the stone floor, destroyed beneath him. Perched there, was the Halfling daggers dug into the flesh of the bare monster in both hands, and heel blades dug into his back. Try as he might, and spin as he could, he couldn't shake her, and as he spun wildly around, more and more arrows found their mark. Three and four shafts at a time plunked into the hide of the monstrous Avatar of the Brothers as the Shadow King angrily flailed about before a gout of bright white fire lanced through the sky and struck Magnus in the skull as the Halfling jumped to safety onto a rocky outcropping nearby.
“In the name of Pelor... I defy you, Shadow King! In the Name of the Order of the Light... I BANISH YOU FOUL DEMON!” Crag shouts out over the roaring of Magnus as he raises his arms up above his head, twirling his hands to and fro a golden orb of light flashes into being between his palms and rockets towards the massive monster.
The golden light explodes on Magnus like molten lava, globs of the light sticking to him from the splash of the glowing orb of radiance. It pulses and grows brighter and brighter before, with a pop, the Shadow King is yanked out of the Plane of Men and sent hurtling across dimensions back to the Abyss, alone, and without the Oracle Stone.
* * *
“...and that... is how we ended up running through your town. For three weeks we have been running for our very lives, hounded day and night by the hordes of monsters at the disposal of the Shadow King and the followers of the Brothers.” Neralla explains to the finally conscious Adavan, now far from the town he had known his whole life, and quite possibly the only survivor of the horror that befell his home.
“I am sorry for your loss. I am... but we cannot delay. We must get to the sea, and make our way to the Citadel of Light. We cannot wait. You can come with us, or you can stay here. Try to get some rest while you can. It won't be long before we will have to get back on the road or they'll find, but we need to rest.” Neralla says, genuinely sympathetic to his situation, but without the luxury of compassion in the scope of how important it is to get these shards to the Citadel before the forces of the Brothers find them and reclaim them.
* * *
“And that concludes our session for the night Lady and Gentlemen. I hope you enjoyed that installment of the Oracle Stone Saga, and that you can find time to meet up here again in two weeks to find out what happens during the rest of the night and see if the party can make it to Sea Wall before the hordes find them!” Steven Spielberg says as he smiles to the party across his Dungeon Masters Screen emblazoned with the famous scene of ET in the basket in front of the moon.
“So, John... what did you think?” Vin Diesel asks across the table as he chuckles to himself.
“That was definitely not what I expected. I thought seriously about just flying back home when I found out you invited me to a Dungeons and Dragons party... but I'm glad I stayed. I will be back in two weeks for sure.” John says shyly as the people around the table hoot and holler their happiness to the news.
“Seriously, Vin. I thought you were going to get smashed for real when the Shadow King tried to stomp on you. Your skills are pretty impressive.” John admits to his host sitting beside him.
“Oh, I got his ass in a sling! He wasn't about to stomp me into dust, man!” Vin jokes about the close call.
“Hell... I can't wait to see what happened with US when the mountain blew apart! We had gone towards the outer chambers to keep watch while you magicky types went on in and took care of the ritual. For all we know, we're all dead in the rubble of the explosion somewhere!” Sasha Grey pipes in excitedly wondering about her Everwarden character.
“Yeah! What did happen to us there, Steve?” James Franco queries from around the corner in the kitchen, his hand stuffed inside a bag of barbecue chips curious what happened with his monk.
“You'll just have to come back in two weeks to find out, now won't you, James?” Spielberg laughs back, not giving an inch to the pressure for clues to their fate.
“Man whatever... those Flame Strikes by your boy, Joey-bag-o-donuts over here... now those were pretty awesome, and that Banishment? Man... come on!” Patton Oswald chimes in, touting the strength of Joseph Gordon Levitt's Pelorite, Crag.
“Oh, I've got more up my sleeve than just that... but yeah... the Flame Strike spell is one of the best I get, so I like to use it when I can.” Levitt says bashfully with a sly, knowing smile.
“Great job tonight, Steve. Thanks for asking me to be a part of it, and I can't wait to play again. I think we got some new blood in too, so there's that... and I had a great time.” Vin says to Steve as he packs his dice back into his custom gray Crown Royal Bag from a commemorative release.
“I'm just glad to play again. It's been way too long since I told a story just for fun, you know?” Spielberg says with a smile.
