Viola Moonlight
I'm Literally Just Here for WZCW
Deadline is Tuesday May 5, 2015 at 11:59 PM (Central Time). Extensions are available upon request.
AS 92: Cerberus vs. Dorian Slaughter & Ty Burna (non-title)
- Thread starter Viola Moonlight
- Start date
- Status
Deadline is Tuesday May 5, 2015 at 11:59 PM (Central Time). Extensions are available upon request.
Richard Blonoff
Make America Rassle Again
Deadline has been extended by 24 hours.
Ty Burna
Getting Noticed By Management
Senseless brutality. All involved have felt the wrath of Desecration. There is no one left to oppose him now. The weak is dead. The underdog thrown from the kennel. The Emperor laid out, slain by his own allies. The hero escaped once more, believing his fight for his own mortality over. He is sadly mistaken. He fails to realize the toll taken upon his life. He now looks to the lesser Dragon for help. His scales will be ripped away, his fire extinguished by an even greater flame. Nothing has changed. Nothing. Yet, it will not be the beast that slays the hero. The damage has been done. He is prone, and now, the Angel of Death swoops in, his scythe aimed for the neck.
Ty: You know full well what is at stake now.
Now is the time to strike.
I have done all I can for you now.
Though I shall be right by your side.
Do not concern yourself with the fate of the siren.
She has been silenced permanently.
The protege had grown into the next challenger. He has usurped his opportunity. Yet there is no anger. He was the one to drive the final dagger in the back of the condescending. The Emperor falls without the opportunity to defend his kingdom, his castle walls destroyed from within. To take the support of the unholy for granted, he had paid the ultimate price.
Dorian: The path has cleared. The Exodus of the worms shall begin. It has become clear to me now what must be done. I shall ascend, and the land consumed in darkness.
Ty: The hero has proven more difficult then expected. Though he holds what we want, it shall soon be ripped away from his cold hands. Dorian! You have done well under the tutelage of Chaos. Chaos is dead. Order shall soon follow it's path. You shall be the one to cast the final blow, leading us all to the scarred earth so deserved of this wretched place.
Dorian: The champion is nothing. I have broken him once before, and I shall do so again. What of his slob of a friend? The pet dragon? And what of Constantine? Surely they will all target us for what has happened.
Ty: In due time Dorian. For now you shall focus on the prophecy laid before you. I shall render all enemies to the gnashing teeth of hell. They shall not reach the desecrated altar you have set.
The beast and the Angel of Death walked through the blackened lands, the molten fire flows past them while the eerie silence overtakes them both. He shall step aside, become the guardian over the one foretold to destroy the hero. Though the Ouija was dead, it's effects were still felt upon the beast. Laughter slowly emanates from him, his hand reaching into the fire and running through it like water.
Ty: For now, we shall take on Cerberus. The three headed dog of hell. What do they know of hell Dorian? What do they know of the suffering their name sake supposedly guards? We both know the answer to such things Dorian. They do not see the pain you hide in your eyes. The struggle to come to achieve meaning in this world that discarded you without so much as a thought.
Dorian: Beauty, they revel in their own decadence and narcissism. What better way then to bloody their faces and see the truth within the mirror? They shall see the scars that line their psyche, their fears showing who they truly are.
Ty: Mirrors reflect only what they wish to see. A shattered mirror will reveal the broken. Cut one head off, the other two will falter. They fill their minds with their own boastful ways. Let us be the ones to bring them back to a reality we have set forth for them. Let them see what hell truly is!
Dorian: They shall be the first sacrifice on the way to destroying Matt Tastic.
Ty: Indeed they shall. But I must warn you now Dorian.
The beast stops midstep and turns towards the Angel of Death. A sick grin forms on the face of Desecration.
Ty: Nothing will survive. No one shall live to see the day you break the spine of the hero beneath your feet. The two beasts shall bring upon the world a death that even God himself will weep from. Are you prepared to bring upon such savagery?
The Angel of Death, a man of no emotion, yet the mention of the Apocalypse, his own personal Ragnarok, his mind salivates at the thought. A smile slowly forms on his face, as the beast lifts his head up slowly, feeding off the malicious energy.
Dorian: In fire, he shall become Death.
Ty: Forgive us Cerberus. There shall be no beauty in pain. For there shall only be.
Desecration.
Tyrone: What.....what in the hell?
I awoke in a broken alley, garbage strewn all over. The smell overloaded my senses as I struggled to pull myself off. These clothes, these were the same ones I wore that fateful night. But....The Harbinger. Arianna. Where were they? The beast....that night. Arianna... I slammed my fist against the wall, blood immediately splattering on my hand as I did so.
Tyrone: Now what do I do? I'm free...but I don't know why.
I turned and slowly made my way out of the alley, stumbling along the dark ground. The pitter patter of blood dripping can be heard, the street light my only beacon. As I entered the street, I looked around, not a soul in sight. Of course. This part of town, wait.....I realized then I was back on the streets. My streets. This was Cleveland. I was home.
Tyrone: Shit.....
