Post by Steven Brody, CEO on Oct 31, 2024 15:36:48 GMT -8
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October 1st 2024 after defeating Tanja Devereaux
As I left the arena that night, I couldn’t help but wonder… Would she be proud of me?
Everything was riding on this career. Who I was, was a vague reflection in the mirror these days, and I felt myself losing more and more of who I used to be with each step I took. Once I reached my car, I leaned against the cold steel and sighed. Why wasn’t she here with me? Why did she have to go racing off into the night, to save someone who obviously had very little respect for themselves?
Why did she leave me?
I could feel the tears coming, as much as I hated them I knew I couldn’t hide from them anymore. Damn her. Damn Robi for taking my mother. And damn them all for not chasing after her the second they knew she was gone! Yeah, I blamed them all. Every fucking Wolf knew she had driven off into the darkness after a fucking psychopath, whom I had loved dearly, and nary a one chose to help.
I needed to get out of there before the tears came. I needed to get back to my beloved darkness, where I could hide the fact I felt any emotion at all. I hopped in my car, slamming the door behind me and took a heavy, jagged breath. I turned the key, and as the engine roared to life, I damned the world. Every fucking one of them would burn. Every. Fucking One.
Throwing the car in drive, I peeled out of the parking garage, not giving a fuck, honestly, if a cop tried to pull me over. Given the last few months of my life, I didn’t have a single shred of caring left. If I burned; they all did too. Onto main street I flew, blaring the cliche “Highway to Hell” I sped into the night. Fuck this world, and every single soulless fuckmuppet in it. The only person who truly gave a damn about me, was gone, and in her leaving, I died too.
October 26th 2024
A couple of weeks later, I received a call from my booker. My next match for New Frontier had been drawn. Victim? Marcus Uriah Dunne. What a cunt name. Figures they’d pair me with someone like him. Didn’t fully trust my abilities yet, I guess. But, I’d show them. I wasn’t going to go down without a fucking brawl. I’d torn out my soul the moment I signed that contract, and in doing so, I signed a deal with the Devil. And to be honest? I had proved my mettle. I took the fucking Silver Mountain Championship in April. Look at me now? I was STILL the Silver Mountain Champ.
In a way, Jessie Morian was the Devil herself, and I was Faust. Why? Because I knew what I was getting myself into. There was no coming back from this. It was Do, or Die.
Priscilla White: You know….
I kept my voice low, while I stayed enshrouded in darkness.
Priscilla White: I don't know a fucking thing about you, and honestly, while it’s cliche, I don't care to know a damned thing. You’re just a lamb come to slaughter. Another body to be burnt on the pyre that is my name.
My eyes lifted, the irises focusing on the lens in front of me.
Priscilla White: The honor of being the next in a long line of broken bodies left in my wake. Why? Does it honestly matter? This is the business we’ve chosen, Dunne, and these are the consequences of those contracts. Are you willing to be the sacrifice for the Houses of Le Roux and White? The poor, innocent creature to be strung up, bled and burned to Honor the Coven?
I growled, lightly, as the shadows which enveloped me began to slowly pull away. I wasn’t dolled up. I was in my gear, of course, but I wasn’t a fucking Barbie Doll wannabe, I was gritty. I was sweaty. I was already covered in some fools blood. I have been a busy bee lately. I grinned.
Priscilla White: Yanno, In another life… Maybe we’d have been pals. Frien….
I laughed.
Priscilla White: Nah, nah, I ain’t pals with little bitches who never let people see behind the veil. What ya see is what ya get with me. I ain’t a bimbo. I ain’t prissy. I’ma down home gal, rough, tough and always ready to fight. You, however, You like nothin’. Brightburn Champ. Ooo. Fierce. If I wanted that belt, Dunne, I’d have gunned for it. But why would I want to burn bright, when I live at the top of the mountain?
I bit the strap to my gloves and yanked it violently, tightening its grip around my wrist.
Priscilla White: Are you ready?
I stood up slowly. While the shadows around me weren’t as thick as before, no one could fully see me, just my silhouette. I moved forward, the chains around my waist jingling softly. The scars along my abdomen were visible now. Proof of a life hard fought.
Priscilla White: When I signed up for New Frontier, I wasn’t signing up for fame. That’s a bullshit reason. I wasn’t inking my name for glory. I did it for a different reason, kiddo. I want blood. I want to hear your bones break, and feel your flesh tear as I take you to the mat and hear you cry for mercy.
I sneered. A small flash, it could have been Her… but the sneer wasn’t Dru’s, no, it had no gentility behind it. My smile was hellish. Sickeningly sweet, but with the pang of absolute hatred within.
Priscilla White: I want to watch you bleed, Dunne. I want you to bear witness to the ascension of a new demon in the Pantheon of absolute Hell. The depth of which even Dante dared not venture. Are you ready? Are you worthy? Can you feel the heat, Dunne? Are you ready to taste your own mortality?
I moved closer to the exit, the bright red neon glowing like a last chance warning. As I walked, the camera caught the scars down my back, deep and unforgiving. Another snapshot of the hand I had been dealt. I turned to look over my shoulder, snarling softly.
