The Grind

[angryiser]

If there is one thing I have learned in seven years in this industry...it is that I loathe chronic liars. I can't stand any individual that continues to put out false propaganda to try to get ahead in any facet of life. I find this feeling to be greatly intensified whenever the topic of religion is meshed in this giant issue. When that happens, I feel such a wave of hatred toward one man that flows through my veins that it does one very rare thing: it consumes at least a part of my heart. Just the name Sam Hershey is enough for me to start feeling a tug of this...hatred to begin coursing through my being. Thank God for Allision, otherwise, I would've completely reverted. I don't want that, nor do I need that in my life.

I never thought my daughter would help keep things in perspective, but watching her go through her science project step by step gave me a good reminder of what I need to do this week. I can't dwell on the eventual future I'm going to have making Sam's life a living hell because this week isn't about that. Besides, I have plenty of time for that. I have to knowingly face one person while going into battle with a second person later. Future, I know by heart because of our many battles here. The Departed, I also know by heart but for a different reason. For me, it is going back in the time machine and looking at myself while I went after Mike Park back in the old days when I truly didn't give a damn, but was starting to fight that urge to destroy someone just for the sake of...doing so even if you put in an asinine reason. My veteran instincts and focus need to be on point this week as a tournament is more of a mental grind than a physical one and that's probably the only true advantage I have against these kids in this scenario.

The regarded halls in Madison Square Garden is where I am at right now. I'm right behind the curtain in the old Gorilla position as it is often referred to with so many thoughts going through my head. I'm leaning back and forth on the rail, almost as if I'm doing push ups, letting some of the anxiousness out at that point. The pin-drop of silence, however, is an even more deafening sound than all these people calling for my death. I'm wearing a pair of black jeans with holes at the knees, my trusted red knee brace and pad on the left knee, a black, sleeveless t-shirt. On top of that, I'm even wearing a weighted, black vest. I look behind me and, for the first time in a while, David Devine is standing right behind me. He's donning his usual black suit. I then just sprint up the steps, hearing Devine follow right behind me before slowing down at the black curtain.

"Is there any reason why we're here now?" Devine finally speaks up, but as usual...whining.

"It needs to be done," I reply, before I step through the curtain.

This arena, unlike most others, doesn't have an incline at all. It's a straight forward path, but this is so more fans can be right there with you. Fortunately, the show isn't today, otherwise I'd be belted by a bunch of garbage right now. The ring, uncharacteristically for Genesis, is already up where it's meant to be. The announce desks and chairs are even set up where they normally are. I flash a quick smirk as I roll into the ring as I normally do, Devine following right behind me. I brush the blonde hair out of my eyes as I sit on the top turnbuckle that would be on the lower left side if you looked through on the hard camera view. I glance around at all these empty seats and realize all the historic events that has happened in this arena. I just nod my head before I turn my glance at Devine, who doesn't seem close to impressed with it. Damn Canadians.

"This is a decaying dump!" Devine groans, "Why the hell are we here earlier than we have to be besides the 'avoid the traffic' bullshit excuse you gave earlier?"

"I haven't been in this building in six damn years, David. The last time I was here, I had two out of three falls with Mike Park in a match where we all bled...and his interfering buddy, Johnny Nailz, suffered a severe concussion after I threw him out of the ring and he cracked his head off the steps and then the unmatted concrete," I sternly reply.

"Did you want to remember that vividly because you enjoyed it?" Devine snickers.

"That's not why I came here, though, I must admit, that does bring a small smile to my face," I smile, slyly and briefly.

"Stop with the suspense!" Devine sighs, "You're dragging this out more than Sam Hershey's Christian lectures and you're probably going to underwhelm the point you're going to make, too at this rate like he does."

I feel a jolt go through my arm when Devine mentions Sam's name, but my own inner aura is able to suppress the rage at this point. I do, however, feel I need to make a point.

"Before I tell you the point, let me say this to you. No, I didn't sign a contract with HSE. I'm still on the handshake with Addision. You haven't sent me any offer from HSE and I haven't received any phone call from Christian. I doubt he'd want to work with me with the combined baggage we both have and the immense pride I possess. Just for listening to what Sam said...I should rip his damned throat out for spreading that lie, and then snap his freak'n cranium for saying that God tells him to attack someone like he's a damn slave!" I snarl.

