Apocalypse: KFAD Qualifier

[Richard Blonoff]

Deadline is Friday, December 20th, 11:59pm CST. Extensions available upon request​

Anyone not booked for a match may RP in this thread.​

 

[Spidey Revivey]

[FONT= "Book Antiqua"]Quote fades to white and then sets the scene outside of a chateau in London, England. The estate is covered in thick ice from last night's sleet and rain. Joseph Morel, Godfrey Ramparte's personal butler, stands dutily by the horses his employer demanded of him. Trembling, Morley stroked an ivory mare's mane to keep himself and the beast at least somewhat warm. The Catalyst has business with someone here, but he didn't tell him who or did Morley care to really know. Week by week his boss had grown a little bit more callous in his actions, and after his loss to Theron Daggershield, he hopes Ramparte has become more humbled through the experience.





God above, he hoped so.




Inside, Ramparte sits perfectly still as a hired artist paints his portrait with great precision. The main hall is filled with trinkets adorning the walls: bronze statues of gods and heroes of myth, ancestral weaponry like short swords, rapiers, and one halberd, and several paintings of the man who is currently playing snooker by himself nearby. This man's hair is longer than his own; straight, dark brown hair that goes passed his chest. His clothing stands out from modern norm with the addition of an unclean cravat. His whole demeanor was dirty but aristocratic at the same time, and when he spoke, his unshaven face gave birth to a smoker's voice.[/FONT]

Don't think white becomes you, Ramses. Not exactly what the cool gothy kids are wearin' nowadays now, is it?​

[FONT= "Book Antiqua"]Ramparte gave no indication that he was paying attention to Isaiah Israel, but kept still for the painter, a dingy and plump man who was a walking caricature of a French artist. The beret was wrapped haphazardly over his sweaty head and the black and white striped turtleneck was decorated with the very oils he was using on the canvas. Seeing that Ramses was ignoring him, Isaiah sat down his cue stick and walked over to the artist, nodding at the work done so far. Keeping his eyes trained on the artwork, he spoke again.[/FONT]

Well, if you're not gonna be a good sport about that, at least riddle me this: How does The Great Catalyst lose to a cosplayer? Or better yet, how'd it feel?​

[FONT= "Book Antiqua"]This time, he glanced at Isaiah with a sneer. He licked his lips delicately and said almost inaudibly the last word the aristocrat expected.[/FONT]

Liberating.​

[FONT= "Book Antiqua"]Isaiah cocked an amusing eyebrow at Ramparte. Isis wasn't accustomed to a mortal like Godfrey, and realized now that this may take some getting used to. Finding his bearings, he stepped back over to the snooker table, rolling a yellow ball back and forth mesmerizingly while forgetting about his practice. He continued looking at the man in white.[/FONT]

Without that loss, I would not know the sensations of losing, Isis. I would not know how each and every one of them feel. The hate, the bile rising up from my lungs...the jealousy...what a beautiful rapture, Isis, that jealousy. It's a rush. Now that I've felt that sin creep from within me, I can become better at targeting wrestlers to add to The List of The Slain. Each of them is guilty of that jealousy. I am honing my craft.​

[FONT= "Book Antiqua"]Isis pocketed the ball with his hand and scoffed.[/FONT]

What of Theron and his sins?​

He was without.​

Bullshit. All are guilty of sin. You're just not doing your job right.​

[FONT= "Book Antiqua]The color in Ramparte's face flushed. He bit down on the anger that was tearing at him from that statement. But he knew he was right. Regardless, he kept silent and still as the painter worked on.



Isis tsked and went over to one of his wine cabinets that were had in almost every room of the estate, a music box idly taking residence. Brandishing a bottle of Pinot Noir, he lifted it above his head as a gesture to Ramparte. Ramparte nodded. Isaiah filled two wine glasses up of the dark red substance and glided over to him, handing him the drink.[/FONT]

Take five.​

[FONT= "Book Antiqua"]The artist put away his brush and pallet and examined his work with a critic's eye. Not quite done, he huffed and stood still. Godfrey Ramparte stood up and followed Isis over to the snooker table.[/FONT]

You know I'm just busting your chops, right? You'll get the hang of it. Ya better, since ya paid that price...​

[FONT= "Book Antiqua"]Uncharacteristically flustered, Ramparte pointed at the artist in alarm.[/FONT]

I'm not stupid. He's one of mine. A lesser demon if ever there was one. But a hell of a painter. Soprano, too.​

[FONT= "Book Antiqua"]Isis, however, did lean in like a man well crafted in the arts of gossip. His hoarse baritone came to The Catalyst's ear in a mocking form of subtlety, and when he spoke, his breath hit his face in rank submission[/FONT]

Just between us girls, what did ya bargain for? I mean c'mon; your daddy left you quite a bit of moolah, didn't he? And you're rather the looker for the ladies, right? So what could ya have possibly signed your soul away for? Hmm?​

[FONT= "Book Antiqua"]Knowing this was where today was heading, he looked straight back at Isis with a poker face. When he replied, a chill went up Isaiah's demon-evolved spine. A feeling Isis has not had in centuries rose out of the ashes of his memories and stood imposingly back at him.[/FONT]

Spoiler

Ability.

