Killing more then the Floor
Oct 22, 2017 20:34:40 GMT -6
SHADOWLOVE, Bonnie Blue, and 3 more like this
Post by Corey Bull on Oct 22, 2017 20:34:40 GMT -6
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Fact or Fiction?
Someone was calling our name.
Our eyes opened and we were in darkness. Something heavy lay across our chest and legs and we could smell old cinders. The smell of wood long since burnt.
"Corey Bull.....Corey Bull....."
"It was a girl's voice. Thin....distressed...and muffled by the walls of our current prison. Or, more appropriately, our home. We are under the stairs that our father use to place us in so many times as a child. If we were ever really a child. Knowing what you are but being limited by the confines of your chosen body.....it really does irk at us. The price one must pay for being a Fallen though.
"Corey Bull.....Corey Bull..."
Our body felt like lead, as though we had been here for a very long time. Our body was not use to this small area, so it took awhile to get the normal functions to work. All the while we listened. We knew that the woman was just inside the front door. We could tell from the echo. We know this house as well as the scars that cover our body. But why was she in the old house? Why were we in the old house? After the fire, we left it. Why were we here?
"Corey Bull.....Corey Bull..."
The woman's voice was almost melodic. If that excuse of a father was still alive...he would be pissed off. We could here him in this home....the door upstairs creaking open, his heavy boots stomping down the stairs. We could hear him telling the dumb little bitch to get the fuck off his property.
But he is dead and no longer an issue.
Instead we heard a metallic clatter and the shuffle of feet and another woman's voice this time.
"Debbie that was great, I think we have all we need. Thanks again Mrs. Rogers, I'll send you an email and let you know when the episode is going to air. Happy Halloween."
Halloween. Of course. The house is suppose to be haunted. WE are not suppose to be alive. That is what everyone believes anyways. When they see us on TV, it is just a "man" taking the likeness of the urban myth. If only they knew the truth, how many of the flock would run for the hills. But how do you tell the world that devils and angels exist? And how do you tell them that they believe in the wrong side?
"Okay Rob, lets go outside and get some establishing shots before it gets too dark"
So, it was near dark...interesting. We could feel that old rush....the urge that we never truly got rid off. A way to make them fear the legend even more. A moment to have some fun...to be that old being we once were.
But we had to get this body moving and that was proving to be difficult. Was this a dream? Or a memory perhaps? Hard to say, we are going to have to ask Abagail when we talk again. She will be able to determine which or what this could be.
We lifted the beam that was across our chest up and off. It made a racket that sounded very loud to us, so we froze and listened. Footsteps and a muffled mans voice.
"What the hell?"
We could here him walking just outside this space. Wearing a pair of those "I'm better then you" shoes. A rapping sound...tap tap tap....and then the shuffling of feet....tap tap tap. This son of a bitch was checking for a hollow spot. We sat up and rolled the other beam off of our legs. Our clothes crumpled, ripping and tearing away as if they had sat in this space for decades.
The tapping sound had stopped. We hear the click from the recessed catch and the man's voice whispered in awe.
The tapping sound had stopped. We hear the click from the recessed catch and the man's voice whispered in awe.
"Oh...no fucking way!"
The hidden door started to part then stopped. Years of damage and the fire had warped the wood and changed the landscape of the little room. Light spilling in gave us the full view of what was in here. The walls painted a sunset orange color. Stick figures, with little bodies and big fat heads with fangs where drawn all over the wall. Our food bowl...more like a dog dish then anything...lay in front of the door, our name still etched into the side of it. The old coat rack still stood in the corner, cast iron and bolted to the floor. Some things never changed.
Suddenly the light was dampened by the shadow of the man. Half in the room, he didn't even seem to see us. Instead he turned his eyes to the floor and the bowl with our name on it. His face lit up like a Christmas tree.
"No way!"
He batted away the cobwebs and reached down for the bowl, lifting it gingerly at first till he could tell it wasn't going to fall apart. He turned it slowly in front of his face, looking at it with awe and reverence in his eyes.
"They are never gonna believe this."
A grin a mile wide had appeared on his face and he turned and looked over his shoulder.
"Hey April! Come here! Your never gonna believe what I've...."
We reached out and wrapped one hand around his wrist and the other around his throat. The urge was there....it was hot and it was furious. Intruders it scream! Violators it cried! Punish...we must. And oh did we enjoy it.
