Post by Damian K' on Mar 18, 2017 0:47:01 GMT -5
The perpetual night terrors ate away at Damian’s psyche. They never took things in wholes. They came after chunks, taking cheap shots at any slip in Damian’s conscious. Usually, an erratic whisper brought on the torrent of misery in Damian’s life. Many nights, he awoke to see the familiar darkness of night, yet he would catch things lingering in them. Rubbing his eyes didn’t aid him in escaping their encroaching methods. Somehow, it made things worse. Each time he blinked, whatever demons crept around his abode came closer to him. He believed they sought vengeance for his abandonment of them. He savored the peace of normal life, not the wickedness that his earlier lifestyle incorporated. Damian wanted freedom; he deserved it after the years of pain and anguish he subjected himself to. He resolved to downing pills and alcohol to dull his senses enough. When they were numb enough, he could sleep well. The demons didn’t exist, if he acted like they weren’t there.
Some nights haunted him more than others. Instead of lingering on the outer perimeter, they made their way into his bed. They taunted him for being weak, for allowing himself to fall prey to a weaker person. His family wanted him to lead them to salvation. The people before him were nothing but lambs to the slaughter. Damian must feed them, strength himself off the violence of the common filth. He denied them access, telling them to leave his peaceful home. A congregation of dissent surrounded him, tearing down the wall that once protected him. He grew every day closer to simply falling back into the monstrous state of constant bloodshed and torture. He never wanted that life again; he didn’t want to end up like them…his family. He needed to get away. He needed to get away.
But as the sea of scornful words ripped their way into his brain matter, filling his thoughts with lustful visions of bloodshed, someone found him.
She found him.
Originally, a student, Tara Dola, that was all she was. But the way she presented herself and traversed with her demons drew Damian in. A fond adoration for who she was became a want to approach. When he approached, the primal tension between them grew, but not as quickly as their interest in one another. They danced around the idea of them being together, but they knew what they meant to one another. They were each other’s caretaker, a person that could help them see past the demons. Damian was not Tara’s light in the darkness; he was her guide. He reached for her trembling hands and helped her shine the light herself. Tara’s strength just needed a push to get her to combat her own, suffocating madness. With her silent tenderness, she managed to quell a lot of the vile facilities in Damian’s mind. She made him want to be a stronger man, someone who defeated his addictions and strayed away.
A love became a dedication, which resulted in consummation. Interweaving bodies gave way to an announcement that transfigured the world of Damian K’, or rather, the world of Cameron von Licht. As he sat idly by, pondering on his career, he didn’t notice the nuances of a mother-to-be. Tara’s appetite threatened to consume the world. She made friends with the toilet and her bed. A fever came and went, teasing Tara and confusing him. It took her telling him to enlighten the painfully oblivious man. It was only a simple conversation in his room.
“You’re going to be a father,” Tara said, pulling a drawstring. A party popper sounded, surprising Damian with a drizzle of confetti.
Many men would cry at the notion of parenthood, if for negative or positive reasons. For Damian, a laughter erupted from his system. Tara looked on with her stoic expression that he knew for the past year or so. To her, watching Damian laugh nigh maniacally was something new. Even during his stint as a dominant monster, he never laughed. He may have smirked, but that was about it. Hell, the smirk was the happiest emotion she saw out of him during those days. Now, she knew him as a reclusive man that didn’t smile out of a near inability to. Seeing him laugh did little to her, though. It was not shocking at all.
Damian’s a weird man, Tara knew this.
Her pregnancy must have been destiny rearing its beautiful head. As she announced that to Damian, he told her that he decided to sign with OCW. A resonance of excitement did come from her upon hearing the news. It had been a full year since Damian wrestled last. She rubbed on her still flat stomach, knowing that Damian would fight harder now. Fighting for a purpose has always been his strong suit. Now, there were two purposes pushing him forward. She looked at the laughing man and giggled gently. He was her favorite, but gosh, he’s a strange one.
The crackling of fire defeated the usual hum of a camera feed. The video opened to Damian staring into a fire, specifically at the unrefined logs of firewood. With a fire prod, he jabbed at the logs, rotating them to incite the flames. As they devoured away, the light brought out the green hues in his eyes. His pupils pierced through anything that they stared at, which soon became the camera itself. He broke this gaze to put the instrument back on its rack. He got up, taking steps towards a stool. It creaked and moaned as he sat down on it. A deep sigh escaped the refuges of his lungs before he opted to speak.
