The night whistles and the trees roar as a gale blows through the lavish lawn of Holmes Manor. It is day, though you would never be able to tell, the sky blackened with ominous clouds. Flashes of lighting and crackles of thunder decorate and damage the sky in equal measure. Rain is coming along with something else, something much darker. The manor itself is bathed in the darkness cast unto it by the dim sky, but a figure can be seen standing on the roof. It is covered in black cloth, something which seems to consume the entire body of the figure. Then it reaches an arm out. It is pale and grim, the fingers contorting in foul manners. Then a sudden twist with the fingers now pointing outward and despite the hostile weather, the double deep and double wide doors of the manor explode open!
An army appears stood at the gates. They march onto the lawn, lead by their commander-in-chief and brethren of the manors owner, Erik Holmes. This militia enter the lawn, their roles in life obvious and apparent by their clothing. Some bear the insignia and crest of the Holmes family on luxurious velvet blazers. Others are dressed in outfits for chefs, maids, cleaners and so forth. They march in rhythm, a silent tune almost playing in their heads to keep them orderly and in tune. Timing is everything here and thus far it is perfect. Then it ceases. Upon reaching the centre of the enormous grounds, Erik stomps but once for all to hear, and they all stop in unison. They twist to face the cloaked figure. The figure clenches his fist, a symbol of unity. Then he moves the fist back, slowly unclenching his fingers and pushes back the black cloth to reveal The Elite Steven Holmes!
His face is a rich tapestry. Many stories have been told through it, some of grief, some of pleasure and others of ecstasy and disgust and all that lies in between. This expression is one of satisfaction though. He grins slyly, his forehead casting a shade over the remainder of his features and enhancing his mystique along with his menace. The wind begins to blow heavier now. The cloth that covers Holmes flows in the wind. Then he unleashes his other arm and the cloth blows away, revealing the most regal of suits. His arms are outstretched and he begins to bellow to his subjects below:
Holmes: Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
He nods and his grin becomes manic, knowing what is to come. His people listen intently below, even his dear brother who wears the family crest on his heart. Holmes nods and continues, his arms still stretched out and the wind continuing to increase in intensity:
Holmes: Or close the wall up with our English dead. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility. But when the blast of war blows in our ears...
Holmess grin begins to fade slightly, but he still bears his pearly white teeth like some sort of murderous beast.
Holmes: Then imitate the action of the tiger; stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage.
Glancing across his domain, Holmes makes an overly aggressive face. He is like a beast untamed and unchained. He continues, his hair blowing in the wind and the heavens promising to open themselves up.
Holmes: Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; let pry through the portage of the head. Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it. As fearfully as doth a galled rock o'erhang and jutty his confounded base, swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide...
He imitates what he says, instructing his people to do the same and they all follow, mimicking the actions of the tiger the bard once wrote of.
Holmes: Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit to his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
For the first time Holmess arms move from their outstretched position and makes a move as if to move his army forwards and on the march once more. They all take a step back, there mocking faces still in place.
Holmes: Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, have in these parts from morn till even fought and sheathed their swords for lack of argument. Dishonour not your mothers...
Just as Holmes summoned his underlings backwards, he brings them forward by clenching his fists and bring them into his body. Only Erik Holmes stands back, the rest of the army still bearing their teeth like beasts, Erik no longer does. He is stony faced, observing his brother.
Holmes: ...now attest that those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. Be copy now to men of grosser blood, and teach them how to war.
The rain begins to pour and Holmes actions become more and more dramatic as he flails his limbs around, caught up in the drama of the moment. The thunder and lighting grow louder and brighter. The drama intensifies.
Holmes: And you, good yeoman, whose limbs were made in England, show us here the mettle of your pasture; let us swear that you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; for there is none of you so mean and base, that hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
The weather becomes torrential and the army does not flinch as Holmes drama continues to unfold. The wind increases in volume and so does Holmes voice as he in essence shouts at his employees.
Holmes: I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, straining upon the start.
He leans down to make sure all capture his final words of the speech. He is becoming drenched, his hair flows freely in the wind and the elements seem to try and rebel against him, but Holmes persists.
