Haunting I: Mercy, Murder, Redemption
Oct 3, 2021 22:56:45 GMT -5
Marcus Welsh and petervaughn like this
Post by mattknox on Oct 3, 2021 22:56:45 GMT -5
The fingers around his neck were like iron vices. His own struggled to break the grip, one hand grasping at the apparition’s suddenly very real wrists while the other clubbed down on the elbow, trying to break the grip in any way he could. The air started to become precious as his tether to life became precarious.
“You lie..” the spectre whispered without moving its lips “You lie to you, to them, to everything. This redemptive narrative you’ve built. The monster becoming man.”
“You weren’t born to be a man. You weren’t even born. You were MADE”
His mouth went agape, trying desperately to suck in air as he felt the vision begin to darken in the corner of his eyes. The hand left the wrist, clawing at the face of the apparition. He tears away a chunk of flesh, revealing a dark plumage. The dead eyes seem to glimmer and tighten their grip.
“A perfect mix of illness and wrath, made and released to make the world suffer. A harbinger of death and despair. A sign of the end…”
“A RAVEN”
He felt himself begin to slip when suddenly the apparation exploded in a million black feathers, bursting and floating through the room. He rolled onto his stomach, coughing and trying to find his strength, drained from him with the air. His body felt as though it had been hit by a truck, he heard a distant voice and looked up to find it, struggling to focus.
He saw fire.
He saw the boy.
He saw the boy on fire.
He heard the scream.
“GET UP! WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!!” the scream was desperate, painful. It came again “父を起こして。起きる”
The words got him moving. He ran to the flame, taking it in his arms and yelling as it singed him. He ran out of the room, swearing he felt the feathers form small hands that grabbed onto limb, hair, clothing. Anything. As he passed through the doorway, back into the foyer, he fell to hiis knees and set the boy down. The flames were gone, he seemed unscathed and simply stared up at him.
“I told you. We can’t go in there. We have to get you out.”
“Wh--”
“Come on, you’re wasting time.”
The kid rose, eye level with the kneeling Matt Knox, who regarded him quietly before rising to dwarf the young boy that immediately snatched his hand and lead him through the proper doorway. “What are you even doing here?” his voice was present now, stronger. Maybe it was from being closer to wherever the god forsaken exit was.
“This is just where I am. Where you’ve been. Where I'll be. Now be quiet.” the youthful voice quipped back. Smart mouthed little guy, wasn’t he? Matthew remained silent though as they moved forward, slowly becoming more and more aware that his voice wasn’t the only one found in this macabre tomb.
The old bones of the house groaned and creaked in a furious way, the walls being slammed into by a hellish rainfall and howling, mournful wind. The very foundations seemed to sway more and more with each passing step. At one point, he caught himself from stumbling and pressed a hand to the wall.
The heartbeat remained.
Elevated, erratic.
Terrified.
It didn’t want them to leave.
“No them.” the soft voice answered his unspoken thought “Only one of us gets out. Mercy, Murder. That’s how it works here.” a pause “Sometimes they’re the same thing, you know?”
“Yeah, I do..” he muttered in return. It was the whole basis for his finishing move, hell. For his whole fighting style. Sometimes it was a mercy to be put down. Like he did to Sugar and countless others. Like he’d do to Spade the second he got out of here and that cage was lowered upon them at Masters of Macabre.
It was all about getting to the e--
CRACK
“What in th-”
“Go. GO” the boy urged, shoving his leg before grabbing his hand and leading Matthew on a furious dash forward. It was sudden, so lost in the storm of his own thoughts that the storm of his discontent was lost upon him. The wind and rain tore a chunk of wall free. The howling reached a deafening crescendo.
Until he heard it.
Ethereal, terrifying. The caw of a Raven and the scream of a dying man wishing for the pain to end, and eternity to mercifully embrace him. Instinctively shielding the kid he turned and saw it. Taller than him, lean. Covered in plumage with a gaping maw, lips replaced by the enamel of a beak. Teeth sharpened and glimmering sickly. Eyes whited out, hair slicked back into a plumage that fell down his back..
He knew him.