I take a deep breath to calm down, though I do stomp the bottom turnbuckle real quick to quicken that process. Devine just slowly nods his head.

"With that out of the way...I just came here to mentally prepare for what I need to do. Like I've told you in the car ride, these kids don't always realize that in this scenario, you have to wrestle twice instead of just once and I'm the only person in this entire tournament who has plenty of experience doing that. I was a part of the original Rising Star tournament where I had to wrestle twice a night for multiple weeks. Hell, I even had to wrestle three times one night to earn a rematch for said belt back in the early days of this company," I grumble, serious and gruff all the same.

"The end result didn't go too well for you..." Devine jokes.

"...experience is experience, David. Plus also consider that for the first time in quite a while...I'm healthy from a physical standpoint. This vest was good for dropping a little weight whenever I do a-lot of jogging and it's been really good for the knee, but whatever. I'm not even worried about my own physical health," I continue rambling.

I slowly stretch out my left knee and don't even wince when going through most of the motions while I sit on the turnbuckle.

"I'm not worried about your first match against Matt Saunders, really. It should be ea--" Devine goes to blurt out before I cut him off.

"Bullshit. He's NOT an easy out. You're just looking at his win-loss record. You're not seeing what he is from a wrestler's perspective. He, like me, has his own little war going on leading up to this, but I doubt he'll be distracted by it. The boy has never been a World Champion. This tournament is to decide a World Champion as far as I'm concerned. The term World Wide is just another acronym for 'World Champion', David. That type of motivator will ramp up his unstable and unpredictable nature. I know this because now I get the feeling, to an extent, I'm looking at the outside in when I see Matt in that ring," I snarl.

Just like a bloodthirsty warrior thinking about the next battle, I can't help but let another small smile creep on my face before it quickly vanishes when Devine speaks once more.

"...and how are you going to deal with that?" Devine asks.

"I'm a seven year pro, David. I don't tell you what I'm going to do in the ring because I don't even know until I get there. I just adapt. You know that better than anyone. The main concern, though, is to be ready for the grind of a physical first match and then the strain of a mentally taxing second. That much I will tell you...because...you SHOULD realize how BADLY I want to regain that belt, right? You know I'll do damn near anything outside of harming my daughter to get that ten pounds of gold." I snarl, my intensity picking up.

"...but aren't you worried about The Departed or Future?" Devine shrieks?

I cross my arms and slowly shake my head.

"When it comes to Future, trust me, I'm not worried. He's very worried about fan perception ever since he signed the deal with King. He really shouldn't be. At one point here, I was one of the more beloved guys...but that is nevermore and I'm back to what's familiar to me...the sound of boo birds. I don't give a damn what they think. I just follow my own instincts. If they like it...whoop de do. If they don't...they can piss off. Besides, if it's Future I face in the second round, he'll probably transform into Will like he did in our steel cage bout in a desperate attempt of self preservation when he knows what the end result is and what I'm willing to do...to hold the belt one more time," I snarl.

I let out a sigh and a slow chill goes through my spine when the next person soon creeps into my brain.

"The Departed...well...that's definitely looking into your own playbook and looking at how you'd perform those plays a few years ago. In his regard, especially in the sense we've never touched before, I'm concerned, but I don't worry. Besides, he has his own inner turmoil he has to endure and my instincts tell me that both he and Matt might almost be just as happy preventing the other from advancing. I don't mind as I might face them both, of course, but I can't rely on that," I close.

I see Devine let out a sigh.

"...but what if Sam decides he wants to try to prevent YOU from advancing because God tells him to?" Devine asks.

"...if he attempts to, he better tell God that he is sorry that he lied and failed in everything he has ever aspired to be...because I'll tear that son of a bitch up limb by fuck'n limb," I hiss.

I finally get off the turnbuckle and look up at the lights briefly before my glare goes straight to David Devine.

"Alright, I've done what I've had to do. Let's get out of here," I grumble.