[FONT= "Book Antiqua"]Unsure of the implications of that statement, Isis waved it off and kept his demeanor from Ramparte. He took a sip of the crisp red alcohol and savored it, as Ramparte did the same. Intrigued, Isaiah spoke up.[/FONT]

Just a simple broker, mind you. A curious one at that.​

[FONT= "Book Antiqua"]Again ignoring Isis, Ramparte emptied his glass and had another one. The artist was back up and working on the final touches of the painting that didn't require it's main focus. The demon broker looked on, nodding once again and then something crossed his mind.[/FONT]

My sources tell me someone is looking for you, Ramses. A WZCW employee who thinks you've lied about your age.​

[FONT= "Book Antiqua"]Ramparte, taken aback, laughed at the absurdity.[/FONT]

But I have not.​

Just as well, you don't need people spying on you. He may stumble on something you may regret him knowin'.​

Are you saying this mere desk monkey could pose a threat to me and my rise?​

The Apocalypse is upon us, Ramses. There is a spot open for a rookie talent such as you. Think of it. The Catalyst enters his first pay per view, and it's one with a theme he knows all too well. And you really want to ignore this wine stain on the carpet of your chance at being King?​

[FONT= "Book Antiqua"]Finishing off his second glass, Ramparte nodded thoughtfully. Setting it down on the snooker table, he turned away from Isaiah Israel and thought of Apocalypse and what that could mean for him. A stand alone rookie among the best the business has to offer. A way to make a name for himself in only his third week onboard.



The idea stroked his ego and he relished in it.[/FONT]

If only I could sell my soul a second time.​

[FONT= "Book Antiqua"]Isis laughed harshly. The Catalyst walked over to the wine cabinet and picked up the music box. It was an ornate ballerina themed one with the little woman standing on her tiptoes in a pirouette. The key was left inserted in it's respectful place.[/FONT]

This stain will be dealt with in due time. But like you said, Apocalypse is in front of me.



"This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but a whimper."​

[FONT= "Book Antiqua"]Ramparte began turning the key.[/FONT]



Criiick





For the envious Irishman Blade, who is on the rise once again...



Criiick





For the wrathful Beard, and his influential friend Hewitt...



CRIIICK





For the prideful American Ace Stevens, and his accomplishments...



CRIIIICKK





For the dominant Triple X, greedy in his thoughts as he turns from his fans...



CRIIIICKKK





For the returning veteran, lusting after the spotlight once again...



CRRIIIICKKKK



For the voted addition to King For A Day, who is slothful for qualifying the easier way...



[FONT= "Book Antiqua"]Ramparte hesitated. Six Superstars. Six potential outcomes to Apocalypse. Six men worthy of being crowned king and ruling for one day, a day they will long remember and perhaps cherish.[/FONT]





...










CRRRIIIICCKKKK





For the seven sins they hold onto. For the seven devils that surround them. For the end of days marks the end of seven days, not six nor eight, but seven.



For the gluttony to be had once crowned.







[FONT= "Book Antiqua"]Ramparte sat the music box down as it started it's lyrical chime of "Swan Lake"[/FONT]

Spoiler

[YOUTUBE]Ze5lbFMwAnM[/YOUTUBE]

It is finished, Ramses. See for yourself.​

[FONT= "Book Antiqua"]"It has barely even begun,"Ramparte thought to himself. Crossing over to where Isis and the painter stood, he glanced at his portrait and was stunned at the results.[/FONT]

Leave us.​

[FONT= "Book Antiqua"]The artist obliged, almost tripping over himself to leave the room. Isis looked on, until Ramparte looked back at him, indicating he too must leave. Giving a semi-bow, Isaiah left the room, chuckling to himself.



The choir inside Ramparte's head began their song of lamentation. Those sirens, practically unheard, began softly ascending their melody of sorrow. Slowly and methodically, he took a step towards the finished piece. With each step he heard them sing louder and their song became not a lamentation, but a crescendo of ambition. He lovingly caressed his image's cheek and ran his gloved hand over the corner of the painting to the side of it. Ramparte lightly rested his forehead against the fragile canvas. His mind left reality and stumbled into his darkest dream, a dream of red waves crashing against one another.



Waves of blood.



In this vision was an island where those waves fought for tide, an island constructed of the bones of The Slain, for when the Apocalypse comes, there in the midst of war will be an ivory throne made of less worthy men.



And on it Ramparte sat, gazing up into the amber sky where monarch butterflies have taken wing; circling his domain. In awe of his domain. In his vision and in reality, Ramparte threw his head back and screamed.



His scream shook the window panes of the main hall. His scream shook the mass of orange-winged insects that dare get close to what was rightfully his. He screamed in defiance of them. He screamed in defiance of the angels above and their god. His arms spread out in a taunting manner, he let go of his cane as it clattered against the marble floor. His face a perverted contortion of anger and bitterness. The sirens ceased their song of war, falling quiet in his mind. Ramparte closed his eyes, hauntingly laughing.

















Later that night...





David Cohen paced back and forth in the alleyway, bundled up and smoking his fourth cigarette of the evening. His informant was late. Checking his cellphone for the time again, it was a quarter past 11. The traffic had died down as everyone had either already paid for their Christmas presents or thought to do so on another day. A slew of carolers marched passed him, giving him a curious look that Cohen met back comically. Someone came up to him, making him jump. When he realized who it was, he relaxed.[/FONT]

Oh thank God, you're here.​

Speak of the devil, ya mean.​

[FONT= "Book Antiqua"]A smoker's laugh echoed off of the alley's brick walls. Isis looked David Cohen over, and gave him a shit eating grin.[/FONT]

I know who he really is. Come with me and I'll tell ya all that I know. Believe me, the answer was right in front of ya all along, Dave.​

[FONT= "Book Antiqua"]Scene fades to white[/FONT]

 

[DarksideEric]

|Changes come...

|Life will have it's way...

|With your pride, son...

|Take it like a man...

Always been around fighting.

Quite literally... always.

The last word hit the chilled air, never meant to escape, to be kept locked away within his head like the ones prior.

|Changes come...

|Keep your dignity...

|Take the high road...

|Take it like a man...

Hands were forced deep within the pockets of his Captain America hoodie to help ward off the chill of the colder Los Angeles night. The color scheme was different though, not the normal star-spangled red, blue and white, as every bit of blue was instead black to give him a more US Agent look. Color schemes and superheroes were hardly the focal point of the fairly young fighter, thoughts that were interrupted by an older gentleman standing next to him that had thought he heard him speak.