He’d always known him.
“It’s RIGHT THERE!!”
He turned to the sound of the boy’s voice, saw him pointing at the door desperately. The door flew off its hinges, the storm and a blinding light outside doing nothing to ease his uncertainty. The creature crept closer at a deliberate rate. The two backed toward the exit.
“What happens to you?!” Matthew called over the wind, eyes averting to the boy.
“You leave, Whoever stays lives with him!” he pointed at the monster free from fear. Or maybe, just full of acceptance.
The room slowed down, Matthew staring at that glimmer in the boy’s glasz eyes, moving to his raven black hair. Then to the approaching creature. Bigger, uglier than he remembered but as familiar as an old friend.
Live with him.
Mercy.
Murder.
“No.” he whispered, moving toward the door as the kid grabbed a hand to lead him. The house screamed in a great creak as the wind ripped ever harder. The floor seemed to sink beneath his feet, the walls getting farther and farther as the monster drew closer. The doorway’s light seemed to darken.
Time had run out.
He looked down at the hand desperately tugging him to safety. He knew. He knew better than he had ever known anything.
“Asahi,” he called. The boy’s eyes snapped to him.
His expression flattened, a new warmth and determination welling up in him.
“He’s not yours to live with.” Matthew said softly, suddenly snatching the boy his shirt and lifting him over his head. With a cry of effort, he threw him into the light which immediately faded as it received its offering, its mercy. The house screamed a laughter now as slowly, he turned to his fate.
The creature was upon him, eye to eye. A contorted, ruined version of his face staring into his own.
“He’s not yours.” he repeated before leaping at the creature.
The wind howled.
“You are what you’re consumed with, Chris. And me? I’m consumed with a venom, a vitriol that I hardly understand and you never could hope to.”
The camera comes on to find a dishevelled Matt Knox, seated in a stool. Bloodshot eyes and a three day beard, as if he’d just woken from a nightmare thought inescapable to the horrible realization that maybe it was all real.
Because, maybe it was?
“Your words are hollow, asinine, and worst of all? Boring. You’re BORING, Spade. Cookie cutter veteran number one hundred and fifty six thousand and one. Titles, Hall of fame nods. Nevermind that the hall is three people deep and the title has been defunct for the past decade. Nevermind that the hall is a virtual one and marked by a T-shirt and a certificate, since a bust was out of the owner’s budget…”
A small, mocking chuckle as he bows his head back.
“See, I dodged a greek bullet. This match, it’s nothing special to me now Chris. Best case scenario for this match? Was me kicking the shit out of you in a steel cage as a quick, easy, comfortable goodbye to a rollercoaster of a career. But now? Now I’m just going to go out there and have James Raven reviewing your contract and vomiting at whatever amount of guaranteed money the previous GM gave you.”
He stood quickly, violently. A hand shooting out to flip the stool end over end and out of the shot. He turns manically to the camera, voice raised to just below a shout.
“You’re such a fucking disappointment, Spade. So fucking…” he lets out a frustrated sigh. “I came to OCW at such an advantageous time. Field of competition even, everything fresh and revived. A fight with XWF to prove it’s not just some novelty revival. All these opportunities to pad my resume, pad my wikipedia page, pad my legacy...and the ‘fellow veteran’ they offer me is the biggest coy in someone’s pond.”
He runs both hands through his hair, body tensing and looking as if he’ll spring forth any moment, strike out at everything that frustrates him. Until his shoulders heave as a laugh rolls from his chest.
“No matter...no matter, the rest will come. The opportunity, the fight worth having..all of it. Do you know why, Chris? Because I'm going to have a future after this match. I’m going to walk out of that cage, eyes upon me wondering what comes next? And those same eyes, Spade? The very same in the crowd, and at home?”
He lowers his hands, gaze fixed on the camera. His eyes wild, feral, dripping with poison and hatred.
“Will be watching you get helped to the back, pitying the lonely broken hero who dared walk a path he did NOT belong on….You’re nothing, Spade. Nothing but a cheap attraction set up to up my value at the box office….I am Raze, I am Ruin, and LONG May I reign here, in Pro Wrestling Valor, and over this industry….so Chris, after all this...with all that anger i’ve roused in you, that fire you will deny I stared..I ask One. Last. Time…”
A smirk, the camera begins to slowly fade out.