Devine's smile is wide and I can tell that inside, he's doing cartwheels, handstands, and a visual and willing Sanduski of multiple women. I roll under the ropes and then begin retreating up the ramp while still looking at these hollowed grounds. I blink twice as the lights flash on and off repeatedly. I pause for a brief moment to glance at that. I can sense David's confusion, but I shake my head and then move on to tell him that it's nothing. Professional and personal goals go above my own personal loathing of a man. When it comes to this Deity finally reclaiming his throne...it is time.

[angryiser]

Seven years of drought has made this volatile mind of mine a swirling, hideous desert. The many failures of my career are like the harsh sunlight over this desert…unrelenting, heated, fatigue inducing, and without hint of relief. The labored pyramids in said desert are a reminder of how much I’ve truly labored in this span of time…and the sandstorms that cloud my vision in this is fate giving me such a volatile middle finger as if to say that I’m not worth the success that I desperately need to achieve. I’ve also seen the occasional cloud step over the sun to offer a beacon of hope to hydrate my desires just to fade away as the conditions consume all.

It is just a shame for all those that love my misery that a thunderstorm is coming.

Even with this good feeling of a violent storm approaching, the things Cera said have been buzzing around in my head and attempting to wreck those pyramids of hard work. Why does this self-professed demon, as mentally butchered as any individual could be, honestly think that I’m somebody who merely thinks to be a threat? I know she is infamous for playing different games with her various foes but why would she rather play a game than pursue the holy grail of any business in the World Title? If she does…even attempt to screw me out of this title shot, I will be performing the biggest, most sadistic exorcism humanly imaginable.

That does remind me…a match against any of these three under normal circumstances would be taxing enough. Once you throw them together with world title implications, you can create the ultimate counter to this storm that I have brewing. As great as Adrian Specter and Reya Serra are in the ring, I just can’t help but feel my own skin get nauseous with all my rage when Nocturnal’s name gets brought into the damn equation. The self-anointed sadistic bastard always does hold a portion of my brain in a bit of violent exile. A man that has had so many damned opportunities that a guy like me would give up anything except my adopted daughter to get my hands on and fail on those…just adds another level of incentive for me to make his brain ooze out of his ears after I permanently split his thick skull in half.

“Just don’t forget about Slater…” Apocalypse growls.

“Not...today.” I hiss right back, opening my eyes to end this extremely brief conversation. A fatal four way between Nocturnal, Adrian Specter, and Reya Serra

I dart my weary brown eyes across the darkness that is around me. The hard floor of this former, broken down garage has stains of blood and oil smeared sporadically across the area. The wooden walls at this building have decayed and a couple of various rats, leeches, and bugs reside in the worn out places in this building. A couple of chains dangle down from above where I presume some of the vehicles used to go to work. I then cautiously glance behind me to see the door, chipped away in a couple places near the dusty door handle, opened just a crack to let the occasional cold breeze in. The stronger breezes that manage to creep in make my black hair and black leather coat sway in an eerie rhythm. The black boots I wear make an echo on this hard floor that travels everywhere all across this abandoned place. Regardless, this warrior cloaked in black continues to walk slowly into this room and further toward the darkness. For some reason, there is just an odd…intoxicating effect that I sense in here that beacons me to head deeper into the darkness.

“What the hell else could be in here…” I mutter in discontent, “…there has to be something else…otherwise it wouldn’t draw me in like it did.”

“Maybe you’ll discover your true self once again when these dark surroundings free you of your prisoned humanity, Seth…” I hear Apocalypse’s voice beckon in my head, causing me to stop walking for just a brief moment.

“Fuck…off!” I roar with most of my intensity letting the sound of my echo travel across this dark place.