Holmes: The game's afoot: follow your spirit, and upon this charge cry 'God for Holmes, England, and Saint George!
Holmess teeth now disappear into the darkness of his soul. His lips coil and slither into a serpentine smirk. The army applauds is honour of this achievement and he nods before his teeth once more begin to emerge, laughter begin to summon itself from the bowels of his belly. It bursts forth and it overcomes even the noise of nature, ringing across the manor like a beast howls across the moors. The nightmare has but begun...
_____________________________________________________
We find ourselves inside. The darkness has grown and embraced the world outside, but we linger inside and a fire burns bright. It illuminates the grand sitting room of Steven Holmes. The number one contender stands by the roaring flames, soaked. The fireplace in which those flames grow higher is massive, majestic even. It is adorned with ivory white pillars and it once burnt a portrait of Holmes himself to a crisp. Now it grows, feeding off of the air and relishing its nourishment. The life-cycle of this flame reminds Holmes of a most recent venture he has taken both in and out of the world of wrestling. It is one that is sure to bring results and great pleasure on both a business and pleasure level, but he does not smile.
Nay, Holmes does not even move his face. His hair is flopped in front of his face in part, half dry and half wet. His earlier actions on the roof-top have lead to a deeply drenched gentleman. He scowls at the fire as the warmth reflects off his cold, damp face. The water on his face is encapsulated in droplets. These droplets shimmer like diamonds, a lovely novelty, but Holmes remains distinctly unimpressed. He is lost in his own thoughts. Events are transpiring that will bring about both a new dawn and a Dark Age unseen since the days of Ty Burna, potentially even darker than those. Holmes knows it is coming but he must ensure its arrival.
Then a creak changes all that. Holmes spins around to confront the startling noise. He can see a familiar figure standing in the dark. He smirks for the first time. Then, from the darkness comes something. It attacks Holmes and The Elite snatches at it; a towel. He uses it to dry his face, erasing the diamonds on his face from existence. Then he speaks:
Steven: Erik...
Sure enough, the figure steps into the light and reveals the familiar Erik Holmes; Stevens brother. The bearded, bigger brother nods a similar smirk appearing on his face. They truly are blood and Erik observes this with a light chuckle as Holmes attempts to further dry his hair.
Erik: We wouldnt want you to catch a cold ahead of the biggest match of our career, now would we?
Steven does not respond, at least not outwardly. He simply maintains the drying of his suit, skin and hair. After a few moments of doing so, he throws the now damp towel back at his brother who catches without complaint. Steven continues to stare into the flames and Erik enquires just what it is that lingers in the mind of his brother:
Erik: What troubles you brother?
No response. Erik is accustomed to this. It does not mean Steven is being ignorant, nor does it mean that his brother is dismissing him; it merely means that he is trying to formulate a suitable answer that satisfies both Eriks enquiry and Stevens own standards. Then, he reaches it:
Steven: Nothing troubles me as such. I grow fond of this fire and its majesty. I have begun to love it and appreciate its qualities for after all what is life without the heat of the flame?
Erik: Answering a question with another question eh?
Steven turns to face his brother. His expression indicates neither anger nor joy. It is drained of emotion, almost as if Holmes is a cold, lifeless, metallic creature. The cogs are spinning in his head and he is processing a response. That was always the clear distinction between the two Holmes. While Erik has a quick wit, Steven requires warming up before flowing freely with his words. Without that he is cold and careful about what he says.
Steven: I stand here in this room as a great man, and it is for the last time. A bizarre novelty I find. You see we depart for Chicago come morn. That is where it will happen. It is there that the moment that justifies my entire existence occurs and in that shining, brilliant, beautiful moment I will achieve everything that I had set out to do since I arrived in this country. I will educate, I will entertain and above all else, I will enlighten. I will become that which people love and fear the most. I will become the worshiped and the loathed. I will become omnipotent. And so as a mere mortal I relish this heat for a final time.
