Post by Jim Caedus on Aug 12, 2023 18:58:55 GMT -5
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CAEDUS REWIND: Jim's ongoing journey through Purgatory saw his traveling companion Joseph lead him to the location of "The Keeper" of the Galaxy's Eye, the 'Eye being a jewel allowing one to see anywhere in all of creation. First attempting to threaten Spencer ("The Keeper") into handing it over then utilizing respect in his request, Spencer relented and gave Jim the 'Eye to look in on his daughter Elora...
"Elora...," Jim whispers.
Happiness floods, as do tears in his eyes...
He'll become lost in his grief."
"Let him look for awhile. He needs it."
"...This was a poor decision, Joseph."
Joe and the Keeper head inside, leaving Jim to observe...
CONTINUED FROM "DEAD...AGAIN p.7"
adambarker1981.proboards.com/thread/16193/fathers-love
Jim watches as Elora rolls the hard plastic pink, yellow and blue Cocomelon train around, the toddler speaking, unfortunately inaudibly. Nevertheless, he pulls from memory the sound of the sweetest voice in the entire universe as her chubby cheeks raise along with her grin. He can't stop the tears from flowing...and he doesn't want to. He loves her so much...she deserves the sentiment even if she's unaware.
Un...aware...
Like she's unaware her da-da is dead; trapped on an ethereal plane of existence as far removed from her as it can get without winking out completely. Unacceptable. He has to get back...escape Purgatory and return to her.
As his mind wanders, he wonders how long it'll take before Elora asks mommy where daddy is.
And as if on cue...
...he sees...HIMSELF walk into Elora's room.
What- the fuck is this!?
His gaze leaves the 'Eye to scan where last he knew Spencer and Joseph were standing, to demand answers...but they aren't there. He returns his eyes to the orb. The vision is fading.
No no no no no-
The vision refocuses...
Jim watches as his inexplicably undead(?) body in the vision tenses, arms shooting outward in a gesture of frustration. Elora jolts in place, twisting her golden head around to regard her "father". He gestures again, clearly hollering at her, stooping to snatch the train...then throws it across the room.
Elora starts to cry.
A jolt runs through him, a fire of rage ignited.
"MotherFUCKER!! THE FUCK IS THIS!??"
"......What's going on?"
"What the hell's the matter with you, man?"
"The fuck I'm lookin' at here!? Fuck kinda shit IS this goddammit!?"
"DON'T take the Lord's name in vein, you fool," Spencer hisses! "You'll attract unwanted attention...I knew this was a mistake."
The mother, Holly, enters, Elora in the midst of a toddler meltdown, her visage contorted in alarmed confusion. "Jim" turns to Holly and in seconds the two are engaged in a screaming match.
"WHY IS THIS HAPPENING!?"
The miniscule Joseph waddles over, just in time to see "Jim" in the 'Eye shove Holly.
"WHATTHEFUCK!?"
"Wow...you're a pussy."
"I'VE NEVER PUT MY HANDS ON 'ER!! I'VE NEVER SCREAMED AT ELORA!! I'D NEVER DO ANY 'A THIS!!"
Spencer frowns, perplexed, and inquires, "Joseph, what's he on about? What's happening?"
"This asshole shoved some chick in front of his daughter-"
"NO I DIDN'T!!"
Joe ignores and continues. "I think the 'Eye is showing his past sins."
"THIS NEVER FUCKING HAPPENED!!"
"Hey pal, the 'Eye doesn't lie."
Spencer's brow furrow further as he approaches. "No, the Galaxy's Eye doesn't show the past nor future. The visions display current events." He arrives at giant Jim, peering into the 'Eye to watch as "Jim" and Holly continue to scream at one another. "Something is...very wrong here."
"YEAH, NO KIDDIN'!! HOW THE HELL'S THIS POSSIBLE!? WHAT THE HELL'S GOIN' ON!??"
"I...don't know. You're clearly here...yet there on Earth as well. This makes no sense..."
"MAKE IT MAKE SENSE!!"
"Stop shouting."
"Shut the FUCK UP Joe!!"
"...I need to speak to someone about this... Joseph, try to keep him under control while I'm gone."
"Oh yeah, right."
Spencer heads briefly back into the cabin then exits clutching a walking staff. "I'll return soon. Jim, perhaps you should leave the 'Eye be for now."
"NO!!!"
Shaking his head, Spencer departs through the forest in the opposite direction both Jim and Joe had arrived.
Jim continues staring into the 'Eye...
Holly moves towards Elora, "Jim" shoves her back again. He points a finger down at his daughter then jabs a thumb into his chest and shouts. He then levels his finger at the open nursery door, still screaming at Holly. She smacks him. He pump fakes at her. She flinches then retreats from the room.
Jim is shaking with rage as "Jim" turns to regard Elora and shouts down at her, evoking more tears and sobbing, her face now as red as a tomato.
Jim unleashes a bestial roar.
"I think maybe Spencer's right. Put the 'Eye down and-"
"FUCK YOU JOE!!" Shock and anger had dried his eyes moments ago...but now the sting returns, this time borne from helplessness. "LEAMME ALONE!! I'M NOT LEAVIN' ELORA!!"
Joe takes a few steps back...then heads for, and into, the cabin. Jim clutches to the 'Eye as if it's the throat of the imposter, an explosive storm of emotions playing havoc, intensifying with each passing second...
Whispering. "Please...please...please...please..."
His sight becomes fuzzy, distorted, as the tears of desperation to go to his daughter, save her, well up faster than they can roll free.
"...please...please... I'm coming baby. It'll be okay. Da-da's coming......da-da's com-" His voice catches in his throat as it tightens.
This nightmare cannot be endured......
Without warning...
...brightness fills his blurred vision...
...he perceives the sensation of pins and needles over every inch of his exposed flesh...
...a dizzying lurch of motion as if caught in a violent sea pitching him forward...
.........and he HEARS Elora crying.
It can't be-
Instinctively he raises his hands to wipe his eyes free of the blinding wetness, clearing his sight...
...and there...
...on the floor of her room, in THEIR home, before him...
...is Elora.