As they all pack up their things and leave, John hangs back, still sitting at the table. Eventually, Vin comes back in into the room, and starts to gather up the dishes from the table.
“Thanks, Vin. I haven't really been out much since... well since forever ago, and it was fun to do something different. I appreciate it.” John says softly to him, smiling at him.
“Hey it's no big deal, John. You're my friend, and with our schedules, we don't really get to see each other anymore. This is a way to fix that, and if it helps you get out of the house a few nights a month, then good.” Diesel says to him as the scene fades to black.
* * *
“OK, Vin. Have a good night man. I'll see you in two weeks, Brother.” John says to his buddy as he exits the front of Diesel's mansion. The door is a masterpiece of beautifully etched glass panes surrounded by rich cherry wood panels, and framed in mahogany. The numbers next to the door were fashioned in a fancy wrought iron script angled and offset descending to the left.
Eight Four Three Zero, they read.
John strolls slowly down the driveway towards his slate gray Jeep, scrolling through his notifications silently. He had been gone for a couple of days and the gym was worried about him... and so were his teammates. Everyone was wondering what kind of state he was in going into the fight at Summer Madness... and to be honest... he hadn't felt better in a long time.
Even though he was sad at her passing, without having Jessica and Andrea plotting his death and the utter dismantling of his company, things had become a lot easier for him. There was a focus that hadn't been there since before the events in the XWF with Randall Cross that cost him his father and seemingly his wife as well. It was almost a relief to not have to worry about the next move they would make, and to just be able to focus on living his life rather than protecting everything and everyone all the time.
He couldn't remember a time when he wasn't looking out for or defending someone else... when he could just live his life for himself for a change.
It felt amazing.
The Foundation was doing extremely well this year with his new status within the WGWF again. The star power he carried once more was often the grease he needed to move the cogs of his business... and they were spinning freely, as it were, right now. There wasn't anyone in his life anymore to worry about, and there weren't any crazies lurking just around the next corner to try to destroy parts of his life anymore anyway. Hell, from his childhood to now, this might be the first time in his entire existence that wasn't a struggle to just survive, and it was truly 'Glorious'.
As John makes his way towards his Jeep, he closes his phone down and slides it back into his pocket, unclipping his key hook from his belt loop and twirling his keys around and around his finger absentmindedly. He pops the door latch on his driver's side, slides into his faded leather seat, slips the key into the ignition, and turns the engine over with a loud roar. As John turns the knob on the radio searching for a station, he hears the crunch of footfalls in the driveway and looks up quickly.
There, standing not far from his Jeep is a sound tech in a black tee shirt holding a boom mike over the edge of his windshield, and a lighting tech setting up reflective shades as another presses a button on a light meter testing for levels.
“No. This won't do. We're going to need to get some lights in here. The levels are way too low to get a good shot here.” he says to the other lighting tech as they open some equipment boxes and start to pull spotlights and tripods for the shoot.
“Um... what are you guys doing?” John asks confusion etched across his face.
“Sir... we're just getting ready for the shoot, so if you could just sit tight while we get this all set up, we'll be out of your way in no time, OK?” the sound guy says to him as he tries to find just the right spot for the boom mike to be out of the way and still catch the best sound he can.
“Would you mind just talking so we can check the sound levels, Mr. Cable?” he asks politely.
“Uh... no seriously... what are you guys doing? I'm not shooting a promo right now, and does Vin even know you're here?” John asks, his patience starting to stretch thin.
“Sir, I assure you, this is the place we were told to come to, at this very minute, and for this very thing. In our line of work, there are always some pretty weird events and directions to follow, so we learned to just stop asking questions about it and show up to do the work. It would be great if everyone could get on the same page, though, you know?” the light tech says with a wink and sly smile.
“Why you little...” John starts to get frustrated with him... but then, just a ways down the driveway, a bright purple mote of light winked into existence, floating there several feet off the ground. John blinked his eyes and rubbed his face, but sure enough, there it was... a floating purple light, crackling with energy as it began to swirl around and around. As it spun there, it grew larger and larger, coalescing and pulsing with power from within.
“Uh... guys? What is that?” John asks them nervously as he points to the floating light.
“Um... Derrick, did you get word from SFX that they would be here too?” the light tech asks the sound guy.