I hear the rats timidly scatter away when my voice travels to them. What a damn shame I had to do that, but oh well. Soon enough, I start walking back into the inner darkness and emptiness. Soon enough, a second door finally comes to my weary vision just to entice my curiosity just that little bit more. Oddly enough, there is no sense of wear and tear on this door. Hell, it looks brand new with the door knob shiny enough to reflect my knackered, worn, and scared face back at me. I scowl at the handle before I slowly turn the knob and cautiously scout the new area. There is a staircase that leads to what appears to be the next floor in this increasingly bizarre place, and a table with a bible on it…without a scratch. Beyond that, there is nothing but green walls painted, and a couple sporadic paintings on the wall. My eyes however are just fixated on that damned bible. That fucking book is the source of so much anguish and pain that exists in this black heart of mine and the second thing that comes to mind is fellow court member and one of my opponents in this fatal fourway…

“…Reya.” I grumble to myself in an irritated voice before my anger takes over, “A Christian is a Christian…they discriminated against me…so I won’t discriminate against any of them!”

“Good…good!” I hear Apocalypse’s voice once again, but this time crackling an evil laugh, “That hate. Remember it well! Find the anger that had entrenched this being! Find that rage that once existed inside the deepest arches of your soul!”

I feel myself shaking in all my inner fury and it’s just directed at Reya…my own court teammate! The haunting images of my own ‘Christian loving’ parents soon seep into my brain where I can just feel the sting of the heavy, leather belt across my bare back. I can just feel my left arm throb in disgust from where my own mother decided to make it snap like a twig when I wouldn’t obey her heinous wishes. Hell, I can even remember when my Dad committed suicide because he couldn’t kill my will. The only shame in that is I couldn’t figure out a way to kill the son of a bitch myself. Before I let everything intensify, I take a deep breath.

“No…” I calmly reply, “This might be a demon of mine…but those bastards are six feet under and one of them has an upside down cross over the grave.”

“Are you SURE?” Apocalypse questions with a sinister laugh.

Suddenly I just feel a cold, vile presence in this very room. Paranoid at this point, I swiftly turn around and see a horrid aberration. The shadow of both of my parents creeping along…just spooked me. Soon, that initial fear turns into my familiar burning rage. I reach into my back pocket to pull out the dreaded lighter. I’m fuming so much at this point that sweat just streams down the visible portions of my face. The sound of the flint and steel soon spins off similar to the gears that always sound in my head. Soon enough, I put the newly born flame over the Holy Bible and listen to the sounds of the burning pages and covers. The sight of something so holy turned into worthless ashes would mortify a normal man, but it brings a smile to my face. Too many people prostitute this tool…and caused too much pain. It makes me shutter on the spot.

“Damn sure.” I growl, regaining my composure slightly, “However, when I see Reya in that ring…all I will see in her from bell to bell… will be my deceased parents.”

Well, the old saying is better ask for forgiveness instead of permission and I might have to do that with Vanessa if I do the number on Reya that I’m capable of doing to advance in this damned match. At last, the battered steps begin to come to my attention. I begin the slow assentation up, staying steady on those specific steps where I have to put most of my weight on that dreaded left knee. The loud creaking of the stairs making me hesitate on them ever so slightly, but the hair standing on my arms tells me that someone else has to be here. I glance back at my progress as I’m lost in my thoughts and notice I’m already half way up despite my methodical pace.

“Look to your left,” Apocalypse calls.

Against my better judgment, I immediately take a glance to my left. There is a peculiar painting that is there that I haven’t noticed before. It appears to be an oil styled painting hanging on the wall of a monarch with a French style crown over his head. The King is sitting on his throne, looking a little weary but with a smile on his face based off of a past accomplishment. Sorting through my brain, I mouth the name ‘King Louis the fourteenth’ to myself as that is who the painting is of. He is the longest and most enduring figure in European monarchy history by going over seventy-two years as the head of the throne. I immediately know of the direct image that comes into my brain.

“Adrian Specter,” I say out loud.

“The King of this Court…hah…what a sight,” Apocalypse steadily replies, in a somewhat sarcastic tone.

The sight of this man going through an inferno match with the one guy he previously had so much difficulty defeating was a sadistic, beautiful work of art. The removal of one Johnny Stylez’s eyebrows was merely the start of this whole process. A satanic smile just creeps across my face just at the remaining portions of that horrendous match. The end result of seeing the Don of Disrespect burn should’ve been the ultimate sealer of respect…but there was something missing. It is the most vital aspect to anything we are to do in any sort of profession.

“He didn’t finish the job…” I say to myself, a little disappointed.