ELORA!!
Jim doesn't question if this is a dream, a delusion, a hallucination; he doesn't care. He bends, plucks his daughter up, stands and holds her warm little form to him, her familiar scent triggering happy memories. Her head lolls comfortably onto his shoulder and he runs his right hand up and down her tiny back, gently swaying her from side to side.
"Da-da."
He sighs closing his eyes, new tears cascading.
"Elora...my little sparkles... Da-da loves you so much...da-da never leave you again...never.." Elora's sobbing ends as she goes fully slack in his embrace.
...Everything falls away.
Sadness...pain...the world...Elora is his heart. His reason to be.
He's finally in paradise......wishing the moment would last...for eternity...
"Time to be daddy now?" Jim turns to see Holly reentering the room. She pulls Elora from his embrace, Jim relinquishing as opposed to a tug of war.
Elora turns her head to Jim, confused. "Da-da..."
"He's not your da-da baby."
"Don't...say that t'her. Y'don't unnerstand what's happenin' right now. I-" He pauses, unsure of what's happening himself...
Holly turns and walks out, Elora reaching over her shoulder to da-da. "Die, Jimmy! Leave us alone!"
Please God no...
"Hol' on, lemme explain!" He follows as she storms down the hall, descending the spiral staircase leading to the first floor.
"Holly!"
"Leave us alone or I'm calling the cops!" He trails her to the front door. She flings it open with one hand and steps out-
"Holly don't do this!"
SLAM
"NO!!!"
Despair envelopes him...
...nausea hits, a chill running over the surface of his skin...
...a crackle of energy along his spine...
...existence jars for the second time...
...blinding white illumination...
...and he's back on the forest floor in Purgatory.
"No-no-no-no-NO! NOOO!!"
He focuses his gaze back into the--
SHATTER
The 'Eye explodes upon being struck, a shard embedding into Jim's forehead just above the bridge of his nose. His hands fly to his face in pain.
"FUCK! FUUUUUCK!!"
He growls in heartbroken rage, dropping his hands to identify exactly who is responsible for this...
"You--"
"Me."
The Exile, flaming sword pointed directly at Jim, cuts his eyes to Joe.
"Yahweh heard your prayers, Joseph. Consider yourself forgiven."
"DEAD...AGAIN p.8"
~PRODITOR~
"Thank fucking God."
"Don't push it."
Jim's icy blues flash. "You...fuckin' traitor... Y'betrayed me...fer him!?"
"No, jackass 🙂 For ME. MY salvation."
"James O'Connor, you defeated me once..."
Jim stands, only now realizing he no longer towers. Despair, hopelessness, over Elora...has beaten his spirit down to a reflection of his earthly height...
"...this time, it's different."
...but in his rage and desire for revenge...
...Jim doesn't give a shit.
"Bring it the fuck on."
Exile thrusts at Jim, flaming sword aimed at the latter's sternum. Jim twists sideways in the nick of time then leaps backward as Exile follows up with an immediate slash, the fiery tip of the blade cutting and cauterizing a diagonal left to right shallow laceration across Jim's bare chest to his shoulder.
Jim inhales sharply as he lands and backpedals again to successfully avoid a swift second slash. He stumbles on the uneven ground and falls to his back, rolling over instantly to dodge a strong downward hack into the soil. Exile steps in with his right and corrects with a second well aimed follow-up, Jim rolling the opposite way to escape harm before rolling right back over and laying a hard kick to Exile's right knee as he preps for a downward thrust, seeking to stab Jim's heart.
His aim thrown off kilter by the impact as his leg bends inward, the Exile's thrust pierces the ground just to the side of Jim. Caedus grabs his forearm intending to place a foot on his chest and flip him--
The seraphim's strength however sees Jim pulled off the ground as The Exile draws back, reacting by tossing Jim over his shoulder.
Jim sails through the air, slams into the cabin and drops in a heap.
With a flap of his wings, Exile leaps high into the air, double-handed reverse-grip on the hilt of his sword, arcing down for a stabbing kill.
Jim rolls awkwardly, snatches a long, thick broken tree limb and stands a moment before The Exile lands. Jim swings the limb--
--but his enemy cuts upward, bisecting it to a point cleanly before it connects.
Exile steps forward to slash again, Jim charges in and pierces his gut with the makeshift pointed weapon before headbutting him into backpedaling then executing a Purgatory Punch spinning-back fist. Exile drops his sword--
Joseph knocks into Jim before he can snatch it, peppering him with blows. Jim twists, grabs and hefts the dwarven betrayer, tosses him, turns, claims the sword-
-The Exile, having recovered and approached, kicks it from Jim's grasp. Jim blasts him backward with a Wrexus Plexus as the sword flies-
-and is caught by Joseph-
"EXILE!"
-who then runs forward to underhand lob it to The Exile-
-Jim immediately intercepts, snatching it by the hilt-
-spins-
-into a low swinging slash slicing Joseph's head in half from ear to ear-
-spins back to Exile-
-already low altitude airborne zooming at Jim-
-who turns sideways, steps back and chops, lopping off his right wing as he passes, The Exile dropping to-- and tumbling forward on --the ground.
The seraphim groans in pain as Jim stalks forward with the sword...
"Y'attacked me twice."
Jim's form grows slightly as his spirit gains strength...
"Y'tried t'erase me."
Larger...
"Y'took away the window t'my daughter."
Larger still...
"Now...prepare...fer oblivion..."
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
The first of several overnight burner-borne texts had read:
Jim was left with no other options as to discovering the whereabouts of his daughter. At this point the situation had devolved to..."by any means necessary".
Desire + desperation = action.
From this vantage point, none meandering around Central Park West notice the supressor-barrel of the AI AXSR sniper rifle in the darkness beyond the open window of the 15th story condominium, nor the unidentifiable figure manning the weapon.
(voiceover)
The time fer fun 'n games is over.
No more grab-assin' wit' cattleprods an' piss trucks.
No more avoidin' the inevitable.
No more avoidin'...ME.