“No man... I thought we were doing all of that in post production, dude,” he answers, staring down the driveway at the light as it grows into a wide disk before them.
“Guys... guys... hey um...” the other light guys stutters nervously as the plane of purple light is broken by black armored soldiers storming through the portal and lining up on either side of the purple light in formation.
Behind them, a man in a black military suit with medals and ribbons pinned to his collar and chest emerges and strolls slowly through the tunnel of soldiers to either side. His face is grim, firm of jaw and stern of eye, and somehow familiar.
The angles of his cheekbones... the ridge of his brow...
Then, John recognizes the face, even if it isn't the same as the one he knows.
“Kyle? What the hell is going on here? Is this one of your damned games, because I don't...” Cable begins as the man makes his way past the soldiers and stands before his Jeep, back straight as an arrow.
“Yes... Cable... I am A Kyle Shane. I am not the Kyle that you know, but I A Kyle Shane, designation #14672. I am Commander of the Shaninite Forces, and the Council of Shane's needs your help. If you would please come with me, our Supreme Kyle-Brain will explain everything, and all will be cleared up. If you please, Sir, this way?” the Commander Kyle designate #14672 interrupts him and motions towards the portal behind him, inviting John to come with them.
Cable looks at the three techies in the driveway, and each begins to vigorously shake their heads indicating they have no idea what's going on and they are just as freaked out as he is right now, if not more so.
Cable looks back at the Commander, and then back to the panicking techies before looking over the well armed and armored soldiers standing in straight, neat rows nearby before sighing to himself heavily.
“What the hell. Sure, Guy... let's go see your Kyle-Brain leader guy. I have to be back before Sunday though, so if this is going to take longer than that, you'll have to come back and pick me up in your funny little light hole next week, OK?” John says, flabbergasted at the situation and confused as to what an appropriate response to an event like this actually is.
What would Kyle do in a situation like this? John asks himself as he climbs back out of his Jeep and clips his keys back to the belt loop on his side.
He would definitely go. I've seen him do some crazy timey-whimey stuff before... I just have to remember not to screw things up or I might change too much stuff here in reality. I got this... fine. Let's do it. he tells himself as he makes his way towards the portal and through the tunnel of Kyle Soldiers confidently.
* * *
Cable steps out of the purple disk of the portal and into a large chamber of metal panels and tubing running this way and that. Not far away is another Kyle Shane at a panel of instruments, monitoring the portals and the travelers moving through the purple light to ensure their safety.
He nods at Cable as he steps into the room, and then stands, saluting the Commander as he makes his way in behind John. The Commander salutes back and the Kyle at the instruments returns to his seat and continues to monitor the travel process in silence. The grizzled Commander Kyle makes his way into a hallway and around a corner followed by Cable without waiting for the soldiers to come through the portal. The two of them walk in silence as John stares at the odd construction of this place, taking in the weird sights of the installation he has found himself in after exiting the portal.
After a short walk down several corridors, the Commander leads John into a massive room with a glass domed ceiling looking out into space with stars twinkling everywhere overhead. Several floating machines with slender arms and thin fingers attached to the base of a glass bubble containing a brain with lights and diodes attached all over their pink mushy surfaces fly overhead and several more are huddled together near a row of podiums surrounding a much larger Dias standing in the center of the room. As the Commander leads John towards them, each one floats to its own podium and settles in surrounding the center Dias where one floating, gold-plated, brain bubble machine waits for them to approach.
“Welcome, Johnathan Cable. We appreciate your coming here, and we hope that you can help us in our time of need.” the gold-plated brain machine whirs and beeps at him politely.
“Um... I guess you're welcome. What is it that you want from me exactly? I mean, this is all a little strange and out in left field, you know? This is more of a thing that Kyle Shane does... so I'm a little out of my element here.” John explains a bit nervously, still trying to wrap his mind around what is really happening here.
“You see, John... Kyle is precisely the problem, and exactly why we need your help. He has begun a series of events that if not ended before they end themselves, could unravel time itself, and destroy all things as we know them.” the golden bubble brain explains simply enough.
“OK, but where do I come in? What is it that you want from me?” John asks gruffly, the strangeness of the situation coupled with not getting straight answers about Kyle's crazy time bending stories working his last nerve as he grows more frustrated and aggravated by the moment.