"Hm, what was that?"

Hyada looked up instinctively as he was spoken to, something he should not have done. The older man caught his face and a glimmer of recognition passed over his face.

Great.

Jon knew what was coming but he didn't step in to put a stop to it fast enough.

"Say... aren't you that wrestler who won that--"

No.

The reply was stinging; shot out like an arrow. He turned and pulled his hoodie lower and stepped out of the line of people he had been apart of. Why had he bothered to get in line when he knew he could use the side entrance... or just walk in past the line? Why?

After all... what had he won?

What exactly did you do Hyada... to get your hand raised?

What did you do... hm?

|Changes come...

|Life will have it's way...

You were slapped around like a child.

Wore a dunce cap in the corner while a veteran took control.

And then... what... knocked out a man who was too busy arguing with a bird.

Big man. Get your hand raised.

|With your pride, son...

|Take it like a man...

Quite the test you passed. Truly quite the triumph.

You should get a senshuken (championship) medal.

The Japanese flowed out of him on bitter breath as he stopped just yards away from the side entrance of the building, having ducked away from the line without any further contact with the population looking to enter or happy to leave. Records will say that Jonathan Hyada now has a match history of one win and one lose. Hmph. While realistically it is true that he had not only landed the final blow and scored the pinfall, Jon's reflection of the match was more of a recycling of his post-Ramparte education.

Lesson one. Known, but freshly taught in person.

Birds in this organization fight amongst the men.

Treat them as such.

No longer will there be a blind eye and an underestimation of a woman.

Jonathan hopped the railing that closed off the side patio, a section of the establishment always closed off in the winter months. He pulled his hand out of the warmth security of his pocket to rap on the door, signaling the attention of the bouncer inside. From just outside the sealed door he could barely feel the vibration of sound from inside; a mixture of cheering, music and the occasional alcoholic fight.

You learned the Falling Star is effective.

A shallow reflection of his talent to protect his pride, though as truthfull as it was. The Falling Star did indeed knock DC out.

The door unlocked a moment after he knocked, a barrel chested mountain of a man staring at the visitor. Hyada tipped his hoodie upward a bit to reveal his face which earned him a recognizing nod and the faint hint of a smile. If mountains did such a thing anyway.

Spoiler

[YOUTUBE]cqJJwv_Caaw[/YOUTUBE]

The music hit him first as he stepped inside the bar... nightclub... fighter circle, whatever this place finally decided it wanted to be. The music always hit him first. Then came the shouting; people cheering, scornful pleas and attempts at conversation. Then visual landmarks grabbed his attention, pulling him to look passed the raucous crowd.

Spoiler

Dad was always proud of his son's first win. Despite Jon's bitter demeanor knowing his father had placed a picture of his first match center stage in here always brightened him, at least enough to stop slinking around like a shadow.

Quite literally, I've always been around fighting.

He stepped down the wide flat cement stairs and began wading through the shouting sea of people.

Mother in the army.

Hand pressed firmly on the back of a short man who'd had too much beer to get past him.

Father a wrestler. Taught him karate.

Pushing past a pair of women staring up at a MMA fight playing on one of the many televisions.

Muay Thai, shoot fighting as a teenager. Mixed martial artist, fan of wrestl--

"Watch as six men pit their bodies against destruction to win a guaranteed chance at the WZCW World Title!

Witness the war between Blade, Beard, Triple X, Ace Stevens and two unknown participants as they put their bones, their blood and their pride on the line just to get a shot!

|With your pride, son...

Jon stared up at the television announcement, not even noticing people had recognized him.

|Give this to me.

"Hey, hey it's Hyada... are you going to be in that?"

|Mine, mine, mine.

"Hey, are you fighting in the Chamber dude...?"

|Take what's mine.

"Dude...?"

Oh... I know where I'm going to try to be...

Exactly where I'm going to try to be.

Hyada turned his attention to the people searching for his attention, offering up a small smile of appreciation before going back the way he came.

Lunch with his father could wait.

Sometimes there were more important things.

Black screen.

 

[Dagger Dias]

Theron's Merry Band of Misfits

Theron can be seen sitting down with a look of deep thought. A week had passed since Theron defeated Graven Darksbane. The following morning the Merry Band of Misfits stormed the water shrine to battle Marrmell, the unholy masked Barbarian who was suspected to have stolen Theron's lucky rubies. They were able to take back the Water Shield of Mystra but never found Marrmell himself. The battle was still on Theron's mind 7 days later.

Kirilah: Theron! Are you listening? Theron!!!!

Scene zooms out, upon Kirilah yelling Theron's name. The whole party is seated at a booth in the breakfast room of the Wyvern's Inn at Waterward. A platinum haired male elf server brings the Merry Band of Misfits servings of gryphon eggs and boar bacon.

Davivel: Ah, the food's here. Dig in, everyone!

Kayrentia: I can't eat this. It came from a poor gryphon and boar who should have been allowed to live.

Kirilah: Theron, make her eat it.

Theron picks at his food some with his fork, with his head facing the plate, but he clearly has his mind in deep thought and is not paying attention.

Keifasar: He's elsewhere. Are you hungry, Neep?

Neep the floating skull gets hyper, flies circles around the table, and floats above Keifasar waiting to be fed.

Neep: Neep!

Keifasar gives an egg and a slice of bacon to the skull. Neep chews on his food while tilting himself sideways, still floating above Keifasar. Everyone but Theron laughs. They begin eating, including Kayrentia who changes her mind about not wanting her meal. Theron is still only picking at his boar bacon, Sheshmish steals Theron's gryphon eggs without him noticing and eats them.

Davivel: Aren't you hungry, buddy?

Theron: No, I'm not. Why can't we find this elusive enemy? Or my rubies for that matter?

Sheshmish: He runs the local thieves guild, Captain. They be difficult to locate. Elf! Bring me some rum, yarr!

