Apocalypse: Chris KO vs Steven Holmes

[a0161613]

The former owner of WZCW, its' White Knight, will seek to conquer the evil and embittered Steven Holmes as this bitter rivalry goes to the next level. These two men have very different views about how Chris dealt with the ownership of the company. KO believes handing power over was the right and just thing to do but Holmes is unable to believe that Chris didnt abuse the power how he would have, by giving himself a WZCW Championship opportunity. Holmes is desperate to get that chance and surely victory here would see him as the natural challenger to Drake Callahan or David Cougar.

Deadline is 11:59pm Central Time, Wednesday 3rd October 2012. Extensions are available, see request thread for details.

 

[FunKay the Inevitable]

Act 1 – Crossing the Horizon​

We open our scene in the early evening. The sun is dipping below the horizon, an orange hue decorating it as a symbol of the dying light. However, this is accompanied by earth shattering rain which pounds relentlessly down as the heavens open. It is a bleak contrast as the rain mercilessly pummels the area. It is occasionally accompanied by the sound of thunder and the flash of lightning. It is almost a storm. Just coming over the horizon though is our first player. Inside the comfort of a chauffeured vehicle, this player is frantic, searching for papers that will serve him at his upcoming dinner date. He wears a thick, brush moustache and horn-rimmed glasses that too are solid. He is somewhat chubby and by now a familiar face; he is the Boss.

Boss is on his way to arguably the most important meeting he’ll ever attend, and for once he shall meet his associate not in the comfort and confines of his own office, but instead on their home turf. He is nervous to say the least. He already has slight fear running through his veins which was exacerbated by the sudden change of weather. Before emerging over the horizon, things were bright, sunny and joyous, then as he came over and the sun set, things became darkened, grim and almost...apocalyptic. Boss is also trying to sort himself out before arriving at his ultimate destination. He’s a mess with his hair uncombed and his heart beating like a drum gone wild. Then, the car stops. Like a rabbit caught in headlights, Boss’ head snaps towards the driver.

Driver: We have arrived, sir.

With his heart sinking, Boss becomes pale with fright and sweat slowly but surely starts to morph on his head. He does not verbally respond and instead chooses to nod as a sign of recognition. Then a sudden change overcomes Boss. Grabbing as many papers as humanly possible, he shoves them into his briefcase, almost as if he’s ready to rage against the dying of the light. He rushes to his door and exits, charging through the rain and the now wind too. He uses his briefcase as a shield from the elements, using both his hands to steady it. Defiant, Boss keeps going, bypassing the grandiose features of this local. He eventually arrives at the front door, itself massive and majestic. Freeing one hand he uses it to batter his fist against the door, demanding to be let inside. He waits. There is no answer. Boss tries again, and again, no answer. He goes for a third attempt when suddenly the door swings open.

Servant: Yes?

In comedic fashion, Boss falls forwards, the Servant standing to the side, allowing Boss to fall totally forwards and crash to the floor. Luckily for the moustached man he has his briefcase to break his fall. He breathes a sigh of relief and sharply turns around to stare upwards at the mass of humanity that is the Servant. He is a tall, broad man with a grim face. He’s almost like the quintessential butler. He looks down upon Boss, his arms firmly behind his back. Boss scrambles, quickly to his feet and lifts up his case. He is amazed that it hasn’t opened and spewed all his documents all over the floor. He sighs with relief.

Servant: I understand you are here to meet the master?

Boss: Y--yes I am.

Servant: Very well, follow me.

And so the Servant leads off, down a dark corridor. Now Boss has had time to notice his surroundings, he can fully describe them. There are paintings on the walls, but they are veiled by the shadows, created with candle lit flames. There is no electricity in this dimly lit corridor, just the flickering flames. The floor is decorated with marble, almost mimicking chess with its pattern of black & white. The walls are stone, solid and old. It’s as if entering a grand castle. As the Servant travels deeper into the corridor, he disappears into the darkness. Boss gulps deeply before entering the shadows himself. They are consumed before the darkness is banished as a door is opened. An almost heavenly light bursts forward, blinding Boss.