“Can you stop me?”
“You lie..” the spectre whispered without moving its lips “You lie to you, to them, to everything. This redemptive narrative you’ve built. The monster becoming man.”
“You weren’t born to be a man. You weren’t even born. You were MADE”
His mouth went agape, trying desperately to suck in air as he felt the vision begin to darken in the corner of his eyes. The hand left the wrist, clawing at the face of the apparition. He tears away a chunk of flesh, revealing a dark plumage. The dead eyes seem to glimmer and tighten their grip.
“A perfect mix of illness and wrath, made and released to make the world suffer. A harbinger of death and despair. A sign of the end…”
“A RAVEN”
He felt himself begin to slip when suddenly the apparation exploded in a million black feathers, bursting and floating through the room. He rolled onto his stomach, coughing and trying to find his strength, drained from him with the air. His body felt as though it had been hit by a truck, he heard a distant voice and looked up to find it, struggling to focus.
He saw fire.
He saw the boy.
He saw the boy on fire.
He heard the scream.
“GET UP! WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!!” the scream was desperate, painful. It came again “父を起こして。起きる”
The words got him moving. He ran to the flame, taking it in his arms and yelling as it singed him. He ran out of the room, swearing he felt the feathers form small hands that grabbed onto limb, hair, clothing. Anything. As he passed through the doorway, back into the foyer, he fell to hiis knees and set the boy down. The flames were gone, he seemed unscathed and simply stared up at him.
“I told you. We can’t go in there. We have to get you out.”
“Wh--”
“Come on, you’re wasting time.”
The kid rose, eye level with the kneeling Matt Knox, who regarded him quietly before rising to dwarf the young boy that immediately snatched his hand and lead him through the proper doorway. “What are you even doing here?” his voice was present now, stronger. Maybe it was from being closer to wherever the god forsaken exit was.
“This is just where I am. Where you’ve been. Where I'll be. Now be quiet.” the youthful voice quipped back. Smart mouthed little guy, wasn’t he? Matthew remained silent though as they moved forward, slowly becoming more and more aware that his voice wasn’t the only one found in this macabre tomb.
The old bones of the house groaned and creaked in a furious way, the walls being slammed into by a hellish rainfall and howling, mournful wind. The very foundations seemed to sway more and more with each passing step. At one point, he caught himself from stumbling and pressed a hand to the wall.
The heartbeat remained.
Elevated, erratic.
Terrified.
It didn’t want them to leave.
“No them.” the soft voice answered his unspoken thought “Only one of us gets out. Mercy, Murder. That’s how it works here.” a pause “Sometimes they’re the same thing, you know?”
“Yeah, I do..” he muttered in return. It was the whole basis for his finishing move, hell. For his whole fighting style. Sometimes it was a mercy to be put down. Like he did to Sugar and countless others. Like he’d do to Spade the second he got out of here and that cage was lowered upon them at Masters of Macabre.
It was all about getting to the e--
CRACK
“What in th-”
“Go. GO” the boy urged, shoving his leg before grabbing his hand and leading Matthew on a furious dash forward. It was sudden, so lost in the storm of his own thoughts that the storm of his discontent was lost upon him. The wind and rain tore a chunk of wall free. The howling reached a deafening crescendo.
Until he heard it.
Ethereal, terrifying. The caw of a Raven and the scream of a dying man wishing for the pain to end, and eternity to mercifully embrace him. Instinctively shielding the kid he turned and saw it. Taller than him, lean. Covered in plumage with a gaping maw, lips replaced by the enamel of a beak. Teeth sharpened and glimmering sickly. Eyes whited out, hair slicked back into a plumage that fell down his back..
He knew him.
He’d always known him.
“It’s RIGHT THERE!!”
He turned to the sound of the boy’s voice, saw him pointing at the door desperately. The door flew off its hinges, the storm and a blinding light outside doing nothing to ease his uncertainty. The creature crept closer at a deliberate rate. The two backed toward the exit.