The elf server hears Sheshmish's request and can be seen going into the drink cellar.

Theron: I refuse to give up. He took something of mine. We are NOT leaving until I get them back, is that understood? We remain in Waterward until I get my revenge on Marshmellow!

Kayrentia: Marshmellow? The guy who took the rubies? I thought his name was Mango.

Keifasar: Don't you mean Marmalade?

Davivel: Nope, it's Marzipan.

Sheshmish: His name be Muffin.

Kirilah: It's MARRMELL!!!! How hard is that to pronounce!? Mystra, spare me from their idiocy!

Kirilah slams her fist down onto her plate in frustration, it is at the same exact moment that the elf server returns with Sheshmish's rum.

Elf Server: Our finest rum, for you sir. Is everyone's food alright?

Sheshmish takes the bottle and begins drinking. No one answers the elf's question, he nods his head and leaves.

Sheshmish: It's been a week, captain. When will ye set a course for the next artifact?

Theron: I already told you. We're not leaving without my rubies. We never found Marshmellow, he has to be in this town somewhere.

Kirilah rolls her eyes.

Kirilah: His name is Marrmell.

Theron: Yeah, Marshmellow.

Kirilah opens her mouth to try to correct her fearless leader, but she stops herself knowing she won't win this argument.

Theron: You know what I need, guys?

Davivel: What?

Theron: A match. I defeated that rookie Graven Darksbane, but the rush of winning a gladiatorial match right now would make me feel a lot better.

Suddenly, obnoxious bardic music can be heard from the town square. It resembles the music that plays during the introductory scenes in "King of Dragons". The music continues to play and repeat itself for a while.

[YOUTUBE]9p2LHu9IAwo[/YOUTUBE]​

Kirilah: What in Mystra's name is that noise?

Keifasar: I like it! it's awesome!

Kayrentia: You would.

Theron: It sounds like it's coming from the town square. Let's go take a look. Did everyone finish their food?

Sheshmish: Everyone but you, captain. Are you going to finish your boar bacon?

Theron notices that four slices of boar bacon remain on his plate. He scarfs each of them down, having gotten his appetite back, then leaves 9 gold coins by the empty plates to pay for the meal. Neep is trying to lick the plates clean.

Keifasar: Neep! That's enough!

Neep immediately floats over to Keifasar with a look of shame on his face for having gotten in trouble.

Theron: Shall we?

Scene fades out to black and then fades back in at the town square. Dozens of dwarves, elves, orcs, fairies, humans, and a few drow are within a crowd gathered at the square listening to the bards who keep playing the obnoxious music. The Merry Band of Misfits arrive and thanks to Sheshmish who intimidates some of the crowd, they are able to find places toward the middle of the crowd. The bards keep playing and none other than Sealamin Glimmergaunt comes up to give a speech.

Theron: Hey, that's Sealamin Glimmergaunt! The retired former World Gladiatorial Combat Federation World Champion! It appears he has recovered from our battle.... I wonder if this has to do with the federation's upcoming event.

Sealamin: You can stop the music now.

The bards stop mid-note.

Sealamin: Citizens of Waterward.... I am sure you all know a spectacular event is soon to come from your local World Gladiatorial Combat Federation Arena. This event will see the crowning of a new contender for the current World Champion! Four combatants are all officially announced, a fifth has been decided upon but will soon be announced.... There will also be a sixth entrant in this match! The winner of a special contest at our next event moves on to be the sixth entrant in the contendership match to crown a new challenger for the World Champion!

The crowd begins speaking amongst themselves. Sealamin is silent for a minute to allow the crowd a moment to speculate before he speaks again.

Sealamin: I have a challenge for any current member of the World Gladiatorial Combat Federation roster. There is a contendership contest open to ANY gladiator from any region that works in an arena from our federation. I urge you to enter, it might very well win you a world title shot. This is not just any title shot though. You can cash this title shot in ANY TIME YOU WISH! The World Champion is a tough one though, let me tell you. Nothing like my younger self, of course, but he is tough so only someone equally tough could stand a chance. If you want to participate, go to the arena and sign up tonight. That is all.

Sealamin leaves and the bards begin playing the song again. It repeats itself for a while and the crowd begins to dissipate.

Theron: Alright guys, new plan. I want in on this match. It's perfect stress relief for me at this time. What I want the rest of you to do in the meantime is continue looking for Marshmellow's hideout. It HAS to be in town somewhere. I'll get my lucky rubies back even if it KILLS me!

Kirilah: We cannot all look for Marrmell. Someone also needs to protect the two artifacts of Mystra we took. The Shield of Water from last week and the Helmet of Wind you guys had before I rejoined. I would like to watch over the two relics.

Theron: That is fine. Davivel, you help her. Keifasar, do you still have the sapphire we found at the altar as well as the emerald from the last cultist altar? I need you to get those appraised. That leaves Sheshmish and Kayrentia to search for Marshmellow. I'll be at the arena. Does everyone understand their tasks?

The Merry Band of Misfits all nod in unison.

Theron: Alright, I'm off to the arena.

Theron leaves for the arena. Davivel and Kirilah return to the party's room at the inn to research and guard the artifacts. Sheshmish and Kayrentia leave for the tavern to gather clues. Keifasar leaves for the merchant bazaar. Scene shifts to Theron as he walks to the arena. His thoughts can be heard out loud. The bardic music is no longer heard.

Theron: (thinking to himself) The true irony would be if Marshmellow also signed up for this match. I'd personally see to it that he does not live to tell the tale. Although first I'd make him tell me where my lucky rubies are. That rookie Graven Darksbane from last week will probably enter the match too. Speaking of last week....

Scene shifts to a battle between Theron's Merry Band of Misfits and 5 cultists from the New Church of Shar's Water temple. Theron's thoughts can still be heard out loud.