Joseph, I ain't gonna ask why you're included. I'm not gonna point out that'cha been on the relaunch roster throughout TWENTY-TWO events an' competed in SIX. I'll forego mentionin' that outta those six y'walked out wit' ONE win...an' that'cha took weeks-- even MONTHS --off followin' four 'a those losses. I'll refrain from stating that'cher shirt from merch shoulda been a blank black Tee considerin' ya've contributed NOTHIN' t'the promotion other than flappin' that face-pussy y'call a mouth an' how I'ma now jam my cruel Caedus cock in it, fuckstart yer head an' pump it fulla semen 'til it pops. Nah, I ain't askin' why yer included, I'm flat-out tellin' ya......y'SHOULD be.
Yer here fer a purpose...but believe me, it ain't t'showcase yer ability, which, in WGWF amounts to a 16.67% win ratio.
So, what IS that purpose...?
I won't mince words, J-Mont: yer a hack. I fully realize y'don't know what that term means in light 'a yer intelligence bein' limited t'that of a dude who took a brick to the skull when he was in third grade an' are now stuck wit' TBI arrested development, so I'll fill y'in: y'suck at whatcha do here.
Wit' ONE exception: self sabotage.
What else wouldja call consistently antagonizin' WGWF staff? The timeline is: y'been trollin' James Raven since last year. Y'interfered on Championship Monday in my an' Peter's World Title match an' stole the strap. Y'took exception t'Flash doin' 'is JOB as Co-GM then spent months body shamin' 'im even AFTER he HANDED you this title shot. Y'assaulted 'im wit' urine, slapped Centurion an' JKO'd Chris Page all in the same night. Y'pulled that flamin' bag 'a shit prank on Flash durin' the last Brawl then followed that up by splashin' 'im AND Page wit' pig's blood at the press conference.
The reason ya've not been fired an' the purpose fer yer bein' included is clear:
...punishment.
An' not necessarily the (guaranteed) physical punishment. The psychological punishment.
Flash been outin' y'on Twitter as THE dumbest muhfucker in the promotion-- an' dare I say the business as a whole --one-uppin' y'every time in argument, 'specially that whole "what's the name 'a the WENDY's girl" debacle y'couldn't answer _instantly_, y'goddamn doofus, and y'been matchin' 'is efforts wit' yer own idiocy such as allowin' Page t'manipulate'cha into puttin' yer career on the line at Grand Awakening...yet yer too stupid t'realize how incompetent y'are. Y'can't grasp we're all laughin' AT'CHA, not wit'cha. What'cha WILL unnerstand however, is continuin' the trend 'a comin' up short-- like y'have in yer last five consecutive matches here --at Summer Madness. What'll make it so much more effective on ya will be the fact y'been yappin' non-stop not only predictin' a win but makin' claims like this:
Yes. The business needs YOU...an absentee problematic piss-muppet. That explains the rumors of IIW shuttin' down wit' you as their top champ an' totally vindicates yer claims 'a commandin' high ratings. Joe, what's needed from you is yer public announcement 'a retirement effective immediately an' a Livestream 'a you gettin' pegged wit' the spade end of a shovel. That'll sell tickets. Unfortunately that'd rob me 'a gapin' you myself, so I guess we'll all hafta settle fer yer humiliation after losin' two Summer Madness nights in a row followed by the losses 'a yer match wit' Page, yer WGWF career, yer floppin' in TPW, then finally the loss 'a yer pay from IIW when it closes.
That's what we're all pullin' for...'cause no one SINCERELY has faith in ya. You're too relentlessly remedial t'handle anything like a real man. An' once yer alleged millions are gone, Monty, say g'bye t'Mia an' BabyG. That golddiggin' former stripper ain't stickin' 'round fer an impoverished disloyal cunt who's been embarrassin' her fer months hangin' all over Sonya an' now Atty. She got no interest watchin' a pissant pauper from the Bronx fartin' in bathtubs an' clappin' fer the bubbles while y'all wait fer the next welfare check. I mean, I'm not sure how much "100,000" an' "600" karat gold strollers cost but'cha clearly manage yer money as well as yer career so alladat's a foregone conclusion. But hey, least when yer gone you'll be remembered properly for what'cher known for now...
...an' it all begins at Summer Madness durin' which, as yer match history shows, you're gonna make mistakes in the ring. Mistakes I'ma definitely capitalize on. That an' yer lack a balls shown the way y'talk a big game, like Vaughn, but 'ave failed, AGAIN like Vaughn in context wit' ME, t'live up t'yer threats 'a shenanigans. Y'didn't even get back at Pete fer the TWO times he zapped you, you spineless gimp.
Ya play too much Joe. Jackin'-off. You're not intimidating, you're a punchline...an' it's good y'bitched out...
'Cause I'm not the one t'play games wit'. I don't use cattleprods or stun guns. I don't sneak attack.
I simply kill.
B-t-w, it ain't jus' yer aforementioned company fuck-ups callin' fer yer punishment Joey......it's the fact you're a traitor to CCPE. You swearin' allegiance t'S.E.B.-- the DESERTER --at Bannockburn was the straw that broke the camel's back.
Which brings me t'YOU, Pete. YOU TOO settled on fightin' fer Sebastian at Bannockburn. Don't bother tryna deny it. Y'had yer chance t'prove otherwise, first in the match itself...but revealingly, THIS is what'cha had t'say 'bout it afterwards...
"Hurting my own team"? My team was an' is CCPE; an' it happened t'be led by Mac Bane. As I stated in my hype video leadin' up t'the match, I promised I'd "do whatever it takes t'see MY team walk off the field 'a battle in victory". I did what I said I'd do. In fact, I'm the ONLY CCPE member on SEB's team that actually did the right thing. Which makes it so nonsensical you'd say this at the press conference...
You're a liar, Peter, an' a projector.
It's mind-blowin' y'had no idea what I was sayin' nor what I actually accomplished by eliminatin' you an' crackin' Joe in the jaw. HE's as brainless as 'e is ignorant...yer ignorance, however, is FAR more egregious, jag-off. The self-proclaimed "problem solver", the "mechanic"...yet I been ten steps ahead 'a ya since Championship Monday. Y'barely survived that match wit' a defense intact but now...I've gotcher number...an' thas why I defeatedja at War Games.