“You face the rogue Kyle Shane soon in a gladiatorial combat on your Earth soon, do you not Johnathan Cable?” the golden machine squeaks and beeps and whirs with his robotic voice emulator.
“Yeah... at Summer Madness... but so what?” he asks, not understanding the correlation between their match and what they needed from him.
“We need you to eliminate the rogue Shane, and prevent him from further damaging the timeline.” the machines says simply as if he hadn't just asked John to kill Kyle Shane on a live Pay Per View.
“Are you serious? Like... man... forget you guys. Did Kyle put you all up to this? How did he get me from Vin's driveway to this set? Who does your makeup and robotics? You guys almost had me there...” John laughs nervously as he looks around the room checking for the cameras and tech guys he was sure would be around.
“This is not a joke, Johnathan Cable!” the collective of floating brain bubbles all shout at once in unison.
“We would not have brought you here if we were not in dire need of your help. This is a serious business, Johnathan Cable, and we would appreciate it if you treated it as such. Now...” the golden brain bubble explains calmly before John interrupts him.
“No... this is some crazy mind game concocted by Kyle Shane to try to drive me insane so I can't compete at Summer Madness, and I will not be stopped... not by him, you, or anyone else, from taking that IC Belt off of him on Monday Night. I am leaving, and this madness is over.” John says matter-of-factually before turning and heading for the massive doorway back the way he had come in.
As he goes to leave, the entryway begins to close down from the ceiling, shutting the doorway and sealing the way out.
“I'm afraid the nature of this threat doesn't allow us to take a no for an answer Johnathan Cable. You will do what we need of you... one way or another. The risk of failure is too great, and while we are terribly sorry for this development and our need of you... we cannot allow you to deny our request.” the golden bubble says as several soldiers make their way out of doors to either side of the entryway barred now by a wall of metal.
John stops, looks at the armed soldiers, and then turns back towards the golden brain machine with a wide smile across his twisted face.
“You think you can make me do what you want by threatening me with your army? Do you want to tell me what I'm about to do during my match with Kyle Shane? You want to dictate what happens in my career and what happens to Kyle on Monday at Summer Madness? You know what Brainiac? How about you go fuck yourself, OK? Kyle Shane and I WILL fight at Summer Madness, and I WILL beat him to within an inch of his life, and then... and only then... when I hold my IC Title over my head... you can have him for whatever you want... but not a moment sooner, and NO ONE tells the Beast what to do... no one.” John says through clenched teeth as he makes his way towards the golden machine floating in the middle of the room.
“If you think otherwise... You've got another thing coming!” John threatens as he makes it close to the machine, reaching out, and grabbing the bubble in one hand, and one of the spindly arms in the other. He pulls and pulls on the mechanical arm as the troops rush him in the middle of the room. Before they can get there though, John throws the bubble on the ground and steps on it, taking the mechanical arm in both hands and yanking as hard s he can. With an electrical popping and the smell of burning plastics, the arm comes free of its socket and rips out, wires hanging out of the rent hole as he tosses it to the side before getting bowled over by the first two soldiers in the pack and smashed onto the floor.
“Don't kill him!” the council of floating bubble brains calls out to them in unison. “We need him alive!” they warn the soldiers trying desperately to restrain Cable in the middle of the chamber.
John, held by both arms and one foot by four of the soldiers gets his one free foot on the ground, and shoves off, launching him up and over the two holding his arms, running the two holding onto his leg into the group, and knocking them all to the ground in a pile. More Shaninite soldiers rush the group and jump on trying to pin John to the ground, but in the fray, John slips under them and out to the floor behind the group as they try to untangle themselves from each other. John stomps down on the ones closest to himself in the pile, driving his booted foot hard into the side of the head of one, and then solidly into the ribs of another. Cable reaches down and grabs one of them by the arm, spinning away from the crowd, and sends the man sailing into the row of floating bubble brains not far away surrounding the Diaz, crashing into several of them and scattering the rest across the room.
“Seize him!” the council shouts in unison, and the soldiers redouble their effort to untangle and get to their feet.