We stood up with him and lifted him into the air. His feet drummed against our body, but it was like a gnat fighting a hunk of granite. He was scrawnier then we thought he was originally. Just a waif of a man....if man was something you could call him. We pulled him to eye level and the horror in his eyes was beautiful. But then some strange, mewling sound crawled up through his constricted throat and our anger rose like a volcano. He was a disgusting creature. He was the reason we had been made. This was our job before. And now...this is our pleasure.
He lifted him and slammed him into the corner, our hand never leaving his throat. The coat rack held and we let go to watch him kick and dangle...the light in his eyes dimming...the blood trickling to the floor, adding color where color had been void for so long. But he wouldn't stop moving, so he slammed our hand against the side of his head. The sound of cracking bone was heard and we knew that the rest of the coat racks point had pierced his brain. He jiggled a little longer, but no longer did his heart beat. We know....we could hear it stop.
A faint voice shouted out from beyond the door. Oh yeah...the woman. We turned for the door, then stopped. Looking down, we remembered the shackle father use to keep us in the room. The chain had rusted long ago and it took little effort to snap it free. We peeked our head out, the mask no longer uncomfortable as it had been all the times father placed it upon us. Now it was a second skin and we felt as if we could not live without it. The two people on the porch seemed busy, so we slid across the hallway into the kitchen.
We remember the mornings when mom wasn't drunk and the food was terrific. Fresh pancakes, the smell of sizzling bacon and sausage. Mornings like that were so rare, like a unicorn.As the smells drifted through our mind, our eyes settled on the clever. It looked as sharp and menacing as the first day we had lifted it. A small tug removed it from the old chop block.
"Rob?"
Sounds from the doorway. The knock of shoes on wood, the creaking boards under their feet. So, they had decided to stay. That's wonderful, we needed more decorations. With the skill of a cat, we slid to the wall and listened. The sounds got closer...their feet were losing confidence.
"Rob you okay man?"
As he slipped around the corner, looking in the kitchen, the clever caught him across the neck. We forgot our own strength, we nearly severed his head from his spine. But, that would make it easier. Shame. The man dropped like a sack of potatoes and shook like a vibrator in a nymphos hands. The woman screamed, but we stuffed a hand around her throat to cut her shouts short. But dammit...we are still a man.
And that swift kick gave her enough time to run. Out the door she fled and after we caught our breath...we pursued. Down the driveway...we don't remember this being paved....and to her door, which she frantically locked and then fumbled the keys. Shoving a fist through the window, we clamped our calloused hand around her skull and drug her back into the house.
We finished our work before the sun set. Thankfully, mother had left candles behind. Amazing that they didn't succumb to the fire. After lighting all three with a wooden match, we replaced the skull caps and enjoyed the smell of sizzling fat. The three skulls would make lovely decorations for the festive holiday. Too bad we have don't any candy for the kids.....but we are sure we can find something gooey around here.
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**The camera comes on to a hand reaching into a pumpkin with a lit candle. The hand is large, making the big candle seem comically small. And when it lights up the pumpkin, an almost perfectly carved image of Bonnie Blue is seen. Zooming back, we see that each person is carved into a pumpkin, except one. Corey Bull. For in the center of this darkened area, only lit by the light of the pumpkins, stands the monster himself**
"Carving a pumpkin is an art form. It takes time, patience, and understanding of the pumpkin to bring forth the image that lies within it. And it takes flair. You can just take out a knife and carve it all plain and call it good....but that takes away from the time and effort."
"Its the same for us in that ring."
"Each and every opponent must be carefully analyze...matches researched...family and medical history...the whole nine yards. You have to understand what they are capable of....what they have been through...and how to best manipulate that information into a winning attack. Not just a single attack...though for some that just happens to be the best way...but an attack on all fronts. Physical...psychological....emotional. A war on all fronts. That OCD like style is what has made it so that we could hold sixteen world titles over our head in victory. That has made it so we could hold hardcore titles, intercontinental, united states, tag team....hell the list is long and we forget at times. But the point remains the same....being prepared to bring the fight in as many ways as possible is the surest way to achieve victory."
**Bull steps in front of the pumpkin with Preecha Kamon's image on it**
"Well played Preecha...well played. You didn't pin us...but you did remove us as an obstacle so that you had enough time to get the pin over Shadowlove. We can respect that. But that is as far as that will go and having respect for you will not save you from us. No...we expect you have other things on your list. Other individuals that you intend to target. That's fine by us....having a singular target in a field of chaos can be a detriment to your well being. We know your weakness Preecha.....we will exploit it....and you can be sure you will not enjoy it."