Servant: Step forth sir; the master will see you now.

Just as he had used the briefcase to shield him from the storm outside, Boss does so once more, keeping the blinding light away. He moves forwards, closing his eyes, and enters the room. After standing there for a few moments, Boss opens his eyes. He can once again see though his location has changed. He is now in a dining hall. He moves his briefcase downwards to notice a gargantuan table, decorated superbly with the finest cloth and the grandest silverware. The light is good in here, with electricity running throughout the room. For the first time, Boss cracks a slight smile as he sees food ready to consume on the table. Succulent and scrumptious are how he would describe it. His smile beams bright as he analyses the table. He glances all the way up until he notices the looking figure at the end of the table. Then, fear comes flooding back.

Act 2 – The Devil’s Sanctuary​

There is a sudden stillness as Boss stands, staring at the sight that awaits him. This monster of a man lurks at the end of this grand table. He is the devil that Boss has jumped into bed with. He is the monster that relishes being under a child’s bed. He is a beast that unleashes torment upon any unwilling victim. He is “the Elite”, Steven Holmes. What makes Boss even more unsettled is the look on Holmes’ face. While it is hard to make out from such a distance, Boss recognises the expression that Holmes has. It was one of unadulterated joy. This means Holmes’ face is ripped with a demented smile that would make even the most deranged individual take a step back in horror, let alone the poor Boss. And then, he speaks:

Holmes: Welcome to my humble abode.

The words of Holmes echo throughout the grand dining room. Boss surveys the room further to take in just how large it is. Holmes continues.

Holmes: Won’t you sit my good sir. We have much to dine upon and much to talk about. Please, take your place at my table.

Boss’s focus is once more shifted back to Holmes, fear still striking him in part, especially on the word “my”. It is a perfectly ordinary word, but the way Holmes emphasised it were to make it seem as if it were his domain, his realm almost. Boss has entered the fiery pits of hell and now he must figure a safe passage home from the devil’s sanctuary. Slowly but surely, Boss approaches the chair that has been lain out for him. He moves it as Holmes smiles, the expression refusing to leave his face until Boss has taken his place. Boss offers a weak smile to relax himself somewhat and he very carefully takes his place in his previously chosen chair. Boss is almost expecting Holmes to hit a switch that will ensure his doom, changing him to the chair forever more. But no such thing happens. On the contrary, Holmes lifts his glass, containing some form of liquid as a mark of respect as Boss joins the table.

The immovable grin that decorates Holmes’ face is still there, but something in Boss’ stomach is settled much more so than before. He is relieved that the table hasn’t been ripped apart by some demonic being underneath. He is relieved that the walls haven’t yet started to bleed. He is relieved that Holmes hasn’t grown in size dramatically and turned into the embodiment of Satan. The relief is huge as Boss puts his briefcase to the side and tucks his chair in. He glances over the table properly now and realises this is a grand banquet of earthly delights. Succulent pork, brilliant beef, delicious chicken and every other (acceptable) meat known to man. Boss licks his lips with sheer delight. It is only when he reaches the end of the table that he recalls that he is here for business. Not that Holmes’ attire would tell you that.

Holmes is dressed in a silk robe, worn few times and only donned for dinner guests. Holmes doesn’t’ have too many for reasons unknown. He is dressed almost as if ready for bed. This is a more relaxed Steven Holmes that the last time Boss saw him, and while that should ease him, it does not. There is something about Holmes’ face that remains unbearably creepy. The smile refuses to die and it remains. No matter how hard Boss attempts to look away from it, he can’t help but stare at this God-awful grin. It’s far too sinister to be human, and it creeps him out to his wits end. And it would appear that Boss has just reached that:

Boss: I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.

That moves the smile from Holmes’ face.