John dives onto the pile with a huge elbow splash, driving them all back to the floor beneath him, and then drives an elbow into the side of the head of the nearest soldier. The man slumps to the side and goes limp as the bodies beneath him start to grab and grasp at him trying hard to keep a hold of him, but he turns on top of them and breaks the handholds before getting up and monkey stomping on the whole pile of men. John looks around the room quickly, seeing the golden bubble brain sparking on the floor nearby using its good arm to try to right itself and escape. He lunges for it and scoops it up in his hand before turning to face the regrouping bubble brains and the remaining soldiers that hadn't been rendered unconscious in the fray sprawled across the floor.
“STOP... or I smash your Supreme Kyle Brain all over the damned floor right here and now!” John shouts at them as they all turn and freeze in place, staring at him holding the golden brain bubble over his head, sparks shooting out of the torn off arm hole.
“Johnathan Cable... it is very important that you understand what this mission means to you... to everyone in the entire omniverse. Please? Do not do this. We do not want this to be by force. We want you to help us of our own free will, but there is no time to argue about this course of action. Please, Johnathan Cable... help us? Destroy the rogue Kyle Shane before it is too late!” the golden brain begs, suspended in the hands of the Beast high overhead.
As John looks around the room, scanning each of them for a single movement, he sees a door on the far wall marked 'Do Not Enter'.
“What's behind that door over there?” John asks, shaking the golden brain.
“Nothing. Do not waste time, Johnathan Cable. We need your help.” the Supreme Kyle Brain begs again.
No... I am pretty sure there is something behind that door. You got one of those portal machines in there? The power room for this whole place? A big ass bomb for 'Just In Case'? What is it?” he demands, shaking the bubble once more.
“It is nothing of importance, Johnathan Cable. Please?” the machine begs one last time.
“If you won't tell me, then I will just go find out myself, and if any of you so much as breath sideways, I swear to God I will smash this son of a bitch into a billion pieces!” he threatens as he makes his way across the room, grabbing a strange light rifle off of one of the soldiers as he passes, turning to keep an eye on them as he backs the rest of the way across the room. The bubble brains float in place, and the soldiers stand as still as they can, no one wanting to see what happens if the Beast isn't bluffing as he finally makes it to the doorway.
“Open it. Now.” John orders.
“I will not comply.” The golden brain answers stoically.
John levels a rifle at the panel next to the door and pulls the trigger as a beam of light blasts into the metal with a shower of sparks. The door slides into the ceiling with a strange noise and John steps through the door into the room beyond. He holds the golden brain up between himself and the soldiers and gazes at the interior of what seems to be a massive super computer. Pipelines and tubes run out of the central chunk of hardware in all directions as glowing blue liquid swirls and travels through the lines in a chugging, stop-start motion lighting up the whole room.
“Johnathan Cable... you cannot be here. It is dangerous. You must leave.” the brain tells him as he stares in wonder at all of the lines and tubes running into the ceiling and floor from the center, and attached to clusters of tubes hanging from every inch of wall space.
“What is it?” John asks simply, his voice telling of the awe and wonderment at what he is seeing here.
“It is the subconscious of the entirety of all of the Kyle Shanes throughout the omniverse. It is the collective identity and moral compass of all of the Kyle Shanes in existence. It is the essence of the very idea of a Kyle Shane, pooled right here for us to monitor the well being of the timeline and our very existence.” it explains as the reality of it all sets in on John's mind.
“So... you're saying that you have a way... right here... to stop the rogue Kyle Shane, but you won't use it, no matter the cost to you personally, in the name of saving all things, but you want me to go and kill the rogue Shane and save you all too? That about sums it all up then?” John asked pointedly.
“What ever do you mean? Your logic does not compute.” the brain bubble questions him.
“Oh, I think it does. You see... if you destroy this hub of the very essence of Kyle Shane, you would essentially destroy the rogue Kyle Shane too, even though it would surely mean the deaths of all of you as well... but essentially you're willing to have this rogue Kyle killed to protect the omniverse from the dangers inherent in his future, but not enough blood lust for the job to get done that you are willing to sacrifice yourselves to save the rest of us. Typical self-absorbed, self-righteous, fuck-face of a Kyle Shane thing to do, huh?” he asks the machine in his hand sarcastically.
“This logic does work to prevent the catastrophe that he could cause, but would eliminate us from the timeline as well, and therefore would prevent us from possibly saving the future timelines from just such an occurrence again. It would eliminate us as a fail safe for the Omniverse survival, and would inherently weaken the probability that the Omniverse would, in fact, survive after that point in any one timeline, so it has been removed as a possible outcome from our selected list of viable options.” the machine then explained to him.