**Bull moves past the pumpkin to the next in line with an exact likeness of Oblivions mask. The metal death mask grins**
"Oblivion....Lister....whoever you are...your no monster. Purple serums aside....your simply a man with a personality disorder. One side thinks it is evil...the other side is just the normal man. And for some reason....some people think we are like you. We are nothing like you. We have lived this life longer then you have been crazy. We are many....but we are also one. A trip through our mind would make a man of your instability insane."
**Bull chuckles at the irony of the saying**
"You are a dangerous competitor....its an undeniable fact. But....we are a force to be reckoned with. You might be a monster....be we are the thing that gives the boogeyman nightmares. Monsters.....they check under their beds for the Hatebringer. We have been a force for many years....in many ways...on more fronts then you could possibly imagine. We look forward to this chaos....is is after all just a part of the art we shall create."
**Bull walks past the pumpkin stand next to a a perfect bust of the bust and face of Celeste Mallory**
"The Pretty Little Devil. A former UCI champion now standing in the ring with a chance to once again gain the glory she had. Except.....the chance is going to fall short of your grasp. Hasn't anyone ever told you....there are no devils Celeste? When an angel falls...they can finally make decisions for themselves. They can think...learn...and love. They can do as they wish with their lives. But the other angels.....the God Machine itself....they come after the angels like demons."
**Bull tilts his head...the mask seeming to be become angry before Bull shakes his head**
"But that is another conversation for another time. No...lets talk about the Lost Boy loving part timer. Harsh....absolutely. But it is the reality. You only show up from time to time Celeste. Now...when you do...you are a force. But....your only a force when it suits you. We are a force in every aspect of our life. In the ring...outside the ring...in the parking lot....getting a slushie at the 7-11. It doesn't matter where we are....we are full throttle twenty four seven. And that is a factor that is going to make it difficult for you to win. We watched the tape....not just in the ring. You turn up the throttle in the ring...you have style...you have skill....but that skill you are going to need to get the victory here is only a temp thing. It's like...when Bane would juice himself in the comics for a temp boost to his power. Your full throttle isn't only going to last as long as we want it to."
**Bull walks away from the bust to the carving of Alex Richards.**
"The King of Mass Confusion. From the looks of the world these days....Alex is doing his job. Personally....one of my favorite competitors in this match. The man has been around the block and back and has a zero fucks given attitude. And then there is that little black bag. The man carries a small arsenal in it. He has been a world champion and he holds the tag titles with the Mistress of Time. He has a verified mean streak that has made him successful."
**The silver death mask grins**
"Now Alex...you might have a mean streak....but we ARE a mean streak. And we are looking forward to clashing with you. We are also looking forward to making sure you do not win this match. We really can't deny the legacy you have built here. We can't act like you don't have talent or skills. That would make us a moron. But...all that aside....you have to deal with something more devious then your average monster. We are not some man who thinks his size is his advantage. We are monster....and our mind is our most lethal weapon. The rest...fist, kicks, and so on...those are just accessories."
**Bull walks away and stands by the pumpkin with Andre Holmes carved into it....and #KillingFloor next to his image**
"The Relentless One. Andre Holmes. A man who has won this match. A man that has waded through the muck and come out smelling like a rose. That says a lot about the man that we have to deal with. It tells us just how far you are willing to go to win. It tells us....that you have a deep well to take from. That you truly are....relentless."
**Bull nods and a grin slides across the death mask**
"We too have a deep well to draw from. We do not understand...taking it easy. We understand full throttle force. We live for the moments that others shy away from. To stand face to face with Andre Holmes....now that would be one of those moments. A moment we plan to take full advantage of."
**Bull walks away and runs a hand across the pumpkin that holds the bust of Bonnie Blue**
"The Mistress of Time....a witch some say....the one that can jump the stream to see the past. Can you see the future Bonnie? We doubt it or recent events would have been....obvious. Like Andre. Or like your loss to us. Or how things would go the minute you left the #beachkrew. Little things that created avalanches of problems. We want you to do something for us Bonnie....we want you to start jumping back to significant events in time....go as far as you can....and tell us...how many times you see Corey Bull. We have to admit...even we don't know how far you would have to go. We just know that we fell....after that....its a bit fuzzy. Maybe we were the snake in the garden. Maybe we held the cross itself. Or maybe the spear. Either way.....we were there."