Act 3 – An Apocalypse​

With a new expression entrenched upon his face, Holmes stares intently at Boss. He is somewhat scared out of his wits, but he has summoned forth all the courage he can muster to make one final stand here at the dining table. He knows this is his last chance to flee and his last opportunity to stand against a man he truly fears, and a man who he believes is unstoppably evil. This is Boss’ last chance to escape from the heat of hell and he seeks to take it.

Boss: I--I refuse to go along with this anymore. T--this entire plan is practically dead and I d--don’t see a need for me to play along a--any further.

The reason for Boss’ stammering is a good one; Holmes’ face is turning sour and deformed. It is changing into an unrecognisable shape, built on anger and constructed with venom. Holmes rises from his seat. He makes a move from his spot at the table and he begins the approach. Boss is petrified with fear. His words can no longer form in his mouth. His brief speech has died and his last stand is about to falter. Holmes is exceptionally slow as he makes his way past the top curve of the table, where he is sat and he begins to long walk down to meet his supposed ally.

Holmes: You refuse? You refuse? YOU REFUSE?!?

Holmes grabs his fork from the table and rams it deep into a chicken’s leg. He leaves it there for a moment, before attacking the meal with it. He tries to pry the leg free from the beast and rips it asunder. He holds the leg and motions with it, to emphasise his words.

Holmes: No man can refuse the awesome will of Steven Holmes. Not anymore.

Holmes takes a bite out of the leg and continues to talk, slurping and slipping on his words as he eats away at the cooked flesh with his teeth.

Holmes: In the past I was nothing more than a naive fool. I was a lackey for a fool and an ignorant optimist. I stole for them, I worshiped with them and I plotted with them. That was the reason I fell to their feet. That is the reason I was made to look like a buffoon.

Half finishing the chicken leg, Holmes tosses it aside. It does not appease him anymore and he refuses to eat it any further. He continues to approach Boss, his speed not increasing.

Holmes: I tried to align myself with men similar to myself, only to discover I had been deceived and duped. I wanted to be their friend. They wanted to use me. I wanted to elevate them to greatness. I did. They wished to bring me down. They tried...

Holmes notices a large carving knife for the meat and snatches it.

Holmes: ...THEY FAILED!

Holmes drives the carving knife right into the centre of a large slab of beef. He forces the knife down to cut a large portion of meat out of it. Blood and grease ooze forth as he does so.

Holmes: My greatest enemy tried to destroy me mentally and physically. He tried to keep me down forever. He sought to banish me from this land and retire me. He won a battle; he failed to win the war.

Finally freeing a large carve of beef, Holmes snatches it with his hands and takes a deep bight out of it. It is cooked, but still bloody to a degree. The animal blood trickles slightly down Holmes’ face to the point where it begins to drip off of his chin and onto the formerly immaculate floor.

Holmes: For two years i have stood by as others sought to rule in place of me. I have stood by and let men sit on the throne that sits on the highest peak and claim the right to be the omnipotent force in WZCW. Ty Burna, Big Dave, John Constantine, Sam Smith, Steven Kurtesy, even Doug Crashin. They all tried to occupy that throne, and yet they could never sustain it, and why? Because the throne was only built for one man!

Holmes throws the beef across the room, hitting the wall behind Boss. He then wipes the blood and grease from his mouth in a messy manner. His approach maintains.

Holmes: And now, as Chris K.O. tries to sit into that throne, he will find it a most uncomfortable experience. He will find that the throne is not right for him either because he is not the one.

Holmes picks up another piece of meat, this time a portion of pork. Rather than using a knife this time he uses his bare hands and begins to tear into the meat with his talon like fingers.

Holmes: NO! I AM THE ONE!

Now, Boss’ reaction the entire time has been one of outright fright. He is trying to communicate with his brain and the rest of his body, but the fear is so great that nothing is working and he cannot move.