Sure, the smell of Johnny’s burning flesh engulfing the arena is a wonderful narcotic effect in the short term…but one you are in that far, you HAVE to finish the job even if there is an entire audience watching your every move. If the tables were turned, I know for an absolute fact that Johnny would’ve finished Adrian permanently if the roles were reversed considering what probably goes on in that egocentric head of his…but to each their own. I really hope he knows that even if we’re both court members…if he wants to get by me in this tournament…he’ll have to finish the job. I’d honestly be disappointed in the King if he had me in that position knowing the goal and didn’t do whatever it took to get the desired result.

“For once, we agree…” Apocalypse mutters in a ghostly tone before I hear him let out a sinister laugh.

“Yes…we do.” I coldly reply, “Yes…we do.”

Suddenly, a small thumping is heard just above me and I swiftly turn my head toward the source of where the noise may be coming from. My mind wanders away from the King of the Court and back toward the immediate goal of finding out what the hell is drawing me into this place. I blink a couple of times in thought before I look back and realize that I just auto piloted through the last remaining steps. Once more, I methodically glance around my surroundings now. The lack of decorations in this short, compact little area…the beginnings of wear showing on the floor, and the coat of dust and cobwebs the corners of this room lead me to believe that it had to have been completely abandoned for some reason…but for what? Before I let my thoughts drift too far, I eyeball the door in this room and immediately open it…wanting some answers to some of these damned questions.

“Curiosity kills the cat. Remember that saying?” Apocalypse warns.

“You should know I never listened to my parents whenever they did try to say something they viewed as productive,” I hiss in an extremely hostile manner.

I gander into this new room, but I’m a little surprised at what I find awaiting me. Sure, the interior decorations completely carry over into this room in terms of looks, but you can’t help but stop when a man that is taller than I am is looking at you with a bemused smirk on his face. The recently shaved head with a pair of sunglasses that goes over those menacing eyes are a sight that I have a familiarity toward. Just the last time I saw this man, he donned a silver mask much like I do now. The man’s broad figure is enforced by the black shirt and blue jeans he is wearing at this point. Soon enough, the bell rings off in my head as to who this is.

“Deathstroke,” I growl, tightening my fists in anger.

“It was about time you got here,” Deathstroke coolly replies to my intense demeanor.

I take a moment to study his facial expression. There is a definite lack of emotion on this man’s face beyond the occasional smirk. I know how this man operates considering all the time I’ve watched him from affair as I was trying to find my stride in this sport. He, similar to both Nocturnal and I, aren’t afraid to break every single rule in the game to get what they want. He peers down his shades slightly just to eyeball me and I glare back at him to try to get a read for what he’s attempting to do. Sadly, his dark eyes reveal nothing to me in terms of what his intentions are. A small silence soon follows as I rack through my brain and attempt to figure out what this man could be doing.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I inquire, still somewhat hostile in my tone.

“Paying a favor for an old friend,” Deathstroke smirks deviously.

The bell soon goes off in my head.

“Nocturnal set this whole thing up,” Apocalypse and I say out loud at the exact same time.

“I was wondering when you’d catch on,” Deathstroke taunts.

I know the history between Deathstroke and Nocturnal very well. They raised so much hell when this unholy alliance formed because of how similar those two men really were in their heart of hearts. I also know that this man, at one point, was extremely capable as a singles competitor as he was a former ACW champion during the time frame I got my second major break in wrestling. The one thing that mystifies me is why this ancient redwood would take a request or an order from The Sadistic Bastard?

“I’m actually surprised you survive the mental torture of the bible that was put down there, Seth. I know it is common knowledge that your parents were almost as sadistic toward you as you are towards so many people,” Deathstroke snickers in that evil tone of his.

“Don’t patronize me,” I hostilely snarl back.

“Just think to yourself, though, Apocalypse…” Deathstroke taunts me by using my old name. I seethe in anger as he continues his speech, “If you one hundred percent can’t handle all of those demons that haunt that heart of yours…how can you ever expect to stand victorious against the other members of the Court…yet alone Nocturnal?”