I turned left, as if my legs were walking on instinct. Soon I came across a dive bar, memories flooding back to me from years past. I rubbed my wrists, the shackles of my imprisonment gone. Without a second thought I walked in and took a seat at the end of the bar, only one other drunk that was already passed out. As the bartender walked past I ordered a whiskey sour.
Tyrone: Been awhile man... but what's next? I got what I want finally, but I can feel like I gotta do something.
I downed the drink quickly, surprisingly leaving just enough money on the counter for my drink. I walked outside, throwing my hood over my head as the rain began to come down. It had been too many years, I had no home, Anthony was dead, and no sign of Arianna. As I reached into my pockets, I realize I had no cigarettes. I turn back towards the bar, but as I do the door closes and the lights flicker off.
Tyrone: Figures as much.....
I knew then what I had to do. This bastard that's caused me all this pain. All this suffering. It was time for him to pay. The beast is going to meet the bottom of my boot, and I'll cave his fucking face in. He might be this mystical piece of garbage who feels no pain...
Tyrone: But he's sure as fuck going to be crying for me to stop when I'm done. Time to go to work. But first. Where the hell's the gas station?
I sighed as I began making my way down the street, the rain cleansing the guilt that I had on my shoulders for so long. I would make it right. I would find Arianna. Right after I get cigarettes.
Ty: You know full well what is at stake now.
Now is the time to strike.
I have done all I can for you now.
Though I shall be right by your side.
Do not concern yourself with the fate of the siren.
She has been silenced permanently.
The protege had grown into the next challenger. He has usurped his opportunity. Yet there is no anger. He was the one to drive the final dagger in the back of the condescending. The Emperor falls without the opportunity to defend his kingdom, his castle walls destroyed from within. To take the support of the unholy for granted, he had paid the ultimate price.
Dorian: The path has cleared. The Exodus of the worms shall begin. It has become clear to me now what must be done. I shall ascend, and the land consumed in darkness.
Ty: The hero has proven more difficult then expected. Though he holds what we want, it shall soon be ripped away from his cold hands. Dorian! You have done well under the tutelage of Chaos. Chaos is dead. Order shall soon follow it's path. You shall be the one to cast the final blow, leading us all to the scarred earth so deserved of this wretched place.
Dorian: The champion is nothing. I have broken him once before, and I shall do so again. What of his slob of a friend? The pet dragon? And what of Constantine? Surely they will all target us for what has happened.
Ty: In due time Dorian. For now you shall focus on the prophecy laid before you. I shall render all enemies to the gnashing teeth of hell. They shall not reach the desecrated altar you have set.
The beast and the Angel of Death walked through the blackened lands, the molten fire flows past them while the eerie silence overtakes them both. He shall step aside, become the guardian over the one foretold to destroy the hero. Though the Ouija was dead, it's effects were still felt upon the beast. Laughter slowly emanates from him, his hand reaching into the fire and running through it like water.
Ty: For now, we shall take on Cerberus. The three headed dog of hell. What do they know of hell Dorian? What do they know of the suffering their name sake supposedly guards? We both know the answer to such things Dorian. They do not see the pain you hide in your eyes. The struggle to come to achieve meaning in this world that discarded you without so much as a thought.
Dorian: Beauty, they revel in their own decadence and narcissism. What better way then to bloody their faces and see the truth within the mirror? They shall see the scars that line their psyche, their fears showing who they truly are.
Ty: Mirrors reflect only what they wish to see. A shattered mirror will reveal the broken. Cut one head off, the other two will falter. They fill their minds with their own boastful ways. Let us be the ones to bring them back to a reality we have set forth for them. Let them see what hell truly is!
Dorian: They shall be the first sacrifice on the way to destroying Matt Tastic.
Ty: Indeed they shall. But I must warn you now Dorian.
The beast stops midstep and turns towards the Angel of Death. A sick grin forms on the face of Desecration.
Ty: Nothing will survive. No one shall live to see the day you break the spine of the hero beneath your feet. The two beasts shall bring upon the world a death that even God himself will weep from. Are you prepared to bring upon such savagery?
The Angel of Death, a man of no emotion, yet the mention of the Apocalypse, his own personal Ragnarok, his mind salivates at the thought. A smile slowly forms on his face, as the beast lifts his head up slowly, feeding off the malicious energy.
Dorian: In fire, he shall become Death.
Ty: Forgive us Cerberus. There shall be no beauty in pain. For there shall only be.
Desecration.
Tyrone: What.....what in the hell?
I awoke in a broken alley, garbage strewn all over. The smell overloaded my senses as I struggled to pull myself off. These clothes, these were the same ones I wore that fateful night. But....The Harbinger. Arianna. Where were they? The beast....that night. Arianna... I slammed my fist against the wall, blood immediately splattering on my hand as I did so.
Tyrone: Now what do I do? I'm free...but I don't know why.
I turned and slowly made my way out of the alley, stumbling along the dark ground. The pitter patter of blood dripping can be heard, the street light my only beacon. As I entered the street, I looked around, not a soul in sight. Of course. This part of town, wait.....I realized then I was back on the streets. My streets. This was Cleveland. I was home.
