Post by Leviathan on Oct 2, 2016 13:34:16 GMT -6
Part I: RE/Birth
The BLEEPS and BLOOPS of an extraterrestrial laboratory hummed a gentle cacophony amid a hollow chamber of dull silver lights. A coil of expensive cigar smoke emitted from flush, pale lips, offering Hacksaw Jim Thuggin his one and only creature comfort in a time of doubt and dismay. The smoke rolled in the air above the two Jalaxaritkatusan as one eyes shone layers of repressed emotion.
♪Do you act now out of fraught/Shall we wake the Arbiter or not?♪
The leather sofa avatar of a man shifted in the pallid silver chair, twirling the Cohiba in his spindly, whip like fingers before raising it back to his lips. Two puffs on the golden trimmed tobacco leaves sent his delicate mind into a relaxed state. “We've put a lot of faith in this experiment, Bosstin...what happens if faith betrays us, as it is prone to? It's like destiny slapping us in our collective face after all the progress we've made rerouting the Prophecy.”
Cold silence from Bosstin.
“You...you're right, Bosstin. Now is not the time for fear, now is the time to take chances. The Prophecy couldn't be complete without direction interventions from The Arbiter. Without him, the Harbinger is doomed, and our race alongside him. We need Wade Moor, our second favorite Earth Child.”
Hacksaw Jim Thuggin's spindly pointer fingers angles towards a stationary tank where Wade floats, connecting to baubles keeping his vitals in check and preserving his body. His eyes were snapped shut, moving frequently underneath his darkened lids as if he were in a constant dream-like state. His body was firm as if the machination were nursing his nutrition and muscle mass.
♪Time now to wake our Earth Son/Time now to unleash the Leviathan♪
With a firm nod of his bobbling head, Hacksaw ran his spidery hand over a glowing silver orb upon the control panel in front of him and stepped backwards from the tank.
A grouping of silver wisps passed by the limited consciousness it possessed, its hand metaphorically reaching out towards them. As it thought about coming into contact, they seemed to come towards it instead, filling it up as a hazy vision appeared before it's minds eye. Each one different than the last, shattered, distant memories.
Some made it feel melancholy.
Some made it feel anxious.
Some made it feel hopelessness.
Then they were all washed away, replaced instead with a controlled frenzy and anger, ready to unleash it on it's unwitting victims.
Oh how it couldn't wait, how it wanted out so badly. But it waited, patiently scrubbing every weakening part of it's psyche until nothing was left but to come.
And come it will, it's children, there will be no stopping it.
Then it happened.
A
L I G H T
A
R E / B I R T H
A screech of triumph and Godnilla had come again.
The lab equipment buzzed and whined as the tank came to life. The gentle hum had now become a deafening, jazz beat symphony as “21st Century Schizoid Man” played him out. Wade Moor's eyes burst open, a fire burning behind his coiling, sapphire eyes. His hands shot out to the glass, cracking it slightly as his mouth roared and bubbles escaped from the edges. He pulled his arm back once and punched the glass, completely shattering it and effectively freeing himself.
The liquid rushing from the broken container cleaned him out to the main chamber. Wade kept his balance, fell only to a knee and halted in between Hacksaw Jim Thuggin and Stone Cold Steve Bosstin. The two stood in silent awe, only able to watch as the hulking man lifted himself off the ground and stood as a monolith before them. Hacksaw moved his hand affectionately towards Wade, but Wade closed his massive grip around Hacksaw's arm and stopped him.
“Earth Child...Wade...it's me”, Hacksaw pleaded, “Your father...”
A vision flashed inside Wade's mind, causing him to release the grip on Hacksaw's forearm. It painted a scene of serenity, Wade and #BeachKrew aboard the WINO-bago with Hacksaw Jim Thuggin. Wade strummed his guitar while Andre and Jared snorted a rail off of Sandy Coconutz breast. Hacksaw rest his hand on Wade's shoulder and he felt happiness.
Bloody hand
a heavy chest
steel clattering to concrete
a reflection in the water
flash of bright light
D A R K
and it was over.
Wade sighed a breath of relief, clearing the last bit of fluid from his lungs. He hunched over to a knee and vomited what little bit was in his stomach. He wiped his mouth, shook it off, and lifted himself back to a standing position. He held out his hand...
“Anyone gotta joint?” he asked in his raspy, Floridian accent.