**Bull slowly nods**
"And you know what it is like to stand at a moment....to be the instrumental piece to a history altering event. That is what is about to happen. That is what is your future...another piece to the puzzle....another component to our masterpiece. And a vital one. We want to place the head of the time mistress on a spear in our masterpiece...to make you a center point to the massacre. Why you ask? Because you remind us of the ones we have spent our life escaping. The angels. Though...mans idea of them is flawed. Your ability to jump through time like a dog through hoops is unnerving and dangerous. Someone has to put a stop to it. We will not make such a claim....we have seen what happens to the proud when they go after the throne. Too many have wanted to do that very thing and failed. No....we will be a instrument in your destruction....just how far we go will be dictated by how bloody you are."
**Bull walks away to the Kevin Bishop pumpkin**
"Out of everyone in this....you are the one that is most like us....and most unlike us. You have a very similar thought process...but sometimes your own ego gets in your way. The Brotherhood was a good idea muddied with ifs and maybes. Your run at the top has been relentless and prosperous. But other parts of the life have seemed to....dwindle. Where is the Brotherhood? We hear things...but we don't see them. Where is the power vacuum you wanted to create? Gone...like dust in the wind. You truly are a plague Bishop....but it seems that you only can plague yourself."
**Bull crosses his arms and the mask seems thoughtful**
"Now any other time, we would look to align with a man like you. Not because we want to follow....no, we are not a good follower. In fact...we are terrible at being a follower. But we also don't like to lead either. Leaders have bulls-eyes on their back and have to take responsibility for the lowest of followers actions. We prefer to stand at the head of the table with equals. Side by side...individuals of a like mind can be more successful then a band of followers and a leader. You might want to take note of that Kevin. Because it could be your future. Assuming...of course...that we allow you to have one beyond this match. Because in the face of the respect.....we didn't come here to hold hands and swap stories of destruction in the shower."
**Bulls eyes seem to shift...becoming reddish balls of something.....unnatural**
"No...we came here to just cause as much damage and hell as we can muster up. And you bet your cheap sunglasses we know how to cause a lot of hell. Shit...if hell was a person, we would be what you would seek. And at after Killing Floor is over Kevin.....we expect you to come calling. After you witness us first hand.....there will be no question that a team will be forming in the future."
**Bull walks to the final pumpkin**
"Zombie McMorris. ZMAC. It's hard to decide where we stand. Are we a ZMAC fan.....or are you just a ramped up version of every strippers ignorant father. Either way....we know who you are. After all...an immortal knows another immortal. Sure....we can hear you now....your no immortal boi...fuck off. But you see....we are what we are. We are a force that has been relentless since the day we fell. We have been generals....warriors.....tyrants and murderers. We have walked the gambit and enjoyed the ride. And now....we are on a collision course with a certified accident on legs. Because that is what this will be. A car wreck....two trains on the track heading straight for each other. You can think us below you....you can consider us a low end combatant all you want. We like it that way.....it tells us that you don't truly understand the storm that is rolling in. But it also means you have no fear. And we enjoy that even more. Because fear......fear taints the kill. Some enjoy it...it enlightens within them a feeling of ecstasy. We don't. We don't want an easy kill....we want to hunt that which can hunt us back. And with no fear....you will go out of your way to be as dangerous and violent as possible."
**Bulls mask takes on a very sinister grin. Metal is not suppose to move....but the silver death mask defies logic**
"And that ZMAC.....that is the ecstasy we look for. We want to break bones....shed blood...tear ligaments and rip muscle from bone! We want to feel our opponents bodies being destroyed! It.....is our masterpiece. Their screams a chorus....their destruction a painting and the canvas is the ring....the floor...the cage....hell anything we can break them against. And you are in the masterpiece ZMAC.....no matter how immortal either one of us is."
**Bull walks to the center, all the candles lit within the pumpkins.**
"Most people would smash the pumpkins to make a point. Seems redundant after all the work we put in to carve them to your likenesses. No...we are going to leave them here. Killing Floor is just around the corner....and we want everyone to watch the lights in each pumpkin go out as we do the same to you all in the ring. And when the smoke clears and the arena is a bloodbath....only one monster will stand at the head of the table and he will be the one NAILING PEOPLE WITH HATE! And your new UCI.....World.....Heavyweight....Champion!"
**Bull and the pumpkins fade to black, but Bull's evil laughter echoes from beyond the darkness and into the souls of all that just witness this horrific event.**