Theron: (thinking to himself) Something bothers me about that encounter. Why was Marshmellow himself not there?

Davivel is seen casting a protective barrier around the party.

Theron: I went into that battle fully expecting to regain what was stolen from me. I won't leave this region without my rubies. I just WON'T!

Kayrentia is seen casting Call Lightning on the Cultists, causing lightning bolts to strike them.

Theron: The battle at the Wind Shrine was infinitely tougher. Granted the legendary Sealamin Glimmergaunt was there. I doubt Marshmellow would be as tough of a foe.

Kirilah is seen using Smite Evil, leaving the cultists gasping for life..

Theron: Something seemed.... off.... about the encounter. I have had very few battles end as quickly as that one did. It was far too easy. We defeated the cultists, grabbed the shield, and that was it.

Theron is seen using a Whirlwind attack on the weakened cultists which kills each of them.

Theron: We searched every single corner of that temple. No rubies and no sign of Marshmellow himself.

Keifasar is seen finding a sapphire from the altar similar to the emerald he found at the wind shrine's altar. Scene fades back to the present, Theron is walking up to the arena.

Theron: This match is exactly what I need. When I win, the World Champion better count his days as champion as they will be numbered. I would make it my intention to challenge him at the biggest gladiatorial combat event of the year. That's when I'd steal the show AND his belt.

Theron walks inside the arena and his thoughts are heard as the gate shuts.

Theron: If Marshmellow IS going to be participating in this match.... I'll make him regret it. I'll save him for the final target and then unleash my most ferocious abilities. Retrieving my lucky rubies AND becoming the number one contender for the World Gladiatorial Combat Federation's World Champion? I like the sound of that.

Fade to black.

 

[Dan Severn's Moustache]

COMING HOME:​

The caliginous nightfall and inexorable downpour concealed any behaviour that would jeopardize their mission. Congregating like vultures around a corpse, they covertly scrambled across the relentless marshland and the protracted hills to their destination. Attired in balaclavas, and blackened combat fatigue, these men were all components of the ultimate special force. Their expertise and precision had attained them a menacing and fierce reputation across the globe. These men were the Spetsnaz.

Whilst being plastered in mud and drenched from an onslaught of water, they declined to flinch, for they saw their objective clearly in their field of vision. The torrential rain, despite serving as a suppressor, also crippled the perception of the unit, as they found themselves adjacent to the entrance of the haggard, cream asylum. The paint had all but peeled from the walls as the damp asbestos was clearly exposed, providing a health and safety hazard to those exposed to it for an extended period. Nearby, armed guards patrolled the rooftops vigilantly, equipped with flash-lights that incised the darkness and illuminated everything in their path. The Spetsnaz force immediately distinguished the danger and at the signal of a chief operative, the force stealthily retired to the vicinity of a nearby truck, obscured by the sheer mass of the vehicle. The group of ten simultaneously drew their impressive arsenal and secured silencers to their weaponry, expecting to encounter the unexpected.

With each man entrenched behind a colossal wheel, they had brief sanctuary to communicate with their commander. Pressing a button on his military radio, the chief operative brought the receiver to the tip of his tongue as he quietly broadcasted information to the commander.

“We’re here.” He whispered gently but firmly, in order to be audible over the deluge.

A concentrated voice with a thick Russian accent responded gratingly. “Excellent. Which means our snatch and grab mission shall begin.”

"Roger that." the commando confirmed, before withdrawing his radio and bearing his own arms. He then sharply addressed his platoon, as the sound of the rain elevated.

"Men!" he yelled over the cacophony. "Viktor Petrov is the only man that we want alive tonight! You have permission to neutralize all other targets, but only if we're compromised!" He then murmured to himself "I'd rather not waste any ammunition."

At the precise moment the conference ended, a dazzling light engulfed the squadron as a scouting sentinel entered the area. Within a split-second, the Spetsnaz had silently evacuated to the underbelly of the truck. Lying in a near cryogenic state, as the effulgence drew nearer, the force were fully prepared to unleash a salvo of bullets on the unperceptive guardian that endangered their mission. They waited for the chief operative’s authorization, but he remained suspended, solely analysing the guard.

Despite possessing a dramatic amount of hardware, the guard remained oblivious to the presence of the Spetsnaz. He was also drenched, drained and disgruntled from having being assigned the night shift by Warden Parker, which damaged his morale and work ethic. After nonchalantly inspecting the sector, he concluded that he “must have imagined the noise.”

As the guard departed, the soldier next to the chief operative began to raise his shotgun and slowly squeezed the trigger on the weapon, with the sentry in his sights. Moments before the gun fired, the chief operative drove the weapon to the ground, and whispered deeply into the soldier’s ear “He’s not worth it, Nevski. People that negligent deserve to be educated, not liberated.”

After monitoring the clear coast, the chief operative instructed his team to advance. Slithering through the aqueous puddles forming on the firm, abrasive concrete, they relentlessly continued to crawl to their objective. They thought very little of the coat of sludge that had engulfed each of them, having endured circumstances far more extreme.

Eventually, the Spetsnaz team reached the beckoning, brown doors of the asylum. As all 10 of them compressed themselves against the wall with much caution, they entered a state of intrepid absorption, dead to all but their mission. This state of mind allowed the Spetsnaz to be ruthless predators; unsatisfied unless their goal was achieved precisely.

With everybody fully adapted for their undertaking, the chief operative punted the doors open as he and his men dispersed into the building with haste. The only mentality they had was to retrieve Viktor Petrov. No matter the cost.

***​

Perceptive as he was, Fallout knew nothing about the incoming Spetsnaz assault. He was engaged with a feeling of aggravation, after Warden Parker had purloined the sword he had himself confiscated from the reality escapist Theron Daggershield. Fallout was perplexed as to how Daggershield had defeated Ramparte despite the lack of his lucky dice, which Fallout grasped tightly in his claw. This was a man-child that had had the true harshness of reality silenced by his games and accessories, yet Fallout had withstood incomprehensible abuse and punishment. By stripping Theron Daggershield of his sword, Fallout was beginning to drag Theron to realism. And after that, to true fear and anguish.