Holmes: The throne shall be mine and soon it will be. I will claim my rightful spot as the master of all WZCW. For too long I was a horseman of the apocalypse, bringing death and destruction to those that stood in my wake. Serving the purpose of others. BUT NO MORE!

After struggling with the pork for a while, Holmes finally rips it apart with the meat crumbling in his hands and falling to the wayside in chunks. He is close to Boss now.

Holmes: Now I am the Apocalypse! Now I embody death and famine and pestilence and war. I am the end of the world and I bring with me the destruction. And I will use that to claim my throne at the top of the world. And I will survey my kingdom over all and if that means I must lose yet another supposed ally...

Holmes is feet away from a terrified Boss.

Holmes: ...then...

Holmes leans in towards Boss, the lawyer panicking and near tears as his body finally reacts, if only to lean away from Holmes.

Holmes: ...so be it.

There is a moment of silence as Boss is prepared for the worst and Holmes finishes. Boss opens one eye, then two to see Holmes inches from his face. His face lacks expression and is deadpan. Boss thought he was doomed for sure. Holmes points at the door.

Holmes: Leave. Leave like the other who attempted to use me to further their careers. Leave before you befall the same fate as them, the same fate as Chris K.O.

Boss looks to his left and then to his right. He gulps, regains his composure and as Holmes pulls away from him, grabs his briefcase. He stands up, white with fear. He takes one final look at Steven Holmes who is perfectly in control of his emotions and he nods almost as if a sign of respect and turns around, never to see Holmes again, and he prepares to enter the ongoing storm, knowing that Apocalypse awaits for any man who crosses Holmes.

 

[a0161613]

24 hour extension given

 

[Kermit]

“Let go, move on. This is how we grow”

― Anonymous​

A pair of adoring eyes are set gazing off screen as the scene opens up. Two oceans of shadowed-blue color toss black dots from wave to wave as the occupants of such deep eyes use them. And there is a moon, a gleam if you will, hanging above the corners of the endless amount of water caught within the aperture of his eye lids.

The change of the camera angle gives a back shot of our hero, the White Knight of WZCW, Chris K.O. From the view from behind, he appears to be donning his now moniker jet black suit. Surely, a slick silk tie hangs like a shadow from his neck and rest peacefully on a white dress shirt underneath his black blazer.

He appears to be looking at a grandeur coffee-brown book shelf. Framed certificates, pictures, and mementos whose meaning that the viewer will never understand, fill the spaces of the shelves. We switch back to the shot of Chris’ eyes, and we can now connect that these objects on the shelf are the waves that shuffle his pupils.

He is impressed. No. He is convicted. His eyes tell the tale of regret over lost years of education and accomplishments. A quarter of his life is over, and he has not even begun to fill a trophy case that is the size of the one before him. However, it is best for young men to not dwell on missed chances, so he quickly dismisses his own self pity.

Conveniently enough, the iconic sound of an opening door and the disconnection of metal at the hinges causes Chris to veer his attention towards the scene. Chris knows who this man is and responds at the sight of him with a receptive smile, but his returned response is hardly the same.

The man seems to be occupied with a stack of papers in front of him. He is wearing a white-striped dress shirt with well-ironed khaki pants underneath. As he pulls his attention away from his papers and goes to close the door, he is caught by a surprise in the room. A man is standing a good ten feet away from him at a bookcase.

???: Oh, you are earlier than expected.

After speaking those words, WZCW’s own Steven Kurtesy sprouts a small smile and closes the door. Chris is internally conflicted over Kurtesy’s warm, yet bare, greeting. Chris breaks the seal of his lips in order to interject an icebreaker.

Chris: Yeah, sorry to come in here before you got here. It is crazy what you can do when people know you have a lot of money.

