Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name
Abel Hunnicutt stands in shadows, a singular light shining onto his hands, a letter illuminated in the light. Those hands tremble and then tense, clutching at the delicate papers sides, before they slowly lower down, as if in defeat. We cannot see the contents.
Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, in earth as it is in heaven
Elsewhere, a classic gothic fireplace is ignited, flames roaring, engulfing oxygen and twisting it into rapturous fire. Celeste Crimson backs away from the fire, alone in the vast halls of Holmes Manor. She looks into the flames and ponders.
Give us this day our daily bread
Again we change local, now with Steven Holmes limping, cane and all, behind a flotilla of men carrying what appear to be his belongings as he enters a hotel. Flashbulbs illuminate, attempting to capture an image of the former heavyweight champion of the world. He raises a hand to block the leery flashes.
And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us
Now we are with an unknown player. He sports a massive beard and sits up in his bed, wearing basic gown style pyjamas, almost like those seen in hospitals, only these are an even drabber shade of grey. Old and worn, it is a sad sight. The man wipes sleep from his eyes and casts his gaze to a new dawn, light just peeping through a curtain clad window.
And lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil
We stay with the unknown and watch him rise. He moves to a bathroom, apparently all alone in his home. He throws water to his face and we cut to him trimming his beard, brushing his teeth and combing his hair before leaving to get dressed.
For thine is the kingdom
Stepping out of his night garb, he moves to a simple wooden wardrobe, opening it to reveal a series of black robes preachers clothes. He rifles through them as if there were any real selection before settling on one particular garb and begins to throw it on.
the power
Next he opens a drawer at his bedside, inside a black leather bound copy of the Holy Bible, the font on the cover gold. It is tired, just as the unknown preacher is. He flicks through the book, thumbing as if looking for inspiration or something to that effect.
and the glory
Exiting his homestead, bible in hand, the Preacher nods to a local neighbour walking his dog, he reciprocates the simple formality. Neither smile. The preacher walks down a vacant street. Barren trees decorate this land, against a backdrop of a blood red sun on the cusp of day and in the grip of dawn.
He turns a corner; there is a church. His church. Long ago painted white, small in size and crumbling from its years, he enters, pushing the ancient oak doors. They creak and groan, getting toward the end of their years no doubt. And then he enters the main church, where rows of pews sit unoccupied. But the space is not empty.
forever and ever...
The leviathan of a man known as Abel Hunnicutt stands, dressed unlike we have ever seen him before: clean and smart in simple sombre black tie and white shirt. The Preacher makes his way over to the apparently catatonic Hunnicutt who stares straight at him. Upon coming together they quickly embrace as if they have long been separated and now reunited.
Amen.
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The church we saw before is now occupied by two bodies more. In the very front sits Abel, alone, separated, almost vulnerable. Much further back are the others. A veiled woman cloaked all in black, her gloved hand occasionally rising to dampen an apparent tear and a man dressed in the most overly militaristic garb the United States army can afford to give a man. They all sit in solemn.
Our Preacher now comes to the front stepping up to climb above his podium and lectern. Underneath that, resting is a portrait photograph of a man striking in his resemblance to the Preacher. The similarity is somewhat off-set by some very obvious differences. The portrait shows a man with a greying beard, a wicked look on his face, scarred all over and with an air of violence to him, not entirely dissimilar to Abel in fact. The Preacher is tired, but not wicked or scarred. Clearing his throat, he seeks to speak:
Preacher: My name is Jedidah Hunnicutt. My brother was Jebediah. We were twins and our parents thought that funny, not to mention Christian. They were wrong on both counts. We were kinsmen, friends, allies, brothers. Our ties were deeper than mere blood. We were spiritually linked from our birth. I loved my brother and I truly believe he loved me. Unfortunately my brother loved little else.