Having been prompted by his brother, Steven has now begun to warm up slightly. His face is no longer stone-faced. A slight smile has snuck its way onto the mug of Holmes. He even seems to laugh lightly. Erik too smiles, knowing what he has begun. Steven continues:
Steven: On May 12th we make history dear brother. We dont just elevate myself unto the throne that sits upon high in the heavens. Far from that, we do it in style.
Taking a step back from the flames, Steven becomes absorbed by his own words, retelling a story he is often fond of presenting to even those who are overly familiar with it.
Steven: I have proven, consecutively, that I am superior to all. Whether it was stealing the Mayhem Championship from under the nose of its champion or capturing the Tag Team Championship after forcing their vacation or recruiting assistance in dethroning Sam Smith or destroying Big Daves in-ring career or outmanoeuvring Steven Kurtesy or outthinking Chris K.O. or overwhelming Triple X, I have proven myself time and time again to be not just a brutal warrior, but a meticulous tactician also. And no such rivalry of mine has encapsulated this like the one I currently embark on with David Cougar.
Back and forth Steven moves using his hands to further emphasise his point. Erik merely stands there and takes the tale in once more:
Steven: Once again I have proven myself to be the greater power in a battle as I have manipulated Cougar into a position where his back is against the wall. I have provoked and positioned myself into a place where David Cougar will ultimately cost him his own glory. I have arranged it so the final act of this feud will take place on the grandest stage. I have managed to do what no other ever could. I have made it so that David Cougar is viewed by all as a man. For what Cougar was viewed as before was a God.
This is a new wrinkle to the story that Erik has heard numerous times before and he furrows his inquisitively, encouraging Steven to continue at his rapid pace:
Steven: David Cougars nature as champion meant he was a king and a God. He was forever written into the history books; his name forever written in the fabric of time. The people admired and adored him, or at least they did until my exposure of him. There is an old saying that if you can make God bleed, the people will cease to believe in him. David Cougar is nothing but a mere mortal and the people are disturbed by this. Where once they saw a hero, an all conquering king, they now see a fraud. They see a man who has kept the truth from them. They see a vulnerable man whose own emotions are so violently out of control that he will ultimately damn himself to an eternity of suffering. They now see a false prophet.
But exposure is hardly enough. What I needed to do was get Cougar in a position where I could take all that belonged to him and destroy him for his blasphemous actions. I needed to make sure that his dear wife and child were sat in the front row of the All State Arena in Chicago. I needed them there so I could turn what they once considered a beloved friend and father and turn him into a bloody, lifeless corpse. He will become a husk that no one could ever love or even recognise. He will then wonder the rest of his day as a loathed creature that society has cast out. This is the punishment David Cougar faces come Lethal Lottery and it is the end of his journey, but the start of my own.
For weeks, months, years even I have dreamed of the moment where I would rise higher than the heavens themselves and sit upon the ultimate throne, writing my name is time, space and history forevermore and that moment is coming so soon. It is close and it will be brilliant. As the false prophet falls from his fake throne I will take up the real one. I will take the position above all others and I will take the World Heavyweight Championship, whatever the cost and from there I shall ride forth. I will slay whatever beasts stand in my way and I will march forth as the ultimate coronation and validation takes place and my kingdom shall come. I will be shown to be the true prophet. I will be called champion. I will be crowned king. I will become God.
The sheer audacity of Steven to outright say that is somewhat surprising to even his brother as he believes this is the first time he has heard him state that he would become the lord of all in those words. He appears slightly shocked, but it does not disrupt the flow of Stevens speech and like a burst dam, it keeps flowing freely.
Steven: It will be there that I stand above all else and declare that the king is dead, God save the king. I will, now and forever be both loved and feared throughout all of existence. In that moment everyone will know, with the championship gold held high into the air and my moment standing above all others in historys entirety that Aristocracy Reigns.
Stevens face is once more damp, but this time it is the sweat of his impassioned speech which has forced it so. He pants a little before whipping his brow. Erik continues to stand, somewhat aghast at this monster that is unleashed. Then he remembers just who this monster is and beams a smile, knowing his brothers moment has come and that they will do something no one else ever has. Then Steven retorts with one of his own. They grin and nod at one another. Godhood is upon them.