A full blown smile of pearly whites only grants a soft, and barely noticeable, chuckle from Kurtesy. Kurtesy proceeds to sit down on a large crimson chair that occupies a corner of a square rug that rests in the center of the room. Chris only has to move slightly to bring himself to a point behind an ottoman that parallels the crimson chair on the opposite corner of the rug. As Kurtesy finishes thumbing through the papers in his hands, Chris taps his fingers awkwardly on the top of the ottoman. Chris takes this brief moment to fully get a grasp of the room. Earlier, he had just instantly gone towards the book shelf. In fact, he had only been in the room for mere minutes before Kurtesy arrived.

A small half-smile curls on the side of Chris’ mouth as he truly begins to realize how much this room looks like a cliché therapist room. He begins to wonder if this is how it always looks, or if Ian set up some kind of special scenario in order to best cater to Chris’ current psychological needs. However it got this way, Chris significantly recounts that the room looks exactly like it did before the-

Kurtesy: Lethal Lottery.

Chris jerks his head towards Kurtesy, who now has discarded his papers to the small table that sits beside the large red chair.

Kurtesy: Was that not around the last time we met? Right before the Lethal Lottery?

Chris timidly responds like a disciplined schoolboy does towards his principal.

Chris: Yes.

Kurtesy raises a finger to the side of his face in a thinking motion.

Kurtesy: Hmm. Would you like a seat?

Chris: No, thanks.

With that, Chris has regained some of his social control in the situation that he had lost by being caught off guard from Kurtesy’s authoritative beginning.

Kurtesy: Alright, so then why are you here? Why have you sought out my counsel once again? Is it because of Holmes?

Chris: Kind of, but not necessarily.

Chris rubs the back of his neck as he tries to think about how he can segway into the revelation of his inner-demon and his need to excavate it from his mind.

Chris: Man, funny how times change, huh?

Kurtesy slightly elevates his eyebrows, as if he is wondering if this is really why they met. Just to shoot the breeze.

Chris: I mean, last time we met, you were the world champion, and I was just a dog enlisted in Ty’s regime. Now, it seems as though I have risen so fast since then, and the ones I once knew as main-event mainstays are drifting at the bottom.

Kurtesy moves the finger on the side of his face into a curled up fist and places it at his lips. He lets a single word escape from behind the rock of his fist as he stares out into the empty air.

Kurtesy: Yes, times have changed.

Chris recognizes that he is detouring from his current concern, so he jumps into it.

Chris: What can you tell me about driving out inner demons?

Kutersy perks up by Chris’ request.

Kurtesy: Demons? What do you mean exactly?

Chris: Listen,

Chris walks to a position of the ottoman where he can sit. He is now facing Kurtesy with his hands pressed together in a praying type of gesture.

Chris: My research has shown that you have a rep for being a spiritualist. That you connect and deal with spiritual things. Is that true?

Kurtesy: Perhaps, but I don’t exactly specialize in the battling of demons.

Chris develops a semi-disappointed look on his face, but Kurtesy quickly rebuttals.

Kurtesy: Why does this “demon” bother you so much? Is it driving you to do certain things or think certain thoughts?

Chris: Not yet, but I am afraid if I leave it be, then it will only bide its time before a planned take over. I cannot afford that this time.

Chris looks at Kurtesy, who is studying Chris with much interest.

Kurtesy: Look, connecting to your spiritual being can be as easy as finding a quiet place and meditating. A lot of times our “inner-demons” are things we can’t let go and allow to continue to be apart of us. If you want my advice, find a quiet place and think about what you are not letting go. Find the root of this inner-demon and expel it.

Chris raises his clasped hands to his lips as he thinks over Kurtesy’s advice. He chews over the thought of where he could go in order to catch just a moment of silence amidst his hectic life. While caught in this quarrel of thought, he catches something in the corner of his eye. Kurtesy is waiting. Not for Chris to leave, but for another question. Chris agreed to do this because of the counsel he needed to expel his inner problems, but Chris now knows that Kurtesy only agreed to do this for one sole reason: divulging his true thoughts on the man that he once called a partner.