He was not a kind man. He was not soft or genteel, nor was he pleasant to behold, in his later years most certainly. Life is hard and while some seek to live it in peace and harmony, accepting it, Jeb always fought it. He always sunk his claws in and tried to rip it apart, hopin for a post-mortem. Twas and tis a fruitless task.
Soldier, farmer, fighter, Jeb went through his whole life thinkin the world was against him. He useta be able to point and laugh, say, aint that funny, but it all turned on him. The older he got, the more the want to fight excelled in him. He had a decorated military career, served his country with pride and he shined in battle.
Jungle, desert, snow, wherever, whenever, he could get the job done. He was a credit to his name and to this here land. But when he had to step back, he couldnt. Sure he vacated his job to work the farm, but it stayed, bogged down in his soul. Jeb was never the same after the wars he fought and it went and corrupted him, drivin him to the bottle and the belly of the beast.
The man now known as Jedidiah pauses, caught in an emotional moment, he raises a hand to stifle a cough and wipe away a touch of moisture that rests on his lips, considering his next words carefully.
Jedidiah: There was a time where that stopped, ever so briefly. He met a woman, a good woman, the daughter of a pastor. Mary-Lee was her name. She was bright as anythin, witty too. At first it grated the stubborn son of a gun but she worked her way into his being, his very soul and replaced that addiction and lust of liquor with a lust for life. She was the best thing to happen to him.
But it werent meant to be. Not long after they settled, she fell pregnant. Twins, two boys, just like me an him. It was a long, hard nine months and she didnt make her way out of it. Neither did one of the babes: Cain was his name an he rests now next to his mamma in the glory of eternity. Abel though, Abel, you lived.
Abel can testify that he endured Jeb more than anyone else on this earth. Not even those who felt Jebs wrath in battle were as tested by him as his own flesh and blood, the product of his own loins, young Abel. Indeed Abel, you remind me so much of your father, wanting to fight the world, wanting to rip into it and understand it, but you have a different outlet, a smarter outlet, one I hope wont consume you like your fathers.
The younger Hunicutt sits, listening intently. Dampness rises in his eyes. A nerve has been touched within him.
Jedidiah: That consumption lead to Jeb being alone, isolated, ostracised. Hated might be too strong a phrase as none really cared enough to feel so strongly about him. I checked on him from time to time but he was gone, engulfed by grief, by bile building over the years and by an alcoholic rage and repression that boiled into mass bingin. In truth the man we knew and the one we loved was long lost. Yall are wonderin of course, why tell you this tale in such harrowin fashion?
The two others in attendance appear awkward, shifting in their seats, not expecting such harshness from the deceaseds own flesh and blood.
Jedidiah: Because its the truth. God teaches us that must sheppard our brothers through darkness and into the light. I had hoped to do that for Jeb, but it was too late, I failed. Collectively we all failed, just as Jeb had failed us. But we are also taught forgiveness, not just for others, but for ourselves. I hope Jeb has forgivin my shortcomings just as I pray our parents have.
I forgive yall and I hope yall forgive me, because Jeb, we forgive you. No matter what you may have done, we forgive ya you stubborn ol goat. Rest in peace brother, I hope you discover what your lookin for in that next life. Thank yall.
There is silence before slowly the three in attendance begin to clap, the sound echoes around the room. Both the military man and the woman sit awkward still but now with an understanding. They seem dignified. Abel is a mess however. His applause becomes louder and faster as he fights hard and struggles as tears begin to pour out of his eyes. He wheezes and struggles from screaming. His uncle comes and sits next to him, embracing him again.
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Steven Holmes stands in a free ring, set-up in an empty arena, ready for nights worth of action. The houselights are off and a spotlight solely illuminates Holmes. He rests with his cane in hand, using it to centre him in the ring.
Holmes: This is where it all happened.
Holmes gestures to the ring, showcasing it like some sort of ancient artefact or prized possession on display.
Holmes: This is where I rose to the height of my powers and sank to my lowest ebb. I have been a prince and a pauper in front of audiences just like the one that will no doubt file into this facility this evening.