The audacity of his comments actually makes me laugh. The ignorance of people, as upsetting as it can be sometimes, can be the best form of amusement if you think about the context of their comments. I then casually take off the grey and black mask to reveal to Deathstroke the scarred face that hides behind it. I notice a small hesitation in his eyes in terms of how to react before the familiar bravado he always carries himself with returns almost immediately. I let out a small, but evil smirk of my own.

“Take a good look at my face, big man,” I order.

“I remember half of these from watching you when you were in the youth of your career. I know what they are,” Deathstroke fires back.

“Half of these, Deathstroke, I admit I did for my lust of blood.” I snarl before I let out an evil chuckle, “…but I guarantee that if I have to make Reya’s beautiful face look like mine to get the job done. I’ll do it. If I have to permanently damage Adrian’s burnt back to the point he may not be able to continue in this line of work to accomplish this goal…then I’ll do it and not even think twice about it because that is what being the World Champion means to me.”

I then let out a sinister laugh at these heinous acts that I know I’ve perpetrated at least a couple of times in my life. The bone chilling laugh I give out gives just a little bit louder once I remember what that arena smelled like with all the burning flesh that was involved.

“…but if I’m willing to do that to my allies in this match, Deathstroke…just what would I do to your buddy, Alexander Koresh?” I reply in that familiar, apocalyptic tone, “If his prized little sister Emily happens to show up…I’ll want this man to hear his sister’s neck snap. If the impact of that ends up ending her existence…I’ll show enough mercy to give her a drink by urinating in her grave.”

Deathstroke’s expression at my comments doesn’t change at all. It’s that same, emotionless stare as I feel all of my rage building.

“To each their own…” Deathstroke interrupts, not even flinching before I continue on.

“If the mental torture I’m willing to put Nocturnal through isn’t enough, then I imagine all the physical pain I plan to inflict on him will make Hitler’s execution of the Jewish population and Stalin’s execution of his political rivals look tame in comparison…and I’ll do it with the biggest smile on my face. Deathstroke, I want you to look into my eyes and know of all the horrid things I’ve done in my life for various reasons…just think…what will I do…to win this game?” I finish, not relenting on my intensity or hostility.

Deathstroke just stares at me, still not committing anything emotionally. I’ve seen him give this look to so many of his rivals over the years. I return that stare with the familiar glare that I’ve given so many of my adversaries in my own career. Neither of us yields an inch before Deathstroke takes a couple of steps toward me, keeping his eyes fixated on me before we’re merely inches from one another. Soon enough, the big man just nods his head slightly.

“Regardless, I completed my task, Apocalypse,” Deathstroke breaks eye contact, “I’ll be on my way.”

I let the former ACW World Champion go without a hitch. The Apocalypse lets out a proud chuckle like an evil father. As for Deathstroke, now isn’t the time or the place, but he will join Cera and Matt Slater if he even toys with the idea of interfering in my match like Envy did to help Roger Wright defeat Frank Finelli. He even shuts the door on the way out. Nocturnal is playing his normal games, but he needs to remember that there isn’t a rule I’m not willing to break to accomplish my goals at this point in my life. This drought of mine, as those past demons indirectly remind me of, needs to end...and when it comes time for that thunderstorm…

“Its time.”

[angryiser]

When you go into this line of work, you have to get acquainted with the word ‘setback’. It doesn’t matter the form this dreaded word takes with-in your own life…it exists. Whether it is the cold slap to the face I endured when Slater announced his resignation or the physical anguish my body felt when I lost that fatal four way match…it is something any human being, no matter his way of life, has to endure. The one thing many people wish to ask…is what are you going to do about this setback? The normal man under a normal occupation of work would let it slide knowing there is much more to do.

Too bad I’m not a normal man…nor is this a normal occupation.

One particular setback…the one involving Slater’s retirement…is beyond my control. However, I can do something about Nocturnal this week. The immense failure that was last week when I could take the big man down under the chaotic multi-man scenario irks me. The bigger failure that stands out in my head was our initial one on one meeting. Things were going so well heading in…until fate decided I should be cursed with a torn MCL before the match even began. Finally, however, is the perfect time that these horrendous abominations of justice WILL be corrected. I feel the winds of change blowing at long last.