Chris lets out a parting breath that escapes through the tiny space of his clasped hands that are pressed against his lips. The breaking wind from his mouth separates them and sends them slowly falling until they are resting on his knees. Chris swallows and then approaches the topic.

Chris: What can you tell me about my adversary at Apocalypse? What can you tell me about Steven Holmes?

Kurtesy gives a small smirk, as if he feels delighted to be a key part in Chris’ preparation for this marquee moment in WZCW. Finally, after little silence, he speaks.

Kurtesy: What is there to say about a man who has been backed into a corner? I saw as he, by literal translation, had to play the third wheel in the Crashin Movement. Even below the likes of Doug himself.

Chris leans forward slightly and offers Kurtesy an ear.

Kurtesy: Eventually, he picked up the Elite X title, only to drop it to a rookie. Totally humiliated. He teamed with a man who “betrayed” him and went on to hold the King for A Day briefcase. All the while, he is being pushed down by the boot of Ty Burna as he gasps for air in the muddy ground of WZCW.

Kurtesy pauses to see how Chris will react to the mentioning of Ty, but the lack of such reaction urges him forward.

Kurtesy: He watched his former partner, who he lost to one year ago, rise to the top and trump the very man that kept his boot on his neck.

…

And then you, the man that rid him from WZCW and exacted the revenge he most likely selfishly desired to be incorporated in his own destiny. Forgotten, overlooked, and neglected. An angry man with nothing to lose, because he has nothing. He has reached definite Apocalypse, my friend.

Chris slowly opens his mouth in order to reply, but Kurtesy is quick to cut him off.

Kurtesy: Now, if you will excuse me.

Chris is taken back by Kurtesy’s sudden urge to end their meeting. Chris quickly surveys the walls in order to find a clock. Surely they had only been here for mere minutes. However, his attention is drawn back by Kurtesy’s voice.

Kurtesy: I, too, have my own match that I need to prepare for.

Kurtesy smiles and nods as he stands up from the red chair and gestures towards the door. Chris extends out his hand for a handshake and is met warmly back with one from Kurtesy.

Chris: Thank you.

Suddenly, we transition out of the office, and we now see Chris, in his same attire, walking in what appears to be a park. An orange hue is showering the trees and ground as it appears the sun is slowly waning its way down. By looking at Chris, it would appear that he is studying the cracks in the concrete as he walks down the sidewalk that is tucked within the greenery of the park. But in all reality, he is thinking. Thinking about Kurtesy, thinking about Holmes, thinking about Arianna, and even thinking about Ian. His trail of thoughtful wandering finally leads him to an unoccupied bench that rests on the side of the park pathway that he is walking on. He slothfully takes a seat on the bench and aims his sight at the orange sky and parting purple clouds.

In this untimely moment, an odd peace is discovered. Slowly seconds become minutes, and minutes turn into hours. Parallel to the fading sun, so do our hero’s eye lids close. He is not sleeping, but entering; entering his own mind.

After a transition, we find our selves in a black abyss. The only living matter we can recognize is that of our hero. His being almost seems to morph within the darkness around him due to his black suit, but a visible outline of him is still there. The camera pans around him, and when we turn to look at him from behind, a door appears in front of him. A solid dark-brown door with a gilded handle. Chris does not hesitate, and reaches out to open the door. It creaks open by way of a shove of the handle, and we follow our hero within.

We are treated to a sight of a decrepit room where dark purple vines appear everywhere. They all branch out from the central structure of the room: a large slate-gray stone throne that is basked in plum purple. A purple static radiates around the throne, as Chris looks curiously at it, but something causes him to be taken back. He quietly gasps at the sight of yellow eyes appearing from the darkness of the throne.

???: My pet.

Chris is in a state of shell-shock as he locks eyes with the being in front of him.

???: My, have you grown.

A soft chuckle comes from the demonic force, but he himself is taken back by a booming command.

Chris: Who are you!? Tell me why you are here!

The yellow eyes blink before responding.