He shakes his head, looking back on a career he has relished and yet has ruined him in equal measure.
Holmes: Ive done everything in WZCW. Ive been in bloodbaths, Ive brought destruction, Ive had my dignity taken from me in a bid to make the populace chuckle and laugh, Ive even found love. Ive worn gold both earned and otherwise, Ive stolen, Ive cheated, Ive won and Ive lost. Ive slain infidels, eliminated legends and destroyed all who dared question me and Kingdom Come has done nothing but highlight that.
Holmes begins to count with his fingers his Kingdom Come appearances, raising his cane as he does so.
Holmes: Kingdom Come III, I ended Doug Crashin. Hallelujah, praise the name of Holmes. Im still waiting for my thank you from the WZCW masses by the way.
A sly smirk crosses Holmes face, pleased with his older work.
Holmes: The next year I engaged in nothing short of an apocalyptic battle when Big Dave, tearing each other apart. I lost the battle, but I won the war. Big Daves Hall of Fame career was made by me. If I hadnt afforded him the opportunity to rise from his own depths of despair, coated in his own blood, his career would never have had that final victory that we all so crave.
Looking at his hands, Holmes closes his eyes and smirks, recalling those wars, particularly their No Holds Barred from Kingdom Come IV and the build where he disfigured Dave significantly.
Holmes: I marked him for life and even though it was I who suffered the three count that evening, the wear and tear and slowed his career to a total and complete halt. I won in the end. Regardless of historys so-called honest depiction, I won. But maybe thats where it all started for me too. Maybe thats when I began to collapse from the outside in. Maybe my body began to fail me then
He strokes his chin, considering this possibility, then nodding.
Holmes: Yes, that would make sense
the 12 months that followed no doubt also contributed, slaying Constantine for his treachery, trying to purchase WZCW from its then overlords, being exposed to Hell in a Cell, and the lengthy wars with Showtime, Callahan and Chris K.O. Even the coming together of my master-plan: the union with Celeste.
It was long and carefully constructed, difficult to piece together. But when it did, the sweet satisfaction. I raised the gold above my head and embraced Celeste in a shroud of lust and belief in our union as king and queen of WZCW, Imperial Emperor of all, omnipotent and proud. That marked my downfall though. I can still remember Kingdom Come V: 'Holmes Has No Balls
'
Holmes even does the intermittent clap between chants.
Holmes: 'Holmes Has No Balls
Bastards. They were just as responsible for ripping my title from me as much as Cougar and Callahan were. Humiliated I licked my wounds but not long after I left, injured, hurt, my pride in tatters and body aching. I got comfortable and enjoyed my rest. I had a child and entered into a permanent union with Celeste. But the desire to fight was always bubbling away in the pit of my gut. I needed to go to war, I needed the thrill of the battle, that rush you get as you dive head first into violent tussles over grand prizes.
So I returned and I knew Kingdom Come was the place to cement my legacy as an all time great, but something was wrong. In the weeks leading up to the show I wasnt right, I was falling apart, my body wasnt responding in the way it should have or in the way it needed to. I was desperate, hungry. My mind was willing but my body kept refusing, nightmares coursed through my mind, tearing me apart.
And then all Chris K.O. had to do, on a worldwide stage, in front of thousands if not millions of people, was deliver the finishing blow and indeed, he did that. He snapped me like I was nothing, ending my in-ring career, causing it all to come crashing down and breaking me like I were a mere trainee. I am great, I am mighty, but I am still, in-spite of what I have always said, human.
For some perverse reason, this causes Holmes to burst out laughing. He chuckles heartily and the ring begins to shake along with his body.
Holmes: Nietzsche once said that man is the cruellest animal. That would explain my existence in this world. My lust for destruction, my need to rip and tear those who question me apart is unquenchable. I thought having a child and a lover would end this, but it has only caused me to want it more. I hunger for it. And now I cannot fulfil that need myself because my mortal shell is broken. So in my absence, I have taken on an envoy, a protégé, an apprentice. Abel Hunnicutt.