Recognizin' you fer who y'are, I predicted yer team would resort t'desperation tactics, thus I had the foresight t'plant handcuffs an' a syringe beneath the ring. So when Outcast poofed in, dolin' out the weapons, I reacted in kind. Y'got out-played, out-thunk. Y'all deserved t'fall short...an' YOU deserved t'fail. Not wit' a pin, a KO, or a submission; nah, I made y'surrender, Pee-Vee, a result I'm assumin' is a first fer you...an' it was my pleasure t'introduce you t'that humiliation. That Caedus brand OWNIN'.
Y'call it a murder threat an' ME a murderer while teamin' wit' Outcast who caused the death of 'is own son. While BEIN' a man who once threatened t'push 'is own father off a cliff. While BEIN' a man who hospitalized a senior citizen in Terry Marshall after losin' 'is championship t'Chris Page. While BEIN' a man who said THIS at the press conference...
...yet said THIS leadin' up t'the handicap match:
Oops...that's you threatenin' murder t'win a match. Me...I merely planned an' reacted. I fought fire wit' fire, fuckstick. Worse fer you, I bluffed...an' you crumbled. Drop the sanctimonious act as well. Y'didn't surrender fer Outcast. Y'surrendered because y'KNEW I would only push it further...on...you. I'd 'ave ripped'cha apart while cuffed an' defenseless if necessary. But I didn't hafta...'cause y'bitched out. T'save yer own skin.
Fucking weakling.
Y'stare at yerself in the mirror but can't see who y'really are. I'm the darkness y'could never be. The light you'll never define. Errything y'profess t'be...I am. The problem solver. The mechanic. The one who'll actually do whatever it takes t'win. I'm smarter...stronger...more dedicated. You...you're jus' a
PUSSY.
The useless eunuch who threatened me followin' War Games but went after J-Mont instead. The COWARD who couldn't even handle me on TWITTER...an' chose t'BLOCK ME, simultaneously robbin' the fans of a buildup an' revealin' MY greater strength as I took on a mob 'a yer gutless defenders protectin' yer PATHETICALLY cowardly actions which always contradict yer spurious empty words. Now it's obvious why y'hate my insults drippin' wit' sex an' penis references: they trigger yer sensitivity over bein' dickless. And ironically named Peter.
You're anything but sincerely confident up against ol' Jimmy Caedus. In fact...
You.
Fear.
Me.
I been livin' rent free in yer head since 2022, "boyo". After Fire & Ice OUR names in context were constantly brought up in XWF. My arrival in the WGWF reopened the wound. Followin' YOUR SURRENDER at War Games, y'went quiet on Twitter fer days an' were too muchuva rain-cloud titty baby t'compete on the next Brawl card. Y'couldn't even get through yer hype video leadin' up t'yer match wit' Cable wit'out bringin' me up. Fucksake, y'been seein' me in yer hallucinations, convos wit'cherself revolvin' 'round me an' your FAILURE.
Yer broken.
But y'call ME unstable. Call ME crazy.
Crazy's attemptin' thrice t'draw me into yer mindgames on Twitter, tryna make me admit t'potential murder, after I toldja I wouldn't fall fer it... That there, failin' at the same thing repeatedly, expectin' different results...THAT is crazy. Insane. Not the scary, dangerous kinda insane either. Jus' incompetent an' ineffectual. Bungling. You're a Saturday mornin' cartoon villain.
In any case, how's it apply if I'm a murderer or not? How's it pertain t'the match? Y'assaulted former President Trump an' somehow avoided arrest but'cha gonna wax on about _assumed_ criminality wit' me y'dizzy hypocrite? What matters is I'm dangerous. I'M the one who LEGIT does what it takes t'win. Proven. I'm the one who's actions YOU can't comprehend until they're spelled out fer you. I'm the one gotcha guessin'. I'm the one wit' the advantage here.
I operate wit' logic.
Facts.
Reality.
Recall sayin' yer reality is the only reality that y'care about, Pete? Well, yer reality has FAILED you...hasn't it. Yer reality-- disconnected from anything approachin' truth --prob'ly gonna convince ya yer still the champ should I walk away wit' the strap...an' y'can think it as much as y'want while sittin' in a padded room sketchin' murals on the walls wit' the log 'a shit y'yanked outta yer own asshole believin' it's a brown crayon, you cracked cocksucker.
You're unraveling.
It doesn't matter whatcha say. Whatcha claim. Whatcha think. Y'can predict whatever y'wish, y'can argue y'knew the whole time (inarguably a LIE), y'can resurface as a "hero" or reclaim yer good ol' "villainy" wit' or wit'out realizin' I'm better at both, y'can stick wit' yer static "THIS TIME IT'S DIFFERENT" jackassery or try out a NEW bumper-sticker worthy bit 'a buffoonery (in which case, I MADE you do it)...it won't change anything. Fuck yer latest "Pee-Vee's Big Adventure". Like J-Mont, you'll never truly change or improve enough.
Grow.
Learn.
Overcome.
Yer cadre 'a kiss-asses, yer circle, 'bout t' find out their unworthy favorite ain't what they think y'are once I obliterate the facade. Yer fakery won't save y'against me an' yer motivation jus' ain't enough. Regardless 'a what'cha might say, you're doin' this fer ego.
I'm doin' this not only fer my own personal redemption, not only fer ME...I'm doin' this fer someone MUCH more important than I am. Someone who NEEDS me t'succeed. T'fund. T'locate. T'rescue. T'provide.
I'm doin' this fer my daughter, Elora...
...an' I'll do whatever it takes t'win this, douchebag.
My will trumps yer arrogance.
Which brings us t'the reveal months in the making...
Y'wanna know what it was I said t'ya after the bell at War Games? The words that no one heard? The words that're as relevant NOW-- FOR YOU --as they were THEN?
This...time...
I
T
S
O
V
E
R
The two apparent targets enter the scope's field of view.
BANG
Snap adjustment.
BANG
Determination + ability = success.