Tyrone: Shit.....
I turned left, as if my legs were walking on instinct. Soon I came across a dive bar, memories flooding back to me from years past. I rubbed my wrists, the shackles of my imprisonment gone. Without a second thought I walked in and took a seat at the end of the bar, only one other drunk that was already passed out. As the bartender walked past I ordered a whiskey sour.
Tyrone: Been awhile man... but what's next? I got what I want finally, but I can feel like I gotta do something.
I downed the drink quickly, surprisingly leaving just enough money on the counter for my drink. I walked outside, throwing my hood over my head as the rain began to come down. It had been too many years, I had no home, Anthony was dead, and no sign of Arianna. As I reached into my pockets, I realize I had no cigarettes. I turn back towards the bar, but as I do the door closes and the lights flicker off.
Tyrone: Figures as much.....
I knew then what I had to do. This bastard that's caused me all this pain. All this suffering. It was time for him to pay. The beast is going to meet the bottom of my boot, and I'll cave his fucking face in. He might be this mystical piece of garbage who feels no pain...
Tyrone: But he's sure as fuck going to be crying for me to stop when I'm done. Time to go to work. But first. Where the hell's the gas station?
I sighed as I began making my way down the street, the rain cleansing the guilt that I had on my shoulders for so long. I would make it right. I would find Arianna. Right after I get cigarettes.
FlexAmerican Dynamite
WZCW WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION
Following their hard fought victory against Hard Metal Penetration the WZCW World Tag Team Champions Ramparte and Flex Mussel can be seen limping up the ramp as they make their way backstage. As they make it behind the curtain they begin to receive a standing round of applause from not only the backstage production crew but also a few of the wrestlers. The first two heads of Cerberus will never win a popularity contest but for the first time they were shown a mutual sign of respect based off their match against the now disbanded S.H.I.T. and Alhazred. One person in particular even came up to the champions to shake their hand. That person was a WZCW legend in his own right: Everest.
Everest: I know you two arent exactly the most well-liked but regardless of personal opinion you two deserve a lot of credit for not only what you just did out in that ring but what you two have accomplished in WZCW the last year.
Flex: Thank you sir that means a lot coming from you.
Ramparte: Youre one of the few non-members of Cerberus who we truly respect.
Everest: Well Im glad to hear it, almost seems like yesterday I was scouting each of you for a WZCW developmental contract. Its crazy to think fate would have you two meet and become one of the best teams of all time.
Ramparte: Well it certainly wasnt a match made in heaven at first
Flex: But Id like to think we made it work in the end. Now if you would please excuse us we need to get going.
The monsieur of muscle excuses Ramparte and himself and they ignore the EMTs advice for medical attention go straight to their locker room in search of Eve Taylor who beforehand lost her Eurasian championship. However, when they reach their room all they find is a note waiting on their luggage.
"I need to go .need some time to think .Ill get in contact when I can - Eve."
About 72 hours later
The tag team champions can be seen inside a Flex Fitness gym each focused on their own activities with Flex powerlifting as usual but periodically checking his cell phone nearby. The Catalyst notices this and takes a break from his exercise to talk to his partner.
Ramparte: Still no word from Eve?
Flex: Not at all, shes taking the loss pretty hard.
Ramparte: Well didnt we at Kingdom Come?
Flex: Yeah but we at least had each other. Even if werent exactly on the same page at the time we were at least in constant communication. I worry her solitude will only detrimental to her well-being.
Ramparte: She needs space Flex.
Flex: Space from us? Her friends and the people shes closest to?!
Ramparte: Are you really worried or just not used to being in close proximity of her?
Flex: This isnt about my infatuation Ram, I just feel bad that because we werent there. Because it wasnt a six person ladder match like it was supposed to be we werent able to protect her. I was so focused with us potentially losing the belts again I never even imagined shed lose her own.
Ramparte: As important as Eve is she isnt our focus.
Flex: Well who exactly is? Weve dismantled Hard Metal Penetration and there are no other teams in sight. Is this not the time for our best friend to be our focus?
Ramparte: The Elite isnt an official tag team but is a dangerous combination as any. Especially considering because of them Constantine wasnt even able to compete at Gold Rush.
Flex: Their backstabbing mentality is the exact reason why theyre not an official tag team. Its the exact reason why theyll never be as good as us and why they cant beat us. Ty and Dorian arent even the original Elite members. Before them Michael Winters, Showtime, Steven Holmes, and now Constantine were thrown out and decimated at the hands of their own stablemates. Soon enough a power hungry Ty Burna will do the same to a naïve Dorian Slaughter.
Ramparte: The fact that Ty has been able to manipulate the people around him and his surroundings all these years is an accomplishment in and of itself. Hes managed to always keep himself in the spotlight and always at the forefront no matter the younger generation of talent looking to overtake him. He will do the same to us if you let Eves whereabouts cloud your focus.