Compacted in the corner of his cell, Fallout began to recount his week in WZCW out aloud.

“Luck was the final part of the equation.” He quietly told himself, with an uncommon pleasure present in his husky voice. “Isabel Stone was nothing more than an investigation subject, and she satisfied that role sublimely. But, Apocalypse will be the time to legitimately evaluate my potency."

Fallout began to tap his feet against the floor rhythmically, as he trapped himself in his own thought process.

"The Elimination Chamber they have christened it. 10 tons of sheer abomination, with 6 humans immersed in warfare with one another. The hazards include the harsh steel encasing, the serrating glass pods, and heights of up to 16 feet. They pick each other off one by one, until the final, tenacious one remains. All for the sake for being coronated the official King For A Day and earning a title match against the WZCW World Heavyweight Champion at any time."

Fallout scoffed as he finished it before uttering "Just another day at the office."

Pulling himself out of the murky corner of his own chamber, Fallout continued to mull over the KFAD match, as he fiddled carefully with the dice in between his fingers.

"Which brings me to my adversaries.” Fallout's voice at this point had taken a callous turn. "These men are advancements on the majority of the humans I have faced thus far; but none of them, none of them will be prepared for the conditions attendant in the Elimination Chamber! I, on the other hand, have experienced far worse than this so-called ‘chamber of horrors’. I am a born survivor, having refused to yield despite my grievous injuries, despair and torture throughout my life. And I will demonstrate that to the WZCW universe when Apocalypse arrives.”

Hesitating as images of Blade, Triple X, The Beard and Ace Stevens flashed through his head at a startling rate, Fallout began to scrutinize each of them.

“Blade and Triple X are clashing over an injury, which shall lead to them being distracted with one another, which allows me to harvest their sorrow. Yet the unobservant masses fail to see that both of these men have clear ego issues. Triple X, akin to Garth Black, flaunts his anti-drug lifestyle like it is some sort of accomplishment. Make no mistake, it was Triple X’s behaviour that caused his sister to perish; yet he plays advocate to the straight edged lifestyle, in an attempt at redemption. You are nothing more than a hypocrite Triple X, and an ostentatious one at that. Men such as Triple X represent humanity to the barebones, and these men are the ones I relish destroying the most.”

“Blade is another human who manipulates the spectators by proclaiming himself to be the ‘Prodigal Son’. The difference between me and him is that I have experienced true torment, torment of which he will never know until he enters the chamber with me. Even the name of his finishing move ‘The Halo’ displays arrogance. He is no angel, and the only contact he will have with an angel is when he is devastated by the angel of death: Fallout.”

“The Beard masquerades as Conquest, but I personally see the white horse as Pestilence, which is a perfect summary for The Beard: A pest that requires the correct control. He also masquerades as a fear-monger, together with a new face and a delusional man named Ezekiel Hewitt, which shows me what he truly is: A coward that hides behind all resources behind him. I shall introduce him to true fear at Apocalypse, and he and Ezekiel Hewitt will learn to be not as casuistic in the future.”

“Ace Stevens is not the comedian. He is the joke. His failure to achieve an initial victory in the qualifier is enough proof of this. And being loud and raucous attains nothing, other than a target on his back. The more he talks the talk, the more the target expands. But his target reached a critical level to me when he delayed my ascension back at Redemption. I have savoured extracting my vengeance on Stevens, and there is no escape inside the Elimination Chamber for him, until he attains ultimate distress in its purest form: At my hands.”

“And the mystery returning legend, who refuses to disclose his identity. This is out of fear of the other combatants, who I have already established as a mild threat to one such as myself. But to retain anonymity to prevent strategy? Evidently, this cowardly man is the worst of all the humans in this match. His double standards allow him to capitalize on the hapless four who remain obtrusive, and remain imprudent to what he is capable of. But, my years with the Spetsnaz have allowed me to be incredibly tactical. And you will regret your impatience and craven attitude when I demonstrate to you why you should never have returned."

As these thoughts ran rampant through Fallout's mind, he then began to envision the humans booing him as he saw himself entering his vault, prepared to eradicate those who stood in his path. As usual, Fallout ignored the critique as he found himself standing in the centre of the WZCW ring, as a vivid spotlight displayed him to the audience. As he began to bounce from the ropes, he perceived a chant that brought him to his senses.

"We want Theron! We want Theron! We want Theron!" the audience roared in disgust at Fallout. Then another chant arose.

"Griz-ly Bob! Griz-ly Bob! Griz-ly Bob!"

The more Fallout's concentration was diminished, the more chants broke out.

Corvus! Corvus! Corvus!"

"Izzy! Izzy! Izzy!"

"Hyada! Hyada! Hyada!"

The uproar continued, as Fallout clasped both of his hands against his cranium, attempting to silence the voices of the London crowd present, but resistance was futile.

Finally, Fallout could bear witness no longer. Snapping back harshly to reality, Fallout screamed at the top of his lungs and hurled his dice against the wall with colossal ferocity. Rasping heavily as he began to tremble, Fallout embraced his outrage.

"Fools! Bastards! Humanity understands nothing! Nothing! The unobservant humans fail to recognise that I am their extrication! They cheer for Ace Stevens and Blade! They cheered for The Beard and Triple X! They embrace the intrigue of the returning legend! And yet, the dawn of the omnipotent is upon them, and they abhor me! The humans have been placed with deciding who claims the final spot, and they will fail to see my opportune moment to ascend!"

Whilst calamity ran wild in Fallout's cell, the Spetsnaz team had managed to silently scuttle to the entry of Fallout's cell. Because Fallout had been encased with anger, his perception had vanished to the point that he knew nothing about the breaching charge placed on the door. The chief operative gave the signal to activate the charge, as Fallout's anger concluded.