XXXDXEXDXIXCXAXTXEXDXXTXOXXEXLXOXRXAXXX
CAEDUS REWIND: Jim's ongoing journey through Purgatory saw his traveling companion Joseph lead him to the location of "The Keeper" of the Galaxy's Eye, the 'Eye being a jewel allowing one to see anywhere in all of creation. First attempting to threaten Spencer ("The Keeper") into handing it over then utilizing respect in his request, Spencer relented and gave Jim the 'Eye to look in on his daughter Elora...
"Elora...," Jim whispers.
Happiness floods, as do tears in his eyes...
He'll become lost in his grief."
"Let him look for awhile. He needs it."
"...This was a poor decision, Joseph."
Joe and the Keeper head inside, leaving Jim to observe...
CONTINUED FROM "DEAD...AGAIN p.7"
adambarker1981.proboards.com/thread/16193/fathers-love
Jim watches as Elora rolls the hard plastic pink, yellow and blue Cocomelon train around, the toddler speaking, unfortunately inaudibly. Nevertheless, he pulls from memory the sound of the sweetest voice in the entire universe as her chubby cheeks raise along with her grin. He can't stop the tears from flowing...and he doesn't want to. He loves her so much...she deserves the sentiment even if she's unaware.
Un...aware...
Like she's unaware her da-da is dead; trapped on an ethereal plane of existence as far removed from her as it can get without winking out completely. Unacceptable. He has to get back...escape Purgatory and return to her.
As his mind wanders, he wonders how long it'll take before Elora asks mommy where daddy is.
And as if on cue...
...he sees...HIMSELF walk into Elora's room.
What- the fuck is this!?
His gaze leaves the 'Eye to scan where last he knew Spencer and Joseph were standing, to demand answers...but they aren't there. He returns his eyes to the orb. The vision is fading.
No no no no no-
The vision refocuses...
Jim watches as his inexplicably undead(?) body in the vision tenses, arms shooting outward in a gesture of frustration. Elora jolts in place, twisting her golden head around to regard her "father". He gestures again, clearly hollering at her, stooping to snatch the train...then throws it across the room.
Elora starts to cry.
A jolt runs through him, a fire of rage ignited.
"MotherFUCKER!! THE FUCK IS THIS!??"
"......What's going on?"
"What the hell's the matter with you, man?"
"The fuck I'm lookin' at here!? Fuck kinda shit IS this goddammit!?"
"DON'T take the Lord's name in vein, you fool," Spencer hisses! "You'll attract unwanted attention...I knew this was a mistake."
The mother, Holly, enters, Elora in the midst of a toddler meltdown, her visage contorted in alarmed confusion. "Jim" turns to Holly and in seconds the two are engaged in a screaming match.
"WHY IS THIS HAPPENING!?"
The miniscule Joseph waddles over, just in time to see "Jim" in the 'Eye shove Holly.
"WHATTHEFUCK!?"
"Wow...you're a pussy."
"I'VE NEVER PUT MY HANDS ON 'ER!! I'VE NEVER SCREAMED AT ELORA!! I'D NEVER DO ANY 'A THIS!!"
Spencer frowns, perplexed, and inquires, "Joseph, what's he on about? What's happening?"
"This asshole shoved some chick in front of his daughter-"
"NO I DIDN'T!!"
Joe ignores and continues. "I think the 'Eye is showing his past sins."
"THIS NEVER FUCKING HAPPENED!!"
"Hey pal, the 'Eye doesn't lie."
Spencer's brow furrow further as he approaches. "No, the Galaxy's Eye doesn't show the past nor future. The visions display current events." He arrives at giant Jim, peering into the 'Eye to watch as "Jim" and Holly continue to scream at one another. "Something is...very wrong here."
"YEAH, NO KIDDIN'!! HOW THE HELL'S THIS POSSIBLE!? WHAT THE HELL'S GOIN' ON!??"
"I...don't know. You're clearly here...yet there on Earth as well. This makes no sense..."
"MAKE IT MAKE SENSE!!"
"Stop shouting."
"Shut the FUCK UP Joe!!"
"...I need to speak to someone about this... Joseph, try to keep him under control while I'm gone."
"Oh yeah, right."
Spencer heads briefly back into the cabin then exits clutching a walking staff. "I'll return soon. Jim, perhaps you should leave the 'Eye be for now."
"NO!!!"
Shaking his head, Spencer departs through the forest in the opposite direction both Jim and Joe had arrived.
Jim continues staring into the 'Eye...
Holly moves towards Elora, "Jim" shoves her back again. He points a finger down at his daughter then jabs a thumb into his chest and shouts. He then levels his finger at the open nursery door, still screaming at Holly. She smacks him. He pump fakes at her. She flinches then retreats from the room.
Jim is shaking with rage as "Jim" turns to regard Elora and shouts down at her, evoking more tears and sobbing, her face now as red as a tomato.
Jim unleashes a bestial roar.
"I think maybe Spencer's right. Put the 'Eye down and-"
"FUCK YOU JOE!!" Shock and anger had dried his eyes moments ago...but now the sting returns, this time borne from helplessness. "LEAMME ALONE!! I'M NOT LEAVIN' ELORA!!"
Joe takes a few steps back...then heads for, and into, the cabin. Jim clutches to the 'Eye as if it's the throat of the imposter, an explosive storm of emotions playing havoc, intensifying with each passing second...
Whispering. "Please...please...please...please..."
His sight becomes fuzzy, distorted, as the tears of desperation to go to his daughter, save her, well up faster than they can roll free.
"...please...please... I'm coming baby. It'll be okay. Da-da's coming......da-da's com-" His voice catches in his throat as it tightens.
This nightmare cannot be endured......
Without warning...
...brightness fills his blurred vision...
...he perceives the sensation of pins and needles over every inch of his exposed flesh...
...a dizzying lurch of motion as if caught in a violent sea pitching him forward...
.........and he HEARS Elora crying.
It can't be-
Instinctively he raises his hands to wipe his eyes free of the blinding wetness, clearing his sight...
...and there...
...on the floor of her room, in THEIR home, before him...
...is Elora.
ELORA!!