Flex: Im well aware of Tys ability to steal the spotlight. Unfortunately for him keeping the spotlight planted squarely on us is something weve excelled at the last couple of months. Ty Burna is one of the greatest wrestlers to ever grace a WZCW ring and Dorian Slaughter is unquestionably a future world champion but their just a knife in the back away from making sure the Elite dissolves for good.
Ramparte: You know for a while people said the same thing about us.
Flex: And they were wrong, whats your point?
Ramparte: Maybe youre wrong as well.
Flex: Regardless if theyre on the same page Cerberus is a stronger and more cohesive unit than they could ever wish for. Were not losing our belts anytime soon.
Ramparte: Considering were standing alone on the mountain top Im inclined to agree.
Flex: Is there any reason you wouldnt?
Ramparte: Well if one of us were too busy focusing on a crush I guess that would get in the way of us winning.
Flex: Well I wish I had the ability to be as emotionally isolated as you Ram but I guess I care too much for that.
The Catalyst is a bit taken back at the comments of the body builder, but quickly tries to readjust his focus to the problem at hand.
Ramparte: Just dont take the Elite lightly, theres a reason they kept the top stars of this company busy for such a long time.
Flex: And theres a reason why were one of the only tag teams still left standing in this company. Im not underestimating Slaughter; he won the Gold Rush tournament and could very well be the next world champion. And Ty Burna may be the greatest WZCW star in history, but then again, Im more of a Showtime guy.
Mussel smirks and continues on with his powerlifting exercises, Ramparte rolls his eyes and leaves his partner to his business.
Everest: I know you two arent exactly the most well-liked but regardless of personal opinion you two deserve a lot of credit for not only what you just did out in that ring but what you two have accomplished in WZCW the last year.
Flex: Thank you sir that means a lot coming from you.
Ramparte: Youre one of the few non-members of Cerberus who we truly respect.
Everest: Well Im glad to hear it, almost seems like yesterday I was scouting each of you for a WZCW developmental contract. Its crazy to think fate would have you two meet and become one of the best teams of all time.
Ramparte: Well it certainly wasnt a match made in heaven at first
Flex: But Id like to think we made it work in the end. Now if you would please excuse us we need to get going.
The monsieur of muscle excuses Ramparte and himself and they ignore the EMTs advice for medical attention go straight to their locker room in search of Eve Taylor who beforehand lost her Eurasian championship. However, when they reach their room all they find is a note waiting on their luggage.
"I need to go .need some time to think .Ill get in contact when I can - Eve."
About 72 hours later
The tag team champions can be seen inside a Flex Fitness gym each focused on their own activities with Flex powerlifting as usual but periodically checking his cell phone nearby. The Catalyst notices this and takes a break from his exercise to talk to his partner.
Ramparte: Still no word from Eve?
Flex: Not at all, shes taking the loss pretty hard.
Ramparte: Well didnt we at Kingdom Come?
Flex: Yeah but we at least had each other. Even if werent exactly on the same page at the time we were at least in constant communication. I worry her solitude will only detrimental to her well-being.
Ramparte: She needs space Flex.
Flex: Space from us? Her friends and the people shes closest to?!
Ramparte: Are you really worried or just not used to being in close proximity of her?
Flex: This isnt about my infatuation Ram, I just feel bad that because we werent there. Because it wasnt a six person ladder match like it was supposed to be we werent able to protect her. I was so focused with us potentially losing the belts again I never even imagined shed lose her own.
Ramparte: As important as Eve is she isnt our focus.
Flex: Well who exactly is? Weve dismantled Hard Metal Penetration and there are no other teams in sight. Is this not the time for our best friend to be our focus?
Ramparte: The Elite isnt an official tag team but is a dangerous combination as any. Especially considering because of them Constantine wasnt even able to compete at Gold Rush.
Flex: Their backstabbing mentality is the exact reason why theyre not an official tag team. Its the exact reason why theyll never be as good as us and why they cant beat us. Ty and Dorian arent even the original Elite members. Before them Michael Winters, Showtime, Steven Holmes, and now Constantine were thrown out and decimated at the hands of their own stablemates. Soon enough a power hungry Ty Burna will do the same to a naïve Dorian Slaughter.
Ramparte: The fact that Ty has been able to manipulate the people around him and his surroundings all these years is an accomplishment in and of itself. Hes managed to always keep himself in the spotlight and always at the forefront no matter the younger generation of talent looking to overtake him. He will do the same to us if you let Eves whereabouts cloud your focus.
Flex: Im well aware of Tys ability to steal the spotlight. Unfortunately for him keeping the spotlight planted squarely on us is something weve excelled at the last couple of months. Ty Burna is one of the greatest wrestlers to ever grace a WZCW ring and Dorian Slaughter is unquestionably a future world champion but their just a knife in the back away from making sure the Elite dissolves for good.
Ramparte: You know for a while people said the same thing about us.
Flex: And they were wrong, whats your point?
Ramparte: Maybe youre wrong as well.