Hacksaw reached into the pocket of his pressed, fitted suit and brandished a silver cigarette tin. He opened it, put a joint in between Wade's lips, and lit it. Wade took a long puff from the spliff and exhaled the smoke into the air.
“Earth Child Wade...how do you feel?” Jimophy Thuggin asked.
“Alive”, he responded.
“What do you want to do, My Child?” Jim asked.
“Hurt someone. Fuck someone. Dap someone. You know, the usual shit.”
Hacksaw Jim Thuggin's fingers formed a temple near his chest, his plank like teeth shone as his lips curved up in a leering smile.
“I have the perfect offerings for you, My Earth Child. UCI's Guardians, the meta nerd millenials, they um, how do you say”, Jim paused for a moment, “Those niggas went full plebeian.”
Wade held his powerful arm out to his side in acknowledgment of Thuggin's words. Bosstin just sat still as a slug, it was his only defense. Wade tilted his head to each side, a series of KA-THUNKS making their way down his neck bone as his cartilage popped and snapped into place. He brushed his long, wet, matted hair behind his head and looked forward, his sapphire eyes piercing your very broken soul.
“You don't have to even tell me that, Thuggin. That is the frivolous cycle of rotten, mid carding life The Guardians are cursed to repeat for the rest of their miserable lives. Their failures are failures and their successes are failures. Just ask Alex Richards World Championship reign. The most bleak and unfortunate period in United Championship Infinite's short, pathetic life. And that's saying something since we had the traitorous Scarecrow and that vanilla midget Black as their previous champions. I would almost feel bad for the half-wit if he wasn't so self aware of how god damn simple he actually is...and how indulging his snarky, crony punks Bonnie Blue and Polar Phantasm are.
“They just don't understand that real ass OG nihilism #fuccboigenocide shit that real mother fuckers like me and those real mother fuckers who came before me have been preaching since day one. Uhh, magic doesn't exist you fucking nerd bombers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the truth.
“I am a God made in my own image, my own children. You hear my voice and you know I sound like this and it makes your insides shift, a gift given to me by my own birthright. The Sea parts , the blood rains and the flood comes next. Men have died to make me who I am, the talent I have I've paid for in blood...”
Wade's vision drops down to his hands, recalling the many he's left beaten or dead in the ring.
“You want to know why the powers that be have made this match, slutwhore Bonnie? You, Polar, you piece of shit? Did they really believe this to be some dream match? Oh no, no, no little guardians...You see, the truth...”
Wade shakes his head to accentuate.
“I am the powers that be.”
Wade holds his arms out to his sides.
“No one meets death until they meet me. I can tell you things you'll die never having known and take you places you never wanted to go. You're probably asking yourself why I'm back, what reason do I have to come back to end The Guardian's pathetic existence?”
Wade laughs from the darkest depths of the Sea.
“Because Hell was way too fucking hot and this life is the only one fit for me.
“Bonnie Blue, you suffering dripping poon, I've let you go on for far too long now. I've let you go on believing that you are somehow above your station in life. I've let you go for far too long believing that you're somehow worthy of any victory over me, no matter how big or small it was. I've let you go on believing that you're anything more than my bottom bunk bitch poon, Bonnie.
“You tout these victories over me like lifeblood, drink up, drink up, Baby Bonnie...but in doing so, you recognize that the value of my name still holds more in defeat than yours ever could in victory. If you were a bitch worthy, you would have taken those moments and actually have done something, I don't know fucking know, meaningful with it? Instead, you used them to spearhead the most flopped Tag Team Championship reign in professional wrestling history. Two title defenses in two months? I defended my World Heavyweight Championship just walking to the building before the show even started more than you ever THOUGHT about defending those belts.
“The most prolific thing you've done in your career is get wet for David Sanchez before the fucking beaner went and got himself deported on account of his lack of STAM-EN-NUH and generally being shit. That's why you never make your bed with someone who just cant cut it in this business or life in general. They'll always leave you displeased and disappointed. David couldn't take care of the poon like a real man, anyways Bonnie. You need someone built for that job, Bonnie, AYE KAY AYE your man Godnilla. The man who made you who you are today, and the man who's going to take it all away from you.
“I want you to do something Bonnie, before I end it all. Your hopes, your dreams, your fantasies, your delusions of grandeur. I want you to get down on your knees and fucking thank me like a good fucking bottom bunk bitch before I snap your neck on live television for everyone to see. I want you to give praise and thanks to Godnilla for everything I've ever handed to you before I rip it all away. It's what I deserve Bonnie, and there is no limit to what I think I deserve.