Jim doesn't question if this is a dream, a delusion, a hallucination; he doesn't care. He bends, plucks his daughter up, stands and holds her warm little form to him, her familiar scent triggering happy memories. Her head lolls comfortably onto his shoulder and he runs his right hand up and down her tiny back, gently swaying her from side to side.
"Da-da."
He sighs closing his eyes, new tears cascading.
"Elora...my little sparkles... Da-da loves you so much...da-da never leave you again...never.." Elora's sobbing ends as she goes fully slack in his embrace.
...Everything falls away.
Sadness...pain...the world...Elora is his heart. His reason to be.
He's finally in paradise......wishing the moment would last...for eternity...
"Time to be daddy now?" Jim turns to see Holly reentering the room. She pulls Elora from his embrace, Jim relinquishing as opposed to a tug of war.
Elora turns her head to Jim, confused. "Da-da..."
"He's not your da-da baby."
"Don't...say that t'her. Y'don't unnerstand what's happenin' right now. I-" He pauses, unsure of what's happening himself...
Holly turns and walks out, Elora reaching over her shoulder to da-da. "Die, Jimmy! Leave us alone!"
Please God no...
"Hol' on, lemme explain!" He follows as she storms down the hall, descending the spiral staircase leading to the first floor.
"Holly!"
"Leave us alone or I'm calling the cops!" He trails her to the front door. She flings it open with one hand and steps out-
"Holly don't do this!"
SLAM
"NO!!!"
Despair envelopes him...
...nausea hits, a chill running over the surface of his skin...
...a crackle of energy along his spine...
...existence jars for the second time...
...blinding white illumination...
...and he's back on the forest floor in Purgatory.
"No-no-no-no-NO! NOOO!!"
He focuses his gaze back into the--
SHATTER
The 'Eye explodes upon being struck, a shard embedding into Jim's forehead just above the bridge of his nose. His hands fly to his face in pain.
"FUCK! FUUUUUCK!!"
He growls in heartbroken rage, dropping his hands to identify exactly who is responsible for this...
"You--"
"Me."
The Exile, flaming sword pointed directly at Jim, cuts his eyes to Joe.
"Yahweh heard your prayers, Joseph. Consider yourself forgiven."
"DEAD...AGAIN p.8"
~PRODITOR~
"Thank fucking God."
"Don't push it."
Jim's icy blues flash. "You...fuckin' traitor... Y'betrayed me...fer him!?"
"No, jackass 🙂 For ME. MY salvation."
"James O'Connor, you defeated me once..."
Jim stands, only now realizing he no longer towers. Despair, hopelessness, over Elora...has beaten his spirit down to a reflection of his earthly height...
"...this time, it's different."
...but in his rage and desire for revenge...
...Jim doesn't give a shit.
"Bring it the fuck on."
Exile thrusts at Jim, flaming sword aimed at the latter's sternum. Jim twists sideways in the nick of time then leaps backward as Exile follows up with an immediate slash, the fiery tip of the blade cutting and cauterizing a diagonal left to right shallow laceration across Jim's bare chest to his shoulder.
Jim inhales sharply as he lands and backpedals again to successfully avoid a swift second slash. He stumbles on the uneven ground and falls to his back, rolling over instantly to dodge a strong downward hack into the soil. Exile steps in with his right and corrects with a second well aimed follow-up, Jim rolling the opposite way to escape harm before rolling right back over and laying a hard kick to Exile's right knee as he preps for a downward thrust, seeking to stab Jim's heart.
His aim thrown off kilter by the impact as his leg bends inward, the Exile's thrust pierces the ground just to the side of Jim. Caedus grabs his forearm intending to place a foot on his chest and flip him--
The seraphim's strength however sees Jim pulled off the ground as The Exile draws back, reacting by tossing Jim over his shoulder.
Jim sails through the air, slams into the cabin and drops in a heap.
With a flap of his wings, Exile leaps high into the air, double-handed reverse-grip on the hilt of his sword, arcing down for a stabbing kill.
Jim rolls awkwardly, snatches a long, thick broken tree limb and stands a moment before The Exile lands. Jim swings the limb--
--but his enemy cuts upward, bisecting it to a point cleanly before it connects.
Exile steps forward to slash again, Jim charges in and pierces his gut with the makeshift pointed weapon before headbutting him into backpedaling then executing a Purgatory Punch spinning-back fist. Exile drops his sword--
Joseph knocks into Jim before he can snatch it, peppering him with blows. Jim twists, grabs and hefts the dwarven betrayer, tosses him, turns, claims the sword-
-The Exile, having recovered and approached, kicks it from Jim's grasp. Jim blasts him backward with a Wrexus Plexus as the sword flies-
-and is caught by Joseph-
"EXILE!"
-who then runs forward to underhand lob it to The Exile-
-Jim immediately intercepts, snatching it by the hilt-
-spins-
-into a low swinging slash slicing Joseph's head in half from ear to ear-
-spins back to Exile-
-already low altitude airborne zooming at Jim-
-who turns sideways, steps back and chops, lopping off his right wing as he passes, The Exile dropping to-- and tumbling forward on --the ground.
The seraphim groans in pain as Jim stalks forward with the sword...
"Y'attacked me twice."
Jim's form grows slightly as his spirit gains strength...
"Y'tried t'erase me."
Larger...
"Y'took away the window t'my daughter."
Larger still...
"Now...prepare...fer oblivion..."
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
The first of several overnight burner-borne texts had read:
Jim was left with no other options as to discovering the whereabouts of his daughter. At this point the situation had devolved to..."by any means necessary".
Desire + desperation = action.
From this vantage point, none meandering around Central Park West notice the supressor-barrel of the AI AXSR sniper rifle in the darkness beyond the open window of the 15th story condominium, nor the unidentifiable figure manning the weapon.
(voiceover)
The time fer fun 'n games is over.
No more grab-assin' wit' cattleprods an' piss trucks.
No more avoidin' the inevitable.
No more avoidin'...ME.