???: I have always been here, and here has always been I. We are one in the same, my pet.

Chris: Yeah, right! You weren’t in my mind until a little over a year ago, and now you attempt to rise again, but I am no longer weak. I have matured…

???: Think. Remember!

Chris immediately grabs his head after the demon speaks. He seems to be hurting, and we cut to a flash of Chris at his mother’s funeral, we then see a purple egg hatching within a dark room. The flashback ends, and it leaves Chris breathing heavy.

???: Samuel.

Chris looks up and finally stabilizes his breathing.

Chris: What the hell are you?

Again, Chris grabs his head in pain. We cut to a flash of Chris and his father arguing, and then see the darkness on the throne.

???: I am you.

Chris drops to his knees in pain.

Chris: No… Is this real? Am I crazy?

Chris points a spearing finger at the demonic force!

Chris: You are just an illusion in my mind, damn it!

???: Maybe I am, but why does that make me any less real?

Chris is taken back by the response, but has no time to rebuttal. He quickly grabs his head and screams in pain.

We cut to a flash of Chris in what appears to be a basement of some sort. He is fighting another man bare-knuckled with a group of other men surrounding them and cheering them on. Chris’ face is coated with a crimson mask, but he knocks his opponent down to the ground with a leg-sweep. He proceeds to jump on top of him and begins wailing on his face. For each punch he lands, a flash of the demonic force on the throne appears until finally the vision stops.

Chris keeps hold of his head even after the vision. He pants as spit trickles down from his bottom lip.

???: How do you expect to accomplish anything worthwhile without me? You have always needed someone controlling you in order for you to amount to anything. If it was not me, then it was that bastard Ty Burna. But now he is gone. So tell me, how then will you become the best, how will you even beat Steven Holmes without me, my pet?

Chris spits on the ground as he begins to look around the decaying room and the purple vines that ensnare it.

Chris: God,

Chris lets out a pity laugh for himself.

Chris: Is this really what my mind looks like? Is this really the cancer that I have held onto all these years?

…

Chris presses his palms down on the ground as he picks himself up to his feet.

???: Stand down, my pet.

Chris: No.

The yellow eyes respond with a sharp glare.

Chris: You are nothing like me. You are not even close to being apart of me.

???: You know nothi--

Chris: No! You know nothing. You are just a big clump of everything bad that I have ever held onto in my life!

Chris slowly begins to walk towards the throne.

???: Stop…

Chris: All the hate, all the spite-

???: Quit coming closer.

Chris: Every time I couldn’t forgive myself for what happened to Mom or Dad.

Chris raises his right hand as he stretches it in front of him as he walks.

???: No!

Chris finally reaches the demon as he presses his hands against the force that sits upon the stone throne. A radiant light begins escaping from the palm of his hand and quickly engulfs the room. With a brilliant flash, the room is now a piercing white as Chris stands with an aura around him. The yellow eyes are stuck behind the palm of the White Knight as he looks down with pity at them.

Chris: No more tyrants, no more controlling other people. Ty, you, and now Holmes. Each one of you are very different, but still have the same type of core. You wonder how I will rise to the top. You wonder how I will beat Steven Holmes without you. Well, evil cannot beat evil; only good can triumph over it. So, you are of no use to me!

…

???: My pet, I can help you…

A moment of silence occurs, but then it is quickly broken by a booming declaration.

Chris: Be gone!

Chris roars as a white burst engulfs the demonic force and diminishes it from existence within Chris’ mind. The whole entire scene is eaten up in white, and we are left with a blank white screen for several seconds. Finally, the scene fades from white into a picture of the night sky. A shadow seems to be whisking in the air, but it quickly flies off screen.

We then shift to a shot of our hero, Chris K.O., laying on his back on the ground, next to the park bench that he was originally sitting on. It is night time now, and the sun has set. We see Chris looking up and then get a close-up of his eyes. We see the oceans again, tossing the black dots; the moon hanging in his eyes.