"Humanity!" he screeched profoundly whilst he grasped both of his hands tightly. "I will extinguish them all!"

The explosive then detonated, launching Fallout against the other side of his cell, thrashing his spine against the unforgiving stone wall, leaving him in a incapacitated, seated position.

A piercing alarm began to wail vehemently as the Spetsnaz men began to infiltrate Fallout's room. Fallout swiftly recovered from the unprecedented assault, and proceeded to expertly sweep two men off their feet with his legs. Quickly rising as the surrounding bodies hit the floor, he was able to strike another soldier brutally with a near-decapitating spinning heel kick before the numbers game caught up to him, and he was brought to the floor by a flurry of unrelenting strikes. He felt a piercing pain in the back of his neck as the soldiers injected Fallout with a strong anaesthetic. Within moments, Fallout fell limp in the clutches of the chief operative, as he scavenged for his radio and contacted his superior officer.

"We've got him." he said neutrally down the receiver.

***​

The first thing Fallout noticed when he awoke were the compact restraints anchoring him to a rough surface. Then Fallout surveyed a familiar face. A tall, balding middle-aged figure with a gloating grin glanced down upon the captured Fallout. The appearance of this man horrified Fallout to the extreme.

"Oleg Yeltsin" Fallout hissed harshly. "You should be dead."

"And you should be too." He replied coldly, as his smile widened. "But I have need of you, Viktor."

"You killed Viktor Petrov!" Fallout bellowed, attempting in vain to wriggle out of his binds. This prompted Oleg Yelstin to wag his finger in a taunting manner at Fallout.

"Your attempts to shield yourself behind an alias are useless." Yeltsin then began to move his face closer to Fallout's mask in an attempt to disorientate him. "But that is of little concern to me at this moment in time. What I need is your co-operation."

"I'll never assist humanity again, especially not vermin like you." Fallout growled.

"All of a sudden, you have standards?" Oleg Yeltsin chuckled. He understood that he had Fallout in the palm of his hand, and after viewing his matches and segments, he had an even stronger understanding of Fallout's psyche than ever before.

"I feel that this mission will be of great benefit to you and your endeavour. A mission that shall be forever scribed as Viktor Petrov's triumph. A day that will change the Earth forever. And it benefits you strongly, Viktor. This is not solely a favour for me. It is a favour for you."

Despite his resentment for Yeltsin, curiosity began to grow in Fallout's mind. Many questions flowed through his head at a rapid pace, though the simplest exited Fallout's mouth: "What is this mission?"

Oleg Yeltsin leaned away from Fallout and strolled to the end of the surface that Fallout was on, as he monologued his intentions to Fallout.

"I cannot merely reveal this mission due to its severity and due to the risk that it imposes. For me to reveal it would require many factors to be satisfied. Know this though Viktor; you need to gain access to the King For A Day match, and you need to triumph in order to regain some of my trust. Your tenacity has suffered from serious drawbacks recently." Oleg Yeltsin began to gain anger. "Losing to a fool masquerading as a superhero? Stealing toys? You were designed to be the ultimate soldier, Fallout. Strength, Perception, Endurance, Charisma, Intelligence, Agility and Luck after your survival. That is why you were dubbed Project SPECIAL."

A soldier looking on shared his opinion. "Would his killer instinct make him Project SPECIAL K?"

"Shut up!" Yeltsin yelled at the man, as his thought process disintegrated.

"I am one of the choices for the King For A Day match." Fallout murmured to continue the conversation, still distrustful of Oleg Yeltsin. "But the humans fail to understand what I truly am. I am the danger to all 5 men who enter the chamber."

"Yes." Yeltsin reassured. "The spot you wish to require is indeed the wildcard in this match. But none of those men know what you are capable of. The only evidence they have is wrestling matches. But I have seen you at your finest, I have seen you succeed every mission you have undertook and with the new technology that we have required, we can make you better than you ever have been before. It is not just a case of me needing you. You need me Viktor, more than ever. This mission will change everything, and I need to know if you are ready. Are you in, or out?"

Fallout entered deep thought. Yeltsin was by far the most repugnant of the humans he had met. He had killed Viktor Petrov, but this man was also indirectly responsible for creating Fallout. Fallout felt himself intrigued by Yeltsin's proposition, and it allowed him to continue his ascension through WZCW uninterrupted.

The positives outweighed the negatives.

"I'm in." Fallout said slowly, as he began to feel as if he sold his soul to humanity yet again.

Oleg Yeltsin instructed 2 nearby soldiers to release Fallout. He then walked up to Fallout and stared for what seemed for an eternity at the mask, admiring his own creation as the Pygmalion effect took place.

"Welcome back." he said with utmost delight.

 

[red ass skull muhfukkah]

A mother grizzly bear is trudging through a muddy forest, it's cub is following close behind. It stops at a river and waits; the cub sits next to her and watches her. She waits patiently for the perfect moment to grab one of the many salmon swimming past her. Finally she picks her spot and snatches one with her mouth, she throws it onto the ground and waits for another. The cub runs to the salmon on the ground and plays with it as the mother catches another. She throws it next to the other one, the cub tears at the salmon as does the mother.

As their eating, the large father bear comes running over and slams into the mother bear. She falls to the ground and stays there; the cub attempts to jump on the father bear but is easily tossed on the ground. The father bear stands on it’s hind legs and roars. The cub goes by the mother and the father proceeds to eat both fishes.

The mother gets up and charges at the father, he gets taken to the ground from the surprise attack. The mother claws at the father bear relentlessly until with one swat of his paw she falls back. He charges at her and bumps her into the river. Before she can get up he bites her neck and snaps it. The cub is about to attack but gets scared away by one glare from the father, he skimpers backwards and the father goes to the salmon and eats both before heading back into the forest.