As for Nocturnal…a man considered as sick and demented as I am, he best be ready for a war neither of us have ever been through in our lives.

The Rocky Mountains certainly have a bit of a reputation of being cold, miserable, and absolutely uncaring. The heavy winds blow the light snow around without any callous or mercy. The beauty of the full moon above me does nothing to kill the horrendous aura of the conditions. It does, however, provide some illumination in this dark place. I am ill-equipped to deal with these conditions under normal circumstances…donning merely a pair of black jeans, a long black t-shirt, my traditional black boots, and the black and silver mask that normally hides my scarred face…but I’ve always said adrenaline is the best kind of drug you can ever have, right?

“Failures, Seth…” Apocalypse’s voice bellows, interrupting my train of thought, “Don’t let them multiply.”

“I doubt that’ll happen,” I coolly reply.

A small scream soon overcomes the general area. I glance to my left, the source of the noise, and immediately begin to march toward the source. I let out a small shiver to succumb to the frigid conditions before a brief moment before the various thoughts of how to torment Nocturnal soon bring a smile colder than these mountains back on my face. I suddenly hear the sound of another tormented shriek that has a huge element of fear to it.

“Well…well…well.” Apocalypse crackles, “What do we have here?”

“Someone stupid enough to fall for one of the oldest tree trips in the world…that’s what,” I growl, allowing more menace to come through than normal.

It appears to be a younger female that is hanging upside down on a rope. Considering how skinny she is, I doubt she can flail around enough to make the heavy, sturdy branch on this healthy tree snap. She is dressed lightly…wearing a blue tank top, and a pair of blue jeans. I glance over to her left and see a heavy fur jacket, raccoon styled, on the snow covered ground. The poor girl has a very pale skin complexion with her brown hair just straggling down like a good Halloween monster. She clutches at her caught right ankle while letting out another shriek in pure terror. She gives me a glance and what skin color she had disappears from her face completely.

“Get away from me!” she shrieks once more as her eyes get bigger than saucers.

I glance at the thick rope that has her feet caught in the predicament she is in. I reach into my pocket and pull out the dreaded pocket knife and contemplate my next action. The strain is starting to make her face turn red as despite the cold, some drops of sweat begin to sprint down her face. The panic is fading slightly as her fatigue is taking over. A small smile creeps into my face as I tip my thumb on the sharp blade.

“Do you still know what to do, Seth?” Apocalypse asks that sadistic question.

“Damn right I do…” I reply with that sickening grin that could make the devil cry.

I take the knife toward the rope and I can overhear the joy on this young lady’s face just with the small, hysteric giggling. Soon, I pull the knife away from the rope and just shake my head at the girl. For a brief moment, the girl looks like Emily, Nocturnal’s sister, in my head, but I know that isn’t the case. I’m familiar with his sister and how dangerous she can be. Suddenly, a sadistic bell goes off in my head and the gears in my brain spin in such a way that they haven’t…in a long time.

“Oh Alexander…how you love the thrill of it all…” I mutter to myself, “Oh how you love…the natural orgasmic high of the brawl…”

I notice the lady’s eyes bug out again when I take the blade down toward her neck. She begins to flail about once more, pleading for her escape. For a moment, I take the knife away from her throat just to run it through my haggard neck just ever so slowly…without cutting myself. I then just slowly peel off the mask and rub my bloody thumb under my right eye to leave a stream of blood from the wound I pricked open slightly with that knife.

“You…sick bastard…” the girl mutters out.

“You like thrills too, kid? You had to because you wandered out here on your own…” I snicker before turning dead serious, “Just…what kind of thrill…is it the thrill of being a common street walker while you let every guy take a turn with you? Do you enjoy that type of thrill where you might go into cardiac arrest!?”

I can tell she really doesn’t like that idea for fun. I know Nocturnal gets off on this type of idea…and in the same horrific way…I find this to be an enjoyable experience. The panic that overtakes her face just provokes a sinister laughter from Apocalypse. I drop the mask down in the snow and shake my head.

“Don’t worry ‘Emily’…Nocy doesn’t have to worry about me hiding behind anything. I want him to see the scarred flesh that terminates him from existence…” I snicker.