Flex: Regardless if theyre on the same page Cerberus is a stronger and more cohesive unit than they could ever wish for. Were not losing our belts anytime soon.
Ramparte: Considering were standing alone on the mountain top Im inclined to agree.
Flex: Is there any reason you wouldnt?
Ramparte: Well if one of us were too busy focusing on a crush I guess that would get in the way of us winning.
Flex: Well I wish I had the ability to be as emotionally isolated as you Ram but I guess I care too much for that.
The Catalyst is a bit taken back at the comments of the body builder, but quickly tries to readjust his focus to the problem at hand.
Ramparte: Just dont take the Elite lightly, theres a reason they kept the top stars of this company busy for such a long time.
Flex: And theres a reason why were one of the only tag teams still left standing in this company. Im not underestimating Slaughter; he won the Gold Rush tournament and could very well be the next world champion. And Ty Burna may be the greatest WZCW star in history, but then again, Im more of a Showtime guy.
Mussel smirks and continues on with his powerlifting exercises, Ramparte rolls his eyes and leaves his partner to his business.
Spidey Revivey
Porn is okay here long as it ain't dudes.
O'Hare International Airport
Chicago, Illinois
7 Days After Gold Rush
The wear and tear of the last pay per view was evident on Cerberus's faces. Flex Mussél and Godfrey Ramparte sat quietly near the airport terminal. Several people glimpsed at their respective gold. For the very few that cheered them on at live events, they would have welcomed any kind of attention in Illinois. But even after a week's passing there was a shadow over their eyes.
"I killed them. S.H.I.T....Amber Warren....Even Haven has disappeared. Every tag team we've ever encountered disbanded. We struck fear in the hearts of men by branding ourselves Team Killers...but...it's true."
Ramparte looked transfixed at his cane. The silver glistened against the flourescent lights of the ceiling fixtures. His partner jerked himself awake after hearing The Catalyst.
"Huh? What are you talking about? Isn't that a good thing? With Gold Rush done with we've solidified ourselves as one of the greatest teams in WZCW history.
Isn't this what we wanted?"
"I...no."
He twirled his cane. The figurehead of the wolf seemed to wink at him.
"When Alexander the Great conquered all of the known world, he cried. He didn't weep because he finally found glory. He fell to his knees because there were no worlds left to conquer. What are we to do, Mussél? I see no other teams left."
The eternal question hung in the air above the two.
"There is still The Elite, or the remnants of it."
"I suppose. Ty Burna embodies the WZCW. Former World Champion. Former owner of the entire company. Nobody really holds a candle to his accolades. And now he has found a pupil. Dorian Slaughter. The two darkest forces on Earth have aligned.
But I'm getting the sneaking suspicion that The Elite don't want our gold. They've had an entire year to try."
"Indeed. It's almost like an unspoken agreement was made between us all at Kingdom Come. We don't meddle in their affairs and they don't with ours. But Gold Rush is over and things are getting Unscripted. It's high time we saw who the better team was."
Ramparte nodded, but still felt an odd sense that there was something else after The Elite. Something waiting in another country.
A child pulled him back into reality. She was a nine year old with brunette hair. She wore an old Eve Taylor t-shirt back before she became the Third Head of Cerberus. The Three Little Pigs was in her hands. She held it up for The Catalyst to take.
"Where's your mom? I'm sure she's looking for you."
"She's watching me. Please read this for me."
He pursed his lips. Children terrified him. But he was too tired to argue, and grabbed the book. He turned to the first page where three anthropomorphic architects started grabbing supplies for their homes. He rolled his eyes.
"I know a better story. Wanna hear that?"
The little girl shook her head yes.
"Once upon a time there were three little men. None of them decided to build a foundation for their houses, because apparently foundation wasn't important to these assholes. The leader surrounded himself with two partners at all times, and he did this for almost a year. But you see his team was like a revolving door.
Eventually somebody would get kicked out a month after joining, or they'd be too injured to carry on. There was a religious man, an aristocratic gentleman, a tv host and then a demigod. One by one they left this elite team. You see, nobody from this group truly had respect for one another. If they had, they would still be active today. But only two men are still around from this stable, and they're probably the most dangerous two that political shit could get his hands on. Constantine is riding high, but he's without backup now. Such is the folly of politicians. Hubris.
But let me tell you something, little girl. There's another team still around. One that made a foundation out of bricks. One that will hold firm as The Big Bad Wolf tries to blow them away. I'm talking about the Hounds of Hell. The Team Killers. The Entity Known as Cerberus. You see this gold right here?"
By this point the child's eyes are as round as saucers from the rant Ramparte was conducting. He pointed at the gold around his waist. The gold they had won over twice.
"This is what separates us from them. For they are a team fans will talk about for years to come. But WE are a team they'll talk about for centuries. Will Flex here spin those Hot Topic havin' wizards out of Cuba? Will I spit my ink into the faces of demons? We shall see, little one. Oh we shall see."