The cub attempts to wake up the mother by pushing at her, after several minute he decides to drag her out of the water. It takes all of his strength and a lot of day time to pull her out, but he finally does. As the sun begins to to set, the howl of wolves are heard in the distance. The cub looks back and forth between the mother and the forest. He knows the wolves will come for her body soon and he’s no match for them alone, but he does not want to abandon his mother, the only thing he knows. As the howls grow nearer and the sky gets darker, the cub pushes the mother one last time before hurrying into the forest.

He’s running as fast as he can, looking for any shelter he can find. Eventually he stumbles upon a small cave and quickly heads in. The walls of the cave are covered in paintings of geometric shapes and constellations. Lost because it’s his first night alone and the only thing he knew and loved had been taken away from him he curls into a ball and falls asleep.

He’s awoken by large human hands picking up and shushing noises. He’s put inside of a cage and thrown onto the back of a pickup truck. The truck takes him to a bear sanctuary not far from the cave. He’s placed inside a large outdoor cage. He looks around and sees several other cubs playing off in the distance, a tire swing hung from a tree to his right and various rocks and other things to climb on to his left.

Several minutes pass before he decides to introduce himself to the rest of the cubs. While walking up to them he realizes how much larger than him they are. Before he gets close, they all stop playing and stare at him. They study everything about him, judging his size and ragged appearance. They go back to playing with each other and ignore him. The cub is discouraged at the unwillingness of the others to accept him. If they only knew him and what he had been through and how fun he can be, maybe they’d give him another chance. He runs at them and jumps on the back of the biggest one to start playing. He throws the cub onto the ground and another one whacks him with his paw, another one does and another one does until finally a human intervenes and separates the cubs.

For the next several months the cub mostly sticks to himself, playing as far way from the others as possible. Every few days they’ll go over to him and repeat the incident from the first time they met. The more and more the other cubs do this, the less and less the humans intervene until they stop entirely. One day the cub is playing with a large stick, biting it and trying to break it; when the other cubs approach him to repeat their weekly ritual. This time however the cub picks up the large stick with his mouth and swings his had back and forth every time another cub comes near, one gets too close and is struck in the head. It scurries away, whimpering as do the others.

A year later the cub is now almost a fully grown bear. The attacks from the others have stopped but still he is left alone. He comes across a metal pole left out by one of the humans. He plays with it, climbs on it and rolls around it. The humans take notice of the bear’s ability to use the pole and teach it other tricks. This continues for a few months until one day a man in a suit comes to visit him, he’s impressed with his tricks and decides to put him in his circus to show his talents to the world.

The bear enjoys performing for the audience. It gets dressed up, uses a fancy pole now, and displays it’s number of tricks every night for a cheering crowd. The other animals do not enjoy his performance or his company; he is shunned here as well. He’s left alone in his cage with his pole and separated from the others until it’s time to perform.

After a year a female bear passes his cage and heads right in. She plays with his pole and with him right from the start. The bear likes the company and finally feeling acceptance for the first time since the loss of his mother. For the next few months between every show they spend all their time together until one day she stops coming by his cage. Every day he would wait for her to come, sometimes he would even wander around looking for her, but he never found her. Until one morning he saw her on the other side of the circus grounds playing with a koala bear like she used to play with him. This hurts the bear, this hurts the bear so much the pain turns to rage. All the years of abuse and loss and rejection have been bottled up and the cap is almost off.

Later that day when it was time for his performance, the trainers went to his cage to bring him out for the packed crowd. Usually he would be waiting at the door eagerly and would go without question and with excitement. But today he lied at the back, not wanting to go out. The trainers call and call at him but he ignores. They head into his cage and poke at him continuously to get up, finally he snaps and attacks one of the trainers, nearly mauling him to death but his stopped by a tranquilizer gun that knocks him out cold.

When he awakens he finds himself back in the sanctuary and sees the bears that used to torment him hovering around him. Immediately they attack him but he defends himself. This isn’t the quiet bear they knew when he left, today he was a new bear, an angry bear who’ll stand up for himself. He manages to thwart off several of the bears when a human runs over and stops it before it goes too far.

The bear notices the cage door is open and runs as fast he can towards the open door. The humans chase after him but he gets through and runs into the forest. They chase and chase until the sun begins to set and the howling of wolves is heard in the distance. The bear finally stops running. He’s at the river bed where his mother was killed all those years ago. He stares at the river and swimming salmon and swats angrily at them. He goes into a fit, hitting the water until the howling of the wolves stop him. He decides he’s fought enough today and heads into the forest to seek shelter.

He finds the cave he slept in what seems like a life time ago and heads in. When he gets to the end he notices large eyes staring at him, he crawls closer and sees the large eyes belong to his father. He’s older and maybe weaker but he looks more dangerous and viscous than ever before. The father stands on his hind legs and roars, it echoes throughout the cave. The bear backs away slowly but notices a large stick next to his right paw and stops. He grabs the stick in his mouth and charges his father with it. He swings and swings the stick hitting the father over and over until the stick snaps. The father is wounded but still ready to fight, the bear slowly starts to back away from the father. The shapes and constellations on the walls begin to glow red as the memory of the father killing his mother hits the bears mind. He snaps and charges again, lunging at the father’s neck. He takes him down and snaps it. The walls glow brighter and the bear continues to attack the dead body of his father until the large bear’s blood and innards are strewn across the entire cave and all that remains is a skeleton.

The wolves howl loud and it sounds as if they’re right outside the cave. No doubt drawn in by the sounds of what just occurred. The bear crawls under the father’s skeleton and it drapes over his body. He crawls out of the cave and a dozen wolves are waiting for him. Tentacles begin to slither from out of the cave and the bear stands on his hind legs, his father’s bones and blood still covering. His eyes glow red and he roars into the sky as the scene fades to black.