Joseph, I ain't gonna ask why you're included. I'm not gonna point out that'cha been on the relaunch roster throughout TWENTY-TWO events an' competed in SIX. I'll forego mentionin' that outta those six y'walked out wit' ONE win...an' that'cha took weeks-- even MONTHS --off followin' four 'a those losses. I'll refrain from stating that'cher shirt from merch shoulda been a blank black Tee considerin' ya've contributed NOTHIN' t'the promotion other than flappin' that face-pussy y'call a mouth an' how I'ma now jam my cruel Caedus cock in it, fuckstart yer head an' pump it fulla semen 'til it pops. Nah, I ain't askin' why yer included, I'm flat-out tellin' ya......y'SHOULD be.
Yer here fer a purpose...but believe me, it ain't t'showcase yer ability, which, in WGWF amounts to a 16.67% win ratio.
So, what IS that purpose...?
I won't mince words, J-Mont: yer a hack. I fully realize y'don't know what that term means in light 'a yer intelligence bein' limited t'that of a dude who took a brick to the skull when he was in third grade an' are now stuck wit' TBI arrested development, so I'll fill y'in: y'suck at whatcha do here.
Wit' ONE exception: self sabotage.
What else wouldja call consistently antagonizin' WGWF staff? The timeline is: y'been trollin' James Raven since last year. Y'interfered on Championship Monday in my an' Peter's World Title match an' stole the strap. Y'took exception t'Flash doin' 'is JOB as Co-GM then spent months body shamin' 'im even AFTER he HANDED you this title shot. Y'assaulted 'im wit' urine, slapped Centurion an' JKO'd Chris Page all in the same night. Y'pulled that flamin' bag 'a shit prank on Flash durin' the last Brawl then followed that up by splashin' 'im AND Page wit' pig's blood at the press conference.
The reason ya've not been fired an' the purpose fer yer bein' included is clear:
...punishment.
An' not necessarily the (guaranteed) physical punishment. The psychological punishment.
Flash been outin' y'on Twitter as THE dumbest muhfucker in the promotion-- an' dare I say the business as a whole --one-uppin' y'every time in argument, 'specially that whole "what's the name 'a the WENDY's girl" debacle y'couldn't answer _instantly_, y'goddamn doofus, and y'been matchin' 'is efforts wit' yer own idiocy such as allowin' Page t'manipulate'cha into puttin' yer career on the line at Grand Awakening...yet yer too stupid t'realize how incompetent y'are. Y'can't grasp we're all laughin' AT'CHA, not wit'cha. What'cha WILL unnerstand however, is continuin' the trend 'a comin' up short-- like y'have in yer last five consecutive matches here --at Summer Madness. What'll make it so much more effective on ya will be the fact y'been yappin' non-stop not only predictin' a win but makin' claims like this:
Yes. The business needs YOU...an absentee problematic piss-muppet. That explains the rumors of IIW shuttin' down wit' you as their top champ an' totally vindicates yer claims 'a commandin' high ratings. Joe, what's needed from you is yer public announcement 'a retirement effective immediately an' a Livestream 'a you gettin' pegged wit' the spade end of a shovel. That'll sell tickets. Unfortunately that'd rob me 'a gapin' you myself, so I guess we'll all hafta settle fer yer humiliation after losin' two Summer Madness nights in a row followed by the losses 'a yer match wit' Page, yer WGWF career, yer floppin' in TPW, then finally the loss 'a yer pay from IIW when it closes.
That's what we're all pullin' for...'cause no one SINCERELY has faith in ya. You're too relentlessly remedial t'handle anything like a real man. An' once yer alleged millions are gone, Monty, say g'bye t'Mia an' BabyG. That golddiggin' former stripper ain't stickin' 'round fer an impoverished disloyal cunt who's been embarrassin' her fer months hangin' all over Sonya an' now Atty. She got no interest watchin' a pissant pauper from the Bronx fartin' in bathtubs an' clappin' fer the bubbles while y'all wait fer the next welfare check. I mean, I'm not sure how much "100,000" an' "600" karat gold strollers cost but'cha clearly manage yer money as well as yer career so alladat's a foregone conclusion. But hey, least when yer gone you'll be remembered properly for what'cher known for now...
...an' it all begins at Summer Madness durin' which, as yer match history shows, you're gonna make mistakes in the ring. Mistakes I'ma definitely capitalize on. That an' yer lack a balls shown the way y'talk a big game, like Vaughn, but 'ave failed, AGAIN like Vaughn in context wit' ME, t'live up t'yer threats 'a shenanigans. Y'didn't even get back at Pete fer the TWO times he zapped you, you spineless gimp.
Ya play too much Joe. Jackin'-off. You're not intimidating, you're a punchline...an' it's good y'bitched out...
'Cause I'm not the one t'play games wit'. I don't use cattleprods or stun guns. I don't sneak attack.
I simply kill.
B-t-w, it ain't jus' yer aforementioned company fuck-ups callin' fer yer punishment Joey......it's the fact you're a traitor to CCPE. You swearin' allegiance t'S.E.B.-- the DESERTER --at Bannockburn was the straw that broke the camel's back.
Which brings me t'YOU, Pete. YOU TOO settled on fightin' fer Sebastian at Bannockburn. Don't bother tryna deny it. Y'had yer chance t'prove otherwise, first in the match itself...but revealingly, THIS is what'cha had t'say 'bout it afterwards...
"Hurting my own team"? My team was an' is CCPE; an' it happened t'be led by Mac Bane. As I stated in my hype video leadin' up t'the match, I promised I'd "do whatever it takes t'see MY team walk off the field 'a battle in victory". I did what I said I'd do. In fact, I'm the ONLY CCPE member on SEB's team that actually did the right thing. Which makes it so nonsensical you'd say this at the press conference...
You're a liar, Peter, an' a projector.
It's mind-blowin' y'had no idea what I was sayin' nor what I actually accomplished by eliminatin' you an' crackin' Joe in the jaw. HE's as brainless as 'e is ignorant...yer ignorance, however, is FAR more egregious, jag-off. The self-proclaimed "problem solver", the "mechanic"...yet I been ten steps ahead 'a ya since Championship Monday. Y'barely survived that match wit' a defense intact but now...I've gotcher number...an' thas why I defeatedja at War Games.