“Oh... well good thing I came along then, huh? See... I have it at the very tip top of my options list as the option with the least likely that you crazy bastards will ever bother me again, and I am going to make sure you watch it all go down for dragging me out of the real world and into this weird ass Kyleism sort of melodrama in space!” John says with a smile on his face as he grabs the remaining arm on the bubble frame the brain is perched on and rips it off, tossing it to the ground and crunching it beneath his heel as sparks fly out of the newly destroyed arm socket.
“What are you doing, Johnathan Cable? What are you doing?” the machines ask, terror creeping into its robotic voice of beeps and clicks and whirs.
“Oh... you'll see.!” John says back to it cruelly as he takes the bubble and turns it to face the center mass in the room with all the tubes coming out of it. “First hand... I promise.” John says before driving the brain bubble glass first into the metal panels of the central equipment as a giant crack opens up on the surface of the bubble.
“NO! Johnathan Cable... please do not do this. You will destroy us all...” the machine pleads with him, but to no avail.
“Maybe so... but the rogue will be dead, too, right? That is what you asked me for, and if I do this, the Omniverse will be saved from the dangerous Kyle Shane who disregarded the world and its needs to go play in his own perfect reality for a while?” John snarls at him in response, not waiting for the machine to reply before smashing him into the wall of metal again, the sheeting beginning to fold out at the sides with the force of each blow, and the crack in the glass growing wider with each strike.
Finally, after several more tremendous blows to the metal panel with the bubble brain machine, the glass shatters and the viscous fluid the brain inside had been floating in comes pouring out as the clump of brain plops on the floor in a pulsing pile and John kicks it across the room violently. John reaches down and grabs the twisted edge of the panel on the side of the machine there in the middle of the room, and puts one foot up on the side for leverage as he tugs hard.
He pulls with everything he has, and eventually, the panel comes free and John tumbles to the floor. He climbs back to his feet and grasps a large shard of the bubble dome glass in his hand as he takes a purposeful step towards the hub of tubes and conduits inside the box now open before him.
He looks at the glowing blue lines for a long time, pondering what he should do...
And then he knows.
What if it's all real? What if all of it is actually real, and Kyle has gone and broken the timeline? But what if it isn't?
“Ah... fuck it. Let's see what happens in the timey-whimey land, shall we?” John says with a sneer as he slices into the box and the blue liquid pours free of the tubes and out onto the floor. John stabs again and again into the open box, and more and more of the blue goo gushes out and spreads across the floor, losing its glow as the moments pass by and more of the goop comes out.
After a moment, John makes his way back into the chamber they had come from and sees the floating robot brains laying on the floor, their lights no longer blinking and flashing across the pink mushy brains. There, where he left them, all of the soldiers lay on top of each other, dead.
John steps over them all, and heads back towards the portal room where he had come from as the scene fades to black.
* * *
A flash of purple light blinks into existence and grows into a disk of energy as John Cable steps through it and into a darkened alley not far from a busy city street. As the purple light winks out behind him, John makes his way in the direction of the street and emerges next to a hot dog cart on a busy corner.
“Want a dog mister?” the familiar looking hot dog vendor asks.
John sizes the man up, and without a moment of hesitation, turns to stare at him directly.
“Not today, Shananite.” he says simply before turning and walking away down the street as the scene fades to black.
* * *
Now... if it's real... if Kyle Shane is essentially a Time Lord, then at least the new Doctor isn't the worst Time Lord we've ever seen.
No... that would be Kyle Shane.
Every single time he feels like he made a mistake, he tries to go back and re-write the history he demolished with his self-centered arrogance and only ends up making things worse because he hasn't figured out the real problem already.
The truth at the heart of the Kyle Shane problem is that Kyle Shane never finishes what he starts, and his time wraiths are hounding him now to near madness. How long can he run from the demons of his own creation and hang on to the frail grip he has on reality, as unsteady as it is before he spirals off into the overworked, under-appreciated, too-good-to-compete-against-the-likes-of-you-and-me sort of Kyle Shane we are used to around here?
A week?
A month?
A year?
As soon as Summer Madness passes and the Beast is crowned the NEW WGWF Intercontinental Champion?