“I'm back home, time to give me back my belts and my throne. You guys are as soft as baby shit, perpetuating this hard exterior while being under succeeding mediocre pussies beneath it all. Where I'm from, well bitch you know I'm from murder town. Stab em up and gun em down, it's what we do. When they fall...well, we keep shooting to make sure they're dead.
“So Guardian's, whenever I physically rip you to shreds in the ring and stand above your once multi universal corpses, will that make me the heir apparent to those tag team championship belts? That's how that number one contendership works, correct? There's no doubt in my mind that I will leave the two of you bloody and beaten in the ring, so whoever is holding on to that leather and gold better be watching life in the rearview because I'll be coming for them. I'll be coming for the entire fucking roster and everything they hold dear. That's who I am, who I've always been.
“Not something I can say about the 'intrepid hero' Polar Phantasm, the softest motherfucker in the entirety of UCI. For real, you make Professor Coach look like an A plus player with how lackluster your career has been. You come in, create a major stable with some star power attached, and absolutely leach off the success of anyone associated with you instead of doing something credible and/or worthwhile for yourself.
“Is...that...how can you live like that Polar? You don't have a mean bone in your body, at least I think you don't, though I do intend to find out as I snap each one of them individually. The men I've faced, the real men who came at me with teeth as razor sharp as mine, they knew what it took to take me down, or at least try, and it starts before you even get in the ring. You're probably listening to me thinking 'damn why is this jerk being so mean to me lol I just wont to be friends with everyone'. When I listen to you I say 'damn when is this fuccin nerd going to shut up'.
“You don't inspire fear. When I think of facing you, I think of cleaning out a cats litter box. Its fucking gross but at the end of the day it's just shit. Shit in the garbage pail. Summing up the entirety of your wrestling career so far. It's troubling me to recall any notable achievements you have because I just can't seem to grasp one. Nothing memorable comes to mind other than your shit stained belly flop of a career and just how much better your contemporaries are than you...and when your contemporaries are a bunch of metaverse, snot nosed children like yourself, well then that's not saying very much.
“So what are you going to do when the only guy you've had some taste of victory over in the last few months comes stampeding back to take what's his? Well, it's going to take that polished turd and wash away everything that gave it some semblance of splendor. It's not going to go down easy Polar...I've been there, and believe me when I say, that death is slow and excruciatingly painful.
“And they'll want to rip me from my home, drag me out to the streets and crucify me for everyone to see. I'll just come back, again and again. Death I can handle, but it might just put you down for the count. Then you'll finally live up to your namesake. A phantasm in the record books of the United Championship Infinite. Someone somebody thought they saw, if only for a moment...
“But then it disappears. Poof. Without a trace. Enjoy your final few days of mediocrity before I finally end your wretched, deplorable, blight, stain of being Polar Phantasm. The greatest that never was.”
Wade exhales again, breathing the hate, the anger, the rage deep into his lungs and his very being. He runs his reformed hands up his now cut torso, enjoying his new rank in the pecking order. He turned towards Hacksaw Jim Thuggin to speak.
“So...who's my partner going to be? Rabid? Kemp?” Wade furrowed his brow quizzically, “Jared, even?”
Hacksaw Jim Thuggin merely smiled in response.
Part II: A Conversation With GAWD
Wade traversed the dirt road towards a gated house in the distance. Around him everywhere, marijuana plants rose from the ground to meet their sky mother, the one who brought their most glorious of sustenance as busy worker bees harvested their fruit for the world to enjoy. All of them stopped as Wade crossed their vision, looking up from their work to worship the ground he walked upon. Their lips quivered and they fell towards the ground, but Wade ignored their plebeian lives.
He came to the wrought iron gate, closed tight after various attacks on the complex forced the proprietor to take extra security precautions. Ever since “1he wav3”, everybody left on planet Earth was trying to take what wasn't theirs, taking advantage of a crumbling society for their own nefarious means. Kind of like a Bonnie Blue, Polar Phantasm, and Alex Richards taking those belts like they owned them. Capitalizing on confusion was the name of their game, but Wade only dealt in realities.
...and the reality they were living in was that they were unequivocally fucked. THE Godnilla had returned, and it was on this bleak October morning that Godnilla had requested a council of the God's. Most men believed the man he sought out to be dead, but Wade knew that the man, the myth, the legend himself couldn't die.