“What happens to you?!” Matthew called over the wind, eyes averting to the boy.
“You leave, Whoever stays lives with him!” he pointed at the monster free from fear. Or maybe, just full of acceptance.
The room slowed down, Matthew staring at that glimmer in the boy’s glasz eyes, moving to his raven black hair. Then to the approaching creature. Bigger, uglier than he remembered but as familiar as an old friend.
Live with him.
Mercy.
Murder.
“No.” he whispered, moving toward the door as the kid grabbed a hand to lead him. The house screamed in a great creak as the wind ripped ever harder. The floor seemed to sink beneath his feet, the walls getting farther and farther as the monster drew closer. The doorway’s light seemed to darken.
Time had run out.
He looked down at the hand desperately tugging him to safety. He knew. He knew better than he had ever known anything.
“Asahi,” he called. The boy’s eyes snapped to him.
His expression flattened, a new warmth and determination welling up in him.
“He’s not yours to live with.” Matthew said softly, suddenly snatching the boy his shirt and lifting him over his head. With a cry of effort, he threw him into the light which immediately faded as it received its offering, its mercy. The house screamed a laughter now as slowly, he turned to his fate.
The creature was upon him, eye to eye. A contorted, ruined version of his face staring into his own.
“He’s not yours.” he repeated before leaping at the creature.
The wind howled.
“You are what you’re consumed with, Chris. And me? I’m consumed with a venom, a vitriol that I hardly understand and you never could hope to.”
The camera comes on to find a dishevelled Matt Knox, seated in a stool. Bloodshot eyes and a three day beard, as if he’d just woken from a nightmare thought inescapable to the horrible realization that maybe it was all real.
Because, maybe it was?
“Your words are hollow, asinine, and worst of all? Boring. You’re BORING, Spade. Cookie cutter veteran number one hundred and fifty six thousand and one. Titles, Hall of fame nods. Nevermind that the hall is three people deep and the title has been defunct for the past decade. Nevermind that the hall is a virtual one and marked by a T-shirt and a certificate, since a bust was out of the owner’s budget…”
A small, mocking chuckle as he bows his head back.
“See, I dodged a greek bullet. This match, it’s nothing special to me now Chris. Best case scenario for this match? Was me kicking the shit out of you in a steel cage as a quick, easy, comfortable goodbye to a rollercoaster of a career. But now? Now I’m just going to go out there and have James Raven reviewing your contract and vomiting at whatever amount of guaranteed money the previous GM gave you.”
He stood quickly, violently. A hand shooting out to flip the stool end over end and out of the shot. He turns manically to the camera, voice raised to just below a shout.
“You’re such a fucking disappointment, Spade. So fucking…” he lets out a frustrated sigh. “I came to OCW at such an advantageous time. Field of competition even, everything fresh and revived. A fight with XWF to prove it’s not just some novelty revival. All these opportunities to pad my resume, pad my wikipedia page, pad my legacy...and the ‘fellow veteran’ they offer me is the biggest coy in someone’s pond.”
He runs both hands through his hair, body tensing and looking as if he’ll spring forth any moment, strike out at everything that frustrates him. Until his shoulders heave as a laugh rolls from his chest.
“No matter...no matter, the rest will come. The opportunity, the fight worth having..all of it. Do you know why, Chris? Because I'm going to have a future after this match. I’m going to walk out of that cage, eyes upon me wondering what comes next? And those same eyes, Spade? The very same in the crowd, and at home?”
He lowers his hands, gaze fixed on the camera. His eyes wild, feral, dripping with poison and hatred.
“Will be watching you get helped to the back, pitying the lonely broken hero who dared walk a path he did NOT belong on….You’re nothing, Spade. Nothing but a cheap attraction set up to up my value at the box office….I am Raze, I am Ruin, and LONG May I reign here, in Pro Wrestling Valor, and over this industry….so Chris, after all this...with all that anger i’ve roused in you, that fire you will deny I stared..I ask One. Last. Time…”
A smirk, the camera begins to slowly fade out.
“Can you stop me?”