Dumbfounded, the kid looked at both Ramparte and Flex. Flex shrugged and closed his eyes again. When he did, the girl gave a toothy grin. She stuck her tongue out at The Catalyst. It was forked. Her eyes dilated and she started to hover above the ground. Ramparte stood up, and what he had thought was the Three Little Pigs was just his cane and it clamored to the floor. This woke the Monsieur of Muscle back up. Startled, Ramparte looked back at the nine year old. She was gone.
"You cool, bro? Looks like you've seen a ghost."
The intercom interrupted them.
Fear embraced the bookworm. Red eyes twisted themselves in his mind. A branch of lightning. Graves. A lit candle standing too close to a pile of books. The madness of it all made him grin broadly even with his words coming out in caution.
"We...we may be dealing with something beyond our understanding. We must tread lightly with Ty Burna and Dorian Slaughter. There are monsters heading to "The Pearl of the Antilles", and they're not just Cerberus. Let's get going, friend. There is a fight to be won."
"We've got each other's backs. A team for an entire year. We have done it, Ramparte. Now let's do it some more. Let's break every record there is out there. I'm talking SaboSax's lengthy reign. I'm talking about undefeated streaks. Cerberus will be hailed. Guaran-fucking-tee it."
They gathered their luggage and took to the skies.
Chicago, Illinois
7 Days After Gold Rush
The wear and tear of the last pay per view was evident on Cerberus's faces. Flex Mussél and Godfrey Ramparte sat quietly near the airport terminal. Several people glimpsed at their respective gold. For the very few that cheered them on at live events, they would have welcomed any kind of attention in Illinois. But even after a week's passing there was a shadow over their eyes.
Gold Rush '15 said:
"I killed them. S.H.I.T....Amber Warren....Even Haven has disappeared. Every tag team we've ever encountered disbanded. We struck fear in the hearts of men by branding ourselves Team Killers...but...it's true."
Ramparte looked transfixed at his cane. The silver glistened against the flourescent lights of the ceiling fixtures. His partner jerked himself awake after hearing The Catalyst.
"Huh? What are you talking about? Isn't that a good thing? With Gold Rush done with we've solidified ourselves as one of the greatest teams in WZCW history.
Isn't this what we wanted?"
"I...no."
He twirled his cane. The figurehead of the wolf seemed to wink at him.
"When Alexander the Great conquered all of the known world, he cried. He didn't weep because he finally found glory. He fell to his knees because there were no worlds left to conquer. What are we to do, Mussél? I see no other teams left."
The eternal question hung in the air above the two.
"There is still The Elite, or the remnants of it."
"I suppose. Ty Burna embodies the WZCW. Former World Champion. Former owner of the entire company. Nobody really holds a candle to his accolades. And now he has found a pupil. Dorian Slaughter. The two darkest forces on Earth have aligned.
But I'm getting the sneaking suspicion that The Elite don't want our gold. They've had an entire year to try."
"Indeed. It's almost like an unspoken agreement was made between us all at Kingdom Come. We don't meddle in their affairs and they don't with ours. But Gold Rush is over and things are getting Unscripted. It's high time we saw who the better team was."
Ramparte nodded, but still felt an odd sense that there was something else after The Elite. Something waiting in another country.
A child pulled him back into reality. She was a nine year old with brunette hair. She wore an old Eve Taylor t-shirt back before she became the Third Head of Cerberus. The Three Little Pigs was in her hands. She held it up for The Catalyst to take.
"Where's your mom? I'm sure she's looking for you."
"She's watching me. Please read this for me."
He pursed his lips. Children terrified him. But he was too tired to argue, and grabbed the book. He turned to the first page where three anthropomorphic architects started grabbing supplies for their homes. He rolled his eyes.
"I know a better story. Wanna hear that?"
The little girl shook her head yes.
"Once upon a time there were three little men. None of them decided to build a foundation for their houses, because apparently foundation wasn't important to these assholes. The leader surrounded himself with two partners at all times, and he did this for almost a year. But you see his team was like a revolving door.
Eventually somebody would get kicked out a month after joining, or they'd be too injured to carry on. There was a religious man, an aristocratic gentleman, a tv host and then a demigod. One by one they left this elite team. You see, nobody from this group truly had respect for one another. If they had, they would still be active today. But only two men are still around from this stable, and they're probably the most dangerous two that political shit could get his hands on. Constantine is riding high, but he's without backup now. Such is the folly of politicians. Hubris.
But let me tell you something, little girl. There's another team still around. One that made a foundation out of bricks. One that will hold firm as The Big Bad Wolf tries to blow them away. I'm talking about the Hounds of Hell. The Team Killers. The Entity Known as Cerberus. You see this gold right here?"
By this point the child's eyes are as round as saucers from the rant Ramparte was conducting. He pointed at the gold around his waist. The gold they had won over twice.
"This is what separates us from them. For they are a team fans will talk about for years to come. But WE are a team they'll talk about for centuries. Will Flex here spin those Hot Topic havin' wizards out of Cuba? Will I spit my ink into the faces of demons? We shall see, little one. Oh we shall see."