How long do we have before Kyle tries to run and hide from the scary nightmares he creates himself and doesn't have the balls to see through to the end... to prove he has what it takes... to finish something... anything... he has ever started?
In the end, it doesn't really matter, does it?
To a Time Lord, time is all points happening in the timeline simultaneously... and to Kyle Shane, it's no different.
He constantly harps on and on about how the men and women he has defeated say the same say things over and over and over again... how they bring up the eras he was a part of and that those eras had weak rosters, but if he had been just a few years earlier or later the legacy he had built would have never happened. He talks about how the same broken record of claims against him is used over and over and how he is tired of hearing them... but yet, it's Kyle Shane himself who brings up the Collins' and the Money's and the Tax's and the Raziel's of yesteryear... not me. No... it is Kyle who is stuck in the past, doubting his successes because of the what-ifs and the asterisks above his record... not me.
Not one time have I mentioned any of his past opponents besides to give praise to his long tenure of accomplishments across the years of his career.
He deserves that respect, at least... because no matter what the guys before or since Kyle Shane have done or who was here whenever... when Kyle Shane was here, he was phenomenal... and he is one of the greats, whether you like him or not. Liking an athlete has nothing to do with whether they are good at the job they do, and everything to do with the personality of the person they are. The most hated men and women in this sport are often the best at it, but they have horrible perceptions of how they should treat others because of their star status here in the WGWF. It has nothing to do with being good or bad at being a wrestler... and everything about being a good person or an asshole.
Kyle Shane is an amazing wrestler, and he is possibly the most dangerous man I have ever fought one on one in that ring... but I have the advantage this time, and it's something that Kyle Shane isn't used to, and it makes him afraid of me.
He'll never admit that of course... but he is, and I know it.
Why else would he want to try to make a fool out of me by waving the belt over my head in the middle of the ring? Why else would he hit me in front of thousands of fans? Why else would he lose himself in the moment and attack me when there was no need to do that? Why else would he claim that all of those failed attempts to goad me out my element weren't just that?
Unless... of course... I was winning the mind game he prides himself in being a master at?
In all honesty, I think that Kyle Shane... at least since winning his first World Title and finding the fake mask of confident optimism he seems to wear everywhere these days... really just isn't as good as people, me included, give him credit for.
You see... Kyle is a psychological monster.
He is.
He plays the mind game like no other, and in doing so, he gets inside the head of his opponents, and he wins before the bell even strikes to start the contest.
I have been on the receiving end of this game before, and then... I failed. I tried to play his game, but the chips had already been cast and the road before me was paved in booby traps he had set along my way. He got inside my head and filled it with doubt that I even could overcome him... so mighty was his legend and his accolades that they intimidated me into self-delusions about whether or not I even could win.
The moment I doubted myself... I had already given in to the idea that I had no chance.
This is the weapon Kyle Shane wields against his opponents that ensure his wins, and this time... it is Kyle Shane who has failed... it is Kyle Shane who is wondering... it is Kyle Shane who questions whether or not he has a chance to beat me... not the other way around.
He has proven it through his actions... he has proven it through his insults... and he has proven it through his praises.
This time, it's Kyle Shane backed into the ropes... off his game... doubting his abilities... and it will be Kyle Shane looking up at the light overhead, knowing before he even climbs into the ring with me and the bell sounds that he doesn't have a prayer in hell of retaining that belt... not this time... not against me.
Kyle wants to see the Beast in all his glory? He thinks that all the things that have happened between us have just rolled off my back and that I just don't have the fire in me to pull it all off? He thinks it's him who has played all the pieces to their fullest... but he knows none of those things are true. He hides his fear behind the mask of confidence when he has no idea what it is to wear a mask... truly... but I do.
I know what it is to look out into the world through the eye holes of a mask of rage... a mask of self-imposed exile... a mask that makes you the monster you are inside.
I know better than anyone what it is to face down fate and lose... and while Kyle can spout all the insults he wants from his soap box on high... every single one of them tastes like lies in his mouth. He knows better. He is lying to us and to himself if he says anything other than the honest truth... that he worries about this match like no other... that he fears the Beast deep down inside his soul... because he already knows that his facade is crumbling, that his reign is coming to an end... and it will be me that exposes his weakness to the world once and for all.