Recognizin' you fer who y'are, I predicted yer team would resort t'desperation tactics, thus I had the foresight t'plant handcuffs an' a syringe beneath the ring. So when Outcast poofed in, dolin' out the weapons, I reacted in kind. Y'got out-played, out-thunk. Y'all deserved t'fall short...an' YOU deserved t'fail. Not wit' a pin, a KO, or a submission; nah, I made y'surrender, Pee-Vee, a result I'm assumin' is a first fer you...an' it was my pleasure t'introduce you t'that humiliation. That Caedus brand OWNIN'.
Y'call it a murder threat an' ME a murderer while teamin' wit' Outcast who caused the death of 'is own son. While BEIN' a man who once threatened t'push 'is own father off a cliff. While BEIN' a man who hospitalized a senior citizen in Terry Marshall after losin' 'is championship t'Chris Page. While BEIN' a man who said THIS at the press conference...
...yet said THIS leadin' up t'the handicap match:
Oops...that's you threatenin' murder t'win a match. Me...I merely planned an' reacted. I fought fire wit' fire, fuckstick. Worse fer you, I bluffed...an' you crumbled. Drop the sanctimonious act as well. Y'didn't surrender fer Outcast. Y'surrendered because y'KNEW I would only push it further...on...you. I'd 'ave ripped'cha apart while cuffed an' defenseless if necessary. But I didn't hafta...'cause y'bitched out. T'save yer own skin.
Fucking weakling.
Y'stare at yerself in the mirror but can't see who y'really are. I'm the darkness y'could never be. The light you'll never define. Errything y'profess t'be...I am. The problem solver. The mechanic. The one who'll actually do whatever it takes t'win. I'm smarter...stronger...more dedicated. You...you're jus' a
PUSSY.
The useless eunuch who threatened me followin' War Games but went after J-Mont instead. The COWARD who couldn't even handle me on TWITTER...an' chose t'BLOCK ME, simultaneously robbin' the fans of a buildup an' revealin' MY greater strength as I took on a mob 'a yer gutless defenders protectin' yer PATHETICALLY cowardly actions which always contradict yer spurious empty words. Now it's obvious why y'hate my insults drippin' wit' sex an' penis references: they trigger yer sensitivity over bein' dickless. And ironically named Peter.
You're anything but sincerely confident up against ol' Jimmy Caedus. In fact...
You.
Fear.
Me.
I been livin' rent free in yer head since 2022, "boyo". After Fire & Ice OUR names in context were constantly brought up in XWF. My arrival in the WGWF reopened the wound. Followin' YOUR SURRENDER at War Games, y'went quiet on Twitter fer days an' were too muchuva rain-cloud titty baby t'compete on the next Brawl card. Y'couldn't even get through yer hype video leadin' up t'yer match wit' Cable wit'out bringin' me up. Fucksake, y'been seein' me in yer hallucinations, convos wit'cherself revolvin' 'round me an' your FAILURE.
Yer broken.
But y'call ME unstable. Call ME crazy.
Crazy's attemptin' thrice t'draw me into yer mindgames on Twitter, tryna make me admit t'potential murder, after I toldja I wouldn't fall fer it... That there, failin' at the same thing repeatedly, expectin' different results...THAT is crazy. Insane. Not the scary, dangerous kinda insane either. Jus' incompetent an' ineffectual. Bungling. You're a Saturday mornin' cartoon villain.
In any case, how's it apply if I'm a murderer or not? How's it pertain t'the match? Y'assaulted former President Trump an' somehow avoided arrest but'cha gonna wax on about _assumed_ criminality wit' me y'dizzy hypocrite? What matters is I'm dangerous. I'M the one who LEGIT does what it takes t'win. Proven. I'm the one who's actions YOU can't comprehend until they're spelled out fer you. I'm the one gotcha guessin'. I'm the one wit' the advantage here.
I operate wit' logic.
Facts.
Reality.
Recall sayin' yer reality is the only reality that y'care about, Pete? Well, yer reality has FAILED you...hasn't it. Yer reality-- disconnected from anything approachin' truth --prob'ly gonna convince ya yer still the champ should I walk away wit' the strap...an' y'can think it as much as y'want while sittin' in a padded room sketchin' murals on the walls wit' the log 'a shit y'yanked outta yer own asshole believin' it's a brown crayon, you cracked cocksucker.
You're unraveling.
It doesn't matter whatcha say. Whatcha claim. Whatcha think. Y'can predict whatever y'wish, y'can argue y'knew the whole time (inarguably a LIE), y'can resurface as a "hero" or reclaim yer good ol' "villainy" wit' or wit'out realizin' I'm better at both, y'can stick wit' yer static "THIS TIME IT'S DIFFERENT" jackassery or try out a NEW bumper-sticker worthy bit 'a buffoonery (in which case, I MADE you do it)...it won't change anything. Fuck yer latest "Pee-Vee's Big Adventure". Like J-Mont, you'll never truly change or improve enough.
Grow.
Learn.
Overcome.
Yer cadre 'a kiss-asses, yer circle, 'bout t' find out their unworthy favorite ain't what they think y'are once I obliterate the facade. Yer fakery won't save y'against me an' yer motivation jus' ain't enough. Regardless 'a what'cha might say, you're doin' this fer ego.
I'm doin' this not only fer my own personal redemption, not only fer ME...I'm doin' this fer someone MUCH more important than I am. Someone who NEEDS me t'succeed. T'fund. T'locate. T'rescue. T'provide.
I'm doin' this fer my daughter, Elora...
...an' I'll do whatever it takes t'win this, douchebag.
My will trumps yer arrogance.
Which brings us t'the reveal months in the making...
Y'wanna know what it was I said t'ya after the bell at War Games? The words that no one heard? The words that're as relevant NOW-- FOR YOU --as they were THEN?
This...time...
I
T
S
O
V
E
R
The two apparent targets enter the scope's field of view.
BANG
Snap adjustment.
BANG
Determination + ability = success.
XXXDXEXDXIXCXAXTXEXDXXTXOXXEXLXOXRXAXXX