As Holmes says these words, Abel slowly enters from the shadows, still dressed in that sombre suit, matching his masters typical appearance.
Holmes: Abel embodies my ideals for a warrior. He embodies the want to obliterate, the need to slay and massacre. He is the ultimate destroyer, even more so than I. He has that raw material which makes a pure blooded monster. His appearance frightens you, his drawl unnerves you, his power intimidates you. The complete intoxication of fear. That is what he creates. He continues my work in eliminating all who have opposed us, except there is one who defies us.
With the ranting continuing, Abel continues to stride forward until just to the side of the spotlight, just about fully visible.
Holmes: Garth Black.
He holds an apple in one hand and proceeds to take a massive chunk out of it, tearing its skin and flesh from the core, the juices flowing over his lips and into his manic, untamed mess of a beard, it filters its way down and drips slowly from within the facial hairs mass.
Holmes: Before my time and with faltering and wavering comebacks struck up ever so briefly when roaming around in my prime, Blacks path never crossed mine. He was old news, past fodder for the masses to hook on to for a nostalgic kick. But now he has decided to stick out, like a thorn. He is waltzing around, proclaiming himself to be a poet, a prophet. He is the only man to defeat Abel and he did that by finally coming to a realisation that I held long ago one must sink to his deepest and darkest to obtain the ultimate glory.
Unfortunately for Garth, he has reached in as deep as he can and barely mustered a win. Yet Abel has yet to scratch the surface of his vile and loathing, of his menace and diabolical willingness to maim and destroy. He will dig deeper and deeper into darkness, take a plunge into a river of blood and pull from it something to will himself to victory. For his is the power and glory.
Abels mouth is wide in chomping the apple within his mouth. It is disgusting. He begins to chuckle, in direct contrast to his earlier state, chunks flying from within.
Holmes: Kingdom Come has highlighted my past power and yet also my failures. I have never won a match on its grand stage. It is time this changed.
Suddenly Abel lowers the apple. He steps further into the light, side by side now with his mentor, apple still dripping from his wild beard.
Abel: Warrior, soldier, destroyer. It is and always has been my destiny to go a rippin an a tearin into liars, men who masquerade in false truths. You are a pious one Black, and its gonna cost ya. You want ta go aroun talkin about how the world has screwed you, well you know nothin about the world screwin with ya. You can preach all the propaganda about how the man has kept you down all you want, but men have been keepin me down all my life.
My daddy taught me at a real young age that thats whats gonna happen to everyone their whole lives. People who think theyre better than you will try and exploit ya, try and cut ya deep because theyre insecure or because they want ta make a point or make their way in the world. Youre one of those folks Black. You wanna know what I do to folks like that?
Hunnicutt holds the apple still and grips. Slowly juices leak out, being squeezed from within, surfacing at the mighty force of Abels paw like hands. Before the pressure grows too great and the apple bursts in Abels hand, crumbling away into wet hunks of juicy fruity flesh.
Abel: Yall are gonna be just another piece of fruit plucked from the tree for ma consumption. An you will understan my pain, my sorrow an what it means to dig deeper than ever before, because Im gonna make you go ta that place Black, an its still not gonna be enough. Yall are gonna witness your Worlds End.
Holmes: Or in turn come to the realisation that Aristocracy Reigns. Because, lifes not fair Garth, and neither are we. At Kingdom Come, this ends between us and we will do whatever it takes to not only win, but to prove that point and crush you like no other has before. You will be a living, if we should so choose to leave you that way, breathing example of the power we wield.
Holmes lifts his hand up and clicks his fingers, turning the spotlight off and ending this dramatic scene.
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Man is the cruellest animal. At tragedies, bullfights, and crucifixions he has so far felt best on earth; and when he invented hell for himself, behold, that was his very heaven - Friedrich Nietzsche