The lass is completely paranoid at this point at what the end result can possibly be. I let out a small nod to her…masking the inner joy I am getting from this with the traditional workman’s glare that has become associated with me over the years. I then just brush the knife over my knackered forehead to find an area that isn’t scarred at all. Apocalypse lets out one more laugh as the bones in my body become cold from his enjoyment.

“I have an oath…to take before you…Emily.” I snarl, before taking the blade to my forehead, “You see…back in some of the ancient times…if a man really wanted to commit to hurting someone…they would give themselves a reminder of sorts.”

“What the hell are you getting at!?” the young woman questions, the fear in her voice obvious.

“An oath…” I continue, not even acknowledging her question, “…that even has some risk for me. You see…the modern conveniences like calendars…or phones for reminders just will not cut it for me…and I need a witness of sorts…and no, the Lord will not cut it for a witness…and now…I shall make an oath to decimate Alexander Koresh…”

Soon enough, I take the blade and jam it deep enough into my own forehead that I feel the blade just touch my skull. The blood immediately streams out of the new wound as it gets into my eyes. The initial pain is sharp, but in this state of mind I am in right now…it just fuels me even further. Apocalypse’s satanic laughter overtakes my mind again as the blood sprints down on the snow below me. I finally remove the blade from my own skin, and it’s drenched in my own liquid life force.

“There’s the oath…a new scar over my forehead…to remind myself of the task in hand…” I crackle, “…and that is the destruction of Alexander Koresh.”

I turn toward the girl and she is completely horrified at the new crimson mask that has covered my weathered face. I take my free hand and smear some of the blood all over my arms like a Native American painting up for a territorial war. She is trembling upside down with her arms spread out like an upside down cross…similar to the visual of my mother’s grave. The sneer on my face from that thought is obvious before the blood really gets into my eyes and the sting that follows brings that small smile and a crackle of laughter back on my face.

“Remember the thrill young ‘Emily’…that Nocturnal says he gets? I hope you are in for a thrill of your own…are you ready?” I ask before I give off a smile that roaches should probably crawl out of.

I know damn well what this horrible action is going to do…but bad things never seem so bad when you actually commit the action. The sinister smile on my face widens as she backs her head off as I take the blood stained knife toward her neck as I’ve done so many times before. The blood drips slowly off my blade and onto her bare neck. I feel my palms get a little sweaty from the thrill of this action as the blood on my face soon drips down onto hers, but it doesn’t mask her fear…or my…enjoyment.

“You…shouldn’t do this!” the girl pleads.

“I shouldn’t…but I am. It’s part of the oath…” I reply with the familiar glare. “If Alexander wants to have this thrill…he best be willing to die in the same thrill…”

I then take my knife and reach back and deliver a fatal blow straight to her sternum. I hear the muscles in her body tear and the blood ooze out in my hand as she lets out a deathly scream in terror and pain. I hear Apocalypse cheer out some encouraging words in my head as I lengthen the wound I put in her chest even more with the knife until I can be able to stick my own hand in there. I rip off her frail little shirt and her entire front is now starting to be drenched in blood.

“We all suffer from cardiac arrest if the thrill gets too big…right?” I snicker aloud to myself.

I slowly reach my hand into the newly exposed hole and reach behind the feelings of her sternum and her ribcage and I begin to touch something that gives off a heavy, but fledging beat. I smile as I get a hold of this organ and begin to tug away, trying to rip it free. The wound in her chest has expanded even further as she has begun the dreaded process of dying. Soon, I channel in most of my strength in one last mighty pull and out comes her heart, the beat dying by the second.

“Happy belated Valentine’s day…looks like I broke your heart…” I sneer.

Nocturnal and I have too many similarities at times. We are a pair of monsters indeed. He wants to have a thrill for this fight. He better be damn careful what he wishes for because I’m certainly capable of a thrill in that ring for him that leaves his heart even more broken and battered than the one I have in my hand. I toss the heart down on the ground. Besides, I have to hurt him now. The throbbing on my forehead will never be able to cease until my thirst for Noc’s blood has been quenched. When it comes for the end of the Sadistic Bastard…it is time.