Dumbfounded, the kid looked at both Ramparte and Flex. Flex shrugged and closed his eyes again. When he did, the girl gave a toothy grin. She stuck her tongue out at The Catalyst. It was forked. Her eyes dilated and she started to hover above the ground. Ramparte stood up, and what he had thought was the Three Little Pigs was just his cane and it clamored to the floor. This woke the Monsieur of Muscle back up. Startled, Ramparte looked back at the nine year old. She was gone.
"You cool, bro? Looks like you've seen a ghost."
The intercom interrupted them.
Flight to Havana, Cuba now boarding from Gate 6. Flight to Havana, Cuba now boarding from Gate 6.
Fear embraced the bookworm. Red eyes twisted themselves in his mind. A branch of lightning. Graves. A lit candle standing too close to a pile of books. The madness of it all made him grin broadly even with his words coming out in caution.
"We...we may be dealing with something beyond our understanding. We must tread lightly with Ty Burna and Dorian Slaughter. There are monsters heading to "The Pearl of the Antilles", and they're not just Cerberus. Let's get going, friend. There is a fight to be won."
"We've got each other's backs. A team for an entire year. We have done it, Ramparte. Now let's do it some more. Let's break every record there is out there. I'm talking SaboSax's lengthy reign. I'm talking about undefeated streaks. Cerberus will be hailed. Guaran-fucking-tee it."
They gathered their luggage and took to the skies.
THE EIGHTH BOOK OF SLAUGHTER
8 Slaughter: 1-2
Thorwalds Cross
And thus it was foretold by the elders; of great battles, of untimely deaths, of disaster and of renewal through decimation. The runestones bear witness of their foreshadowing.
Much had developed in the wake of the Gold Rush pay per view. The machination of His ascension had proceeded with the similar unbridled fury that seethed within it at its onset. His coronation as number one contender had set into motion an uncontrollable series of events, unbeknownst to those on the outside, foretold during the days of old.
A singular, yet forceful knock on the thick pine of the trailers door signaled the arrival of His associate. His haven was purposefully isolated and far from elaborate. Stumbled upon by chance, inherited by force, its decrepit frame seemed to bow under the weight of stifled legends and untold dealings.
As He opened the door to the makeshift front porch, the familiar scent of decaying trash from the landfill below hovered over them like an industrial smog.
Tyrone: A tomb with a view, huh?
Slaughter: Certainly, one fit for a god.
The two take up residence on the lone piece of furniture in the dimly lit, three room trailer, relaxed yet eager.
Tyrone: So what was it that you wanted to show me?
The Angel of Death grasps a thick piece of slate from the dusty floor and passes it to Ty.
Slaughter: Thorwalds Cross.
Tyrone: I feel like I should know what that is.
He runs His hand across the engraved stone, depositing fragments of skin within its etchings as it rests on Tyrones lap.
Slaughter: You do. The markings of desecration.
Tyrone shudders at the word.
Slaughter: A true prophecy of what is to come. As the cold clutches of Death take hold of the fragile throat of life, the gods shall fall prone at the feet of their redeemers.
Tyrone: But here, the wolf.
Slaughter: The bearded figure towers over the wolf, suppressing it with his spear.
His fingers dig deeper into the rough ridges of the etchings upon the stone as His caress has turned to forceful clawing.
Slaughter: Look closely, the mans foot lies within the wolfs mouth.
As Tyrone gazes down upon the stone, he becomes entranced with the image. His mouth tightens, his eyes agape, gawking, scrutinizing each distinct line of the images borders.
Slaughter: Perhaps Cerberus are not so different from you and I, Tyrone. Perhaps we are all
Tyrones eyes redden at the looming word of his associate, the familiar transformation that he vowed to fight, swore to suppress, took oath to control.
Slaughter: Beasts.
Ty quivers under an unseen force. His body is no longer his own.
Ty: All that we have done has been in preparation for these great battles.
Slaughter: The Dragon, Constantine, Veejay, Mikey, Matt. All touched by the heavy hands of their cold fate.
Ty: All emasculated under the burden of a new order.
Slaughter: Order rooted in Chaos yet fueled by a much greater evil.
Ty: Desecration.
Slaughter: The annihilation of this world and its gods has already been set into motion. Upon Thorwalds cross shall the bodies of the slain be hung from the heavens.
Ty: Yet no one remains to bear witness to their degradation.
Slaughter: For we are all truly beasts.
A ripple of blood forms within the ridges of the stones etchings as He digs His fingers deeper into the image.
Ty: Yet, do true beasts revel in their own agendas?
The question strikes Him. He slowly releases the stone cross from His forceful clutch, looking into the eyes of the only assured ally He had ever known. The only constant in His life, the entirety of His life, had taken on many forms but never wavered from his agenda. He thinks back to the underground altar, another picturesque adaptation of His deception.
Slaughter: Where the wolves come to die.
Ty: Upon your altar, their blasphemous corpses shall lay.
Slaughter: The heart of a wolf knows no master, yet obeys on command. By nature, wolves are indeed deceitful creatures.