Kyle Shane will tell the world that my loss to Tristan Slater proves a lot of things. He will try to tell the world that I don't have the instinct to finish off my opponents and that the last two shows leading up to Summer Madness will prove it... but I know the truth... and so does he. Just two weeks ago, he praised Tristan and I for our hard fought match, and told the world how great it was... so which one was a lie, Kyle?
Which one?
Or is it all a lie, and your just hiding behind the mask you wear to make yourself feel important to someone, anyone when really the only person you've never felt important to was yourself?
That's what's missing, Kyle... deep down in your core.
Your void inside is your own lack of importance to yourself... and as long as you doubt yourself, and you truly do... I can see it... you will never feel the freedom I have to be who I am and love every minute of it. You will never find the joy in the freedom I have to be my own best friend... and in that, you and MDK are more alike than you can fathom.
You're in a lose/lose situation Kyle, and you're scrambling to...
Just then, in mid sentence, John sees something to his left, and he stops to look that way. The camera pans out, and there to his left is a swirling mote of purple light. John blinks one, then again, and rubs his eyes with his hands. He pinches himself then and looks back at the swirling purple ball of energy. He looks back towards the camera, and then back to the light, and before it can begin to grow, he reaches his thick fingers out, grasps it in his hand, and smashes it between his forefinger and thumb as it is snuffed from existence before looking meaningfully back towards the camera.
See, Kyle... I don't have time for your emotional roller coaster of instability here.
This... this match is the most important one in my career... and I will not be tripped up by silly emotional baggage here. You can say whatever you need to to get your sleep at night, Kyle, but I know the truth... you are afraid for the first time in years... and you should be.
You're so afraid, in fact, that you're reverting to using the same methods you claim to hate in your opponents by pointing out the quality of the roster during my rise to the top here this year just to undermine the quality of my wins to try to tell me how I can't possibly beat you.
Did you realize that when you said it, Kyle? Did you realize you were sinking to the cheapest denominator here by opening your mouth and telling the world that my victory over Silence doesn't hold as much weight as your match with Tax... when you lost... not just your belt, but your girl and your desire to push forward all at the same time?
I have you so rattled that you're using the lamest shit that has ever been used against you to tell the world how I can't win.
Seriously?
I've told you for months now, Kyle, that I want you at your best... that I want to face the challenge head on and see if I am good enough to beat you at the top of your game...
But now...
I think I'm more interested to see if you can beat me at the top of my game... because here I am, Kyle... in the best shape of my life... more ready than I've ever been... more focused than I've ever felt in my life... and living a life I had never even imagined I could be at forty-seven.
You're not at the top of your game, Kyle... and I know you aren't because if you were, I wouldn't stand a chance... but I do.
Hell... I think I stand a damned good chance... a damned good chance of making you piss your mighty whiteys when you realize just what kind of a man you goaded into showing you what his inner demons look like, and you have.
This Monday Night... on WGWF Summer Madness... you have been begging for the Beast to show you what a real ass beating looks like... and boy... you got it.
John reaches down out of frame and lifts something in his hands before bringing it up and bowing his head. He slides a mask over his bald head, and then looks back up to the camera, his face a sleek metallic black with white tribal designs scrolling up the right side of his face. His eyes burn with the fires of fury and rage as he gazes from the hooded eye holes of his symbolic exile.
You wanted the Beast Kyle... and now you have him.
You didn't scorch the earth behind you so that none could follow.
Others have risen in your wake, and in spite of your effects in this company, and Monday... so will I.
It's true that you have one of the widest impacts, here or gone, of any wrestler in history. It is... but the real question, at the end of the day isn't how many fans remember our names when it's all said and done... but how many men look into the mirror at the end of their lives and see the effects of what you have done to them staring back at them.
When they see your face in the mirror twenty years from now... and they see your face because they can never forget the moment that you destroyed their image of themselves... that is true fame and recognition, boy.
Monday Night at Summer Madness will mark the first day of the rest of your life, Kyle... changed forever by what I do to you in Madison Square Garden.
In twenty years, you will know what it feels like to wear a mask to hide yourself from the you that you see staring back at yourself in the mirror as I have... and you will know exactly what the Beast is capable of.
I hope you're ready, Kyle... but I know this is just the beginning of the end for you...
So... Game Over.