“I’ve decided to eliminate Bob Grenier first.”
“I think,” he paused, probably selecting the best way he wanted to say the rest of the statement, “I think I’m going to try to grind his face off on one of these tables. Or maybe I’ll skewer him on a broken piece. I’m not too sure yet, but I don’t think people would be upset if I did something like that, right? I think Bob needs a strict reminder that he’s no monster, no man among boys, or whatever God he idolizes,” he said.
“Sometimes, a painful experience can rally an old dog to learn something new. Even the decaying mutt would learn to run again if you gave a good reason too,” Damian explained, before cracking a knuckle absently.
“After I do that, I’m not sure who I’m going after. I just know that I’m going to try to personally eliminate every person here. Because I don’t like my odds.”
“20-1.”
“It’s an insult in some regard, but I get it,” he sniffled, “I’m new.”
“Being new makes you a pariah in some manner. I make it worse for myself when I come on and talk about how everyone’s intruders in my new home. But that’s confidence and boy, I’m brimming with it,” he deadpanned, before tending to the flame again.
The fire reached forward, threatening to eat at his fingers. Damian didn’t flinch, deciding to warm his fingers near the flames. He did sweep his black coat from the reach of the fire. “Because those odds mean that no one will have faith in me either. I know that the people in the match, like PerZag and Nathan Dravers, associated me with some of the other newcomers. They just failed to answer my question.”
“I asked if you could survive me.”
“It was almost rhetorical.”
“A proper person never believes that their victory is ensured. In a standard match, one misstep can cause ligaments and bones to disintegrate. You could lose the ability to walk in a single match if the world just hates you that day. In a match, such as this? You don’t have control over what will happen. But I can tell you that I will bring my own strength and use it as well as possible to do what I need to do.”
“If I want to win, I need to make sure there are no survivors.”
“If that means I have lift all of you up,” he took up another log and tossed it in, “and chuck you all through the tables myself, then so be it.”
The flames ate away at the new log like a hound to a fresh piece of meat. Damian watched on with minimal interest, “That may be what it takes to win. But I know that I must beat people down. No person will just let themselves be tossed through. It’s why I asked my original question.”
“Surviving me is not just resisting my intention to throw you out into a table. It’s the ability to survive the strikes that I throw, the locks that I put you in, or the holds that will let me do what I must do. All of them hurt and I have made it my life’s work to make sure that they hurt worse than anything that you will experience. Because if I can make you hurt, I can make you want to go through that table.”
A beat.
“I can make you want to go through that table.”
He shifted around, grabbing onto the fire prod once more. He began to stir the flames around, listening to their crackling.
“Eight men enter,” he started, “to ensure my peace and quiet here, I have to end the nights of seven men. I have competed in single night tournaments. I have wandered in places and caused all kinds of havoc, but nothing like this. I have never stood before legends or twins. I have never faced masked men as erratic as the ones in this match. I have never wanted to put an old man down like I do, but it’s the nature of the beast.”
“If the odds are against me, then I ought to force them in my favor, right?”
“I should make people wish they had bet on me.”
As Damian closed the video file out, he found the time to release pent up tension. He knew that he wasn’t nervous. The Oh Shit match was his first plan to OCW success, but even then, it had flaws. What if he won, but lost to the champion? What if he got screwed over? What if he just lost? A novice would forgo these questions and act brave. For Damian, he knew that he was walking into unfamiliar waters. A lot rode on his success, but there was no way to gauge an estimation of it. Guessing was the bane of Damian’s existence. If he could find an answer, then he would feel a pit in his stomach over it.
The pit itself became larger than he normally knew. The new event of a child growing in his lover’s womb did add a new layer and weight to his career. No longer did he try to find his own purpose through wrestling, he used to it to support a family. He knew that championships brought bonuses. Audiences sought to see the top brass wrestle, or just appear in general. On a business aspect, he knew that the contract had an efficient possibility to it. If he held it, then he could play a multi-faceted role.
Champions and roster members alike would wait at his appearance. His choice of which champion he would pursue messed with the entire foundation of OCW. That would pool a sum towards his stock and his paycheck. He despised having to see things in dollar signs, but it was a necessary annoyance. All of this for the safety of his lover and their child. He sighed.
Was wrestling even fun anymore?
He eyed the other competitors in the match. Knowing that they would fight hard for their own cause brought both an annoyance and a respect out of the First Son.
That’s what made wrestling fun.
Damian felt okay with the potential role of OCW’s most wanted man.