Ty: The only deception these wolves execute occurs amongst themselves.
Slaughter: The two fight for the adulation of the third. They are not truly committed to our cause. We can never be the same.
Ty: Our desecration begins with the fraudulent hounds.
Slaughter: And ends with the gods.
The stone cross thuds against the carpetless floor, splintering the wood around its resting place. Lined with blood, the etching glows brightly through the dusty haze.
Slaughter: Upon the gates of Hell shall rest the fallen guard.
Ty: Slain from within, while protecting against what lies on the outside.
Slaughter: Deceived at the last hour, letting out what they were deposed to keep within. And now, with freedom comes an uncontrollable onslaught of fury against all that is venerated by mortals.
Both: HAIL DESECRATION!
8 Slaughter: 1-2
Thorwalds Cross
And thus it was foretold by the elders; of great battles, of untimely deaths, of disaster and of renewal through decimation. The runestones bear witness of their foreshadowing.
Much had developed in the wake of the Gold Rush pay per view. The machination of His ascension had proceeded with the similar unbridled fury that seethed within it at its onset. His coronation as number one contender had set into motion an uncontrollable series of events, unbeknownst to those on the outside, foretold during the days of old.
A singular, yet forceful knock on the thick pine of the trailers door signaled the arrival of His associate. His haven was purposefully isolated and far from elaborate. Stumbled upon by chance, inherited by force, its decrepit frame seemed to bow under the weight of stifled legends and untold dealings.
As He opened the door to the makeshift front porch, the familiar scent of decaying trash from the landfill below hovered over them like an industrial smog.
Tyrone: A tomb with a view, huh?
Slaughter: Certainly, one fit for a god.
The two take up residence on the lone piece of furniture in the dimly lit, three room trailer, relaxed yet eager.
Tyrone: So what was it that you wanted to show me?
The Angel of Death grasps a thick piece of slate from the dusty floor and passes it to Ty.
Slaughter: Thorwalds Cross.
Tyrone: I feel like I should know what that is.
He runs His hand across the engraved stone, depositing fragments of skin within its etchings as it rests on Tyrones lap.
Slaughter: You do. The markings of desecration.
Tyrone shudders at the word.
Slaughter: A true prophecy of what is to come. As the cold clutches of Death take hold of the fragile throat of life, the gods shall fall prone at the feet of their redeemers.
Tyrone: But here, the wolf.
Slaughter: The bearded figure towers over the wolf, suppressing it with his spear.
His fingers dig deeper into the rough ridges of the etchings upon the stone as His caress has turned to forceful clawing.
Slaughter: Look closely, the mans foot lies within the wolfs mouth.
As Tyrone gazes down upon the stone, he becomes entranced with the image. His mouth tightens, his eyes agape, gawking, scrutinizing each distinct line of the images borders.
Slaughter: Perhaps Cerberus are not so different from you and I, Tyrone. Perhaps we are all
Tyrones eyes redden at the looming word of his associate, the familiar transformation that he vowed to fight, swore to suppress, took oath to control.
Slaughter: Beasts.
Ty quivers under an unseen force. His body is no longer his own.
Ty: All that we have done has been in preparation for these great battles.
Slaughter: The Dragon, Constantine, Veejay, Mikey, Matt. All touched by the heavy hands of their cold fate.
Ty: All emasculated under the burden of a new order.
Slaughter: Order rooted in Chaos yet fueled by a much greater evil.
Ty: Desecration.
Slaughter: The annihilation of this world and its gods has already been set into motion. Upon Thorwalds cross shall the bodies of the slain be hung from the heavens.
Ty: Yet no one remains to bear witness to their degradation.
Slaughter: For we are all truly beasts.
A ripple of blood forms within the ridges of the stones etchings as He digs His fingers deeper into the image.
Ty: Yet, do true beasts revel in their own agendas?
The question strikes Him. He slowly releases the stone cross from His forceful clutch, looking into the eyes of the only assured ally He had ever known. The only constant in His life, the entirety of His life, had taken on many forms but never wavered from his agenda. He thinks back to the underground altar, another picturesque adaptation of His deception.
Slaughter: Where the wolves come to die.
Ty: Upon your altar, their blasphemous corpses shall lay.
Slaughter: The heart of a wolf knows no master, yet obeys on command. By nature, wolves are indeed deceitful creatures.
Ty: The only deception these wolves execute occurs amongst themselves.
Slaughter: The two fight for the adulation of the third. They are not truly committed to our cause. We can never be the same.
Ty: Our desecration begins with the fraudulent hounds.
Slaughter: And ends with the gods.
The stone cross thuds against the carpetless floor, splintering the wood around its resting place. Lined with blood, the etching glows brightly through the dusty haze.
Slaughter: Upon the gates of Hell shall rest the fallen guard.
Ty: Slain from within, while protecting against what lies on the outside.
Slaughter: Deceived at the last hour, letting out what they were deposed to keep within. And now, with freedom comes an uncontrollable onslaught of fury against all that is venerated by mortals.
Both: HAIL DESECRATION!
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