Ever since that night, Revenge, where Scarecrow went toppling over the railing and plummeted to his deserved death below, a special connection had formed between the two. Possibly, even before that moment they were connected. Their paths were always meant to cross, and it was here on this luxurious pot farm in Denver, Colorado where the two would finally meet face to face.
Two God's playing a game with the lives of mortals, and their was much fun to be had yet.
A camera drone sprang from a box on the gate and scanned Wade's face.
ACCESS GRANTED...
The drone hummed as the gate shifted to life. Dust sprang from it's hinges as it lifted itself out of the concrete beneath and swung open in a welcoming embrace. Wade walked through the gate and towards the golden trimmed mini mansion behind it. His boots clip-clapped on the golden paved roads as he walked up the lavish steps and came to the front door where a very SHAPELY creature greeted him.
“Wade Moor”, Buddy Roman hissed, “Bobby has been absolutely DYING to meet you.”
Wade laughed.
“I hope the wait hasn't been KILLING him”, Wade responded, to which Buddy responded with a whimsical chuckle of his own.
Buddy Roman lead him through the front door and down a series of winding hallways before guiding him through a oaken door.
“The Council of Gods awaits, young Moor”, Buddy said as he ushered him in, “Eat, drink, be merry, my son.”
Wade walked through the door into an opulent war room decorated with a lush Norse-wood table, various championship belts ingrained into the edges of the table surrounding a rich carving of the Team Thickness Coat of Arms. Wade's eyes traveled the length of the table before resting at the end, where the man himself, Bobby Cairo sat draped in his Fenrir coat, awaiting Wade's arrival. Odin Balfore sat to his right, a pint of Poonglorious Whiskey gripped firm in his hand. He took a sip before turning to look at Wade, who stood firm at the opposite end of the table.
“Wade Moor...uhh, what an honor it is to meet you, or some such shit”, Bobby Cairo gestured grandly, “I thought you were fitten' to flake our for a right said minute there.”
Wade smiled up the side of his cheek.
“It's not in my mantra, Cairo”, Wade responded.
Cairo smiled back and the game was on. Cairo gestured for Wade to sit. Wade pulled a chair out and slunk back in it, kicking his dirty boots up on to the nice table.
“I see your lapdog is here, Cairo”, Wade said while pointing at Odin, “Where's your toady footstool? That little Cajun faggot?”
“Have you checked up your ass?” Odin replied.
“Odin, let's chill”, Cairo said while smiling towards Odin, “Our guest was just asking a question, right? I assume you mean Kazward? My largest and most personal failure? He's off enjoying the rich tidings of fatherhood. The late nights with no poon to smash, no coke to snort. The ups the downs. It's a fucking shame, really.”
“Glad to hear it”, Wade responded in quick, “I'm sure you know exactly why I'm here. The Bloodline...”
Cairo held his hand out before lighting a massive blunt tucked underneath his Thick.
“Of course, of course”, Cairo interjected, “I'll be your tag team partner, Wade. You don't have to beg.”
“I wasn't asking you to the dance, Bobby. You know what's at stake here.”
“Calm down, everything isn't so serious Mr. Moor.”
Wade shoved his chair backwards, scraping the hell out of the hardwood floor beneath it.
“If you know your part in this, then I don't see any reason to be here. You stand by my side, we destroy The Guardian's, and we move on. It doesn't have to be any more than that.”
Cairo chuckled as he took a hit from his blunt.
“But don't you see? It's already so MUCH more than that, my man. This Blood runs deep kuh, and we gon' find out just how deep nigga. Just how deep it goes, indeed. I'm having a party later. Why don't you stay and enjoy the festivities. Get properly shit faced and all. I know you've been cooking in that tube for far too long now.”
Wade scoffed before turning to walk out the door.
“Sorry, I don't party with wannabe wigger motherfuckers. It's not my style.”
“He prefers partying with the mega repressed, self loathing homosexual types, Bobby”, Odin chimed in.
“Pity, really”, Bobby said, “I thought he had what it took to party real Thick-ni style. Guess we'll have to see if his in ring skills proceed him.”
Wade was about to walk through the door, but something compelled him to say one last thing.
“In another life, Bobby...you showed me the ropes”, Wade said, “But if you fuck this, I won't hesitate to choke you to death with them? Are we clear.”
Bobby took one last fat puff off his blunt, nearly killing it down to the roach.
“Crystal, bitch”, Cairo replied.
Wade walked out of the door, shutting it closed behind him as he went.