Priscilla White: Don’t expect me to go easy, girl. That ain’t in me. Ain’t what I was bred for. Ain’t how I was raised.
I leaned against the doorframe for a moment, but then turned one last time.
Priscilla White: Mercy don’t live here, kid. Know that.
I growled, before I took a heavy breath and turned around to face the camera, one last time.
Priscilla White: When they gave you my name, bud, you shoulda run. Cuz I ain’t letting you walk away.
I rolled my shoulders, allowing the joints to emit a sickening *POP*, and I signed softly.
Priscilla White: You ain’t gonna be so Rosey and Pretty after the 17th. I’m the Butcher babe, and all you are is my Sacrificial Lamb… And I ain’t gonna make it quick or painless.
I smiled, blowing a kiss.
Priscilla White: See ya on Halloween, Dunne. Enjoy the carnage, cuz it’s coming.
I stepped through the doorway, and a crowd went wild, chanting my name. But who was it? Where was I? As the camera went dark, the first punch rang out and it was grotesque.
Where was I? I’d been in the Underground for years, and was quite the expensive pony. Admittedly, I didn’t look like much, but as these morons found out, I was vicious. I’d taken out men and women twice my weight, and some I’d crippled. That was their risk, one I welcomed. I didn’t have to rein in my rage. I didn’t have to heel my hatred.
As he circled me, I watched his movements, watching him fake a left and throw a right. I took the hit, learning his strategy. I spat blood at the mat and grinned as I went for it. Blow for blow. Strike for strike. I worked him down. We traded jabs but when he went for his fake, I blasted him with a hard left uppercut and felt his jaw crack under the pressure. I heard him whimper.
I smirked.
I pushed him to the center of the mat, he tried to kick my ribs but I grabbed his ankle and slammed his knee into mine. Snapping it. He went down and I dropped an elbow to his chest. Full weight.
The way he cried out, well, it sang to me. It fed me. The announcer was hyping the current match…
Announcer: Ladies and Gentlemen, the lovely lady before you, the brutal bitch, has her best ever event with New Frontier Wrestling on Halloween! Let’s give her a hand!
As the crowd went wild, I rolled my eyes. But, it just fueled me.
I groaned, watching my opponent fight for every inch his body gave him to lift from the mat. It wasn’t much, but it did give me the opportunity to snap his jaw.
Announcer: Oh! Now, that had to hurt!
The announcer cringed as the echo of the breaking joint rang out. I grabbed him by the elbow and swung him around, until he ended up face first in the cage; ripping his forehead wide open. But, he didn’t tap out. He spun; dazed, and lunged for me. He connected with a hook to my nose and slammed my head to the side.
I growled, but lashed out. A headbutt whipped his head back, and he crumpled to the mat. I stood there. Growling. Bleeding. I spat blood down at him as I raised my gloved hands in the air. He was unconscious. Once the announcer relayed my win, I rallied up and over the cage wall, took my payout and sauntered off. Sure, it hurt, but in truth; it felt Amazing.
I was coming for New Frontier and all of their talent.
This was the next era. This was the beginning of something. The houses of La Roux and White would reign supreme.
This was the Era of The Blood Queen.
The Massacre of New Frontier Wrestling was on the horizon.
Halloween couldn’t arrive fast enough. I was hungry for slaughter. My blood boiled at the thought of walking into that arena this weekend, and inciting the riot of change.
My time was now.
It was going to be a fucking blood bath!
October 31st 2024
The arena went dark, a soft, low hum the only sound over the screaming crowd as the footage cut off. The lights began to flicker, almost as if to a beat; before everything stopped. Silence. Pitch black. The jumbotrons flashed DruBrew logos, images of Dru’s old matches, clips from Priscilla’s past wins and that terrifying smirk of Priscilla’s.
Priscilla White: The Brightburn Champ tries to tackle the Silver Mountain Champ. Know what they say about burning bright? Ever heard of “burning out”? That’s you Marcus. You’re gunna burn out. Tonight. I’ll shatter your pitiful ego, and char the remains. I warned you. I warned you to run, and you chose not to listen. Instead, you stayed and think you have a sick fucking chance in hell of beating me.
She grinned, the lighting behind her adding an almost eerie, ethereal look to her. Almost spooky.
Priscilla White: I am going to shatter your very existence against the ground, Marcus, and treat you like the mud pile you are. Something that needs to be swept up, thrown back into the yard and mowed over every week. Tonight, motherfucker, your ass is grass. Hear me? You. Won’t. Survive. The. Night. Happy Fucking Halloween, Dunne. This will be your last!
She took a deep breath and smirked again, before her voice raised in a lilting wail;
Priscilla White: TRICK OR TREAT, NEW FRONTIER WRESTLING! THE BLOOD QUEEN HAS ARRIVED!!!
The cameras faded to black, and the crowd began to roar her name, begging for more from the Blood Queen; knowing exactly the type of match they were going to watch that night, was going to be anything but boring. They wanted to watch the blood flow red; they wanted to hear the snap of sinew and human bone. They wanted exactly what Priscilla was going to bring.
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Crackhead was in full gimp suit, with needles sticking out of slots in his arms, injecting various delights into his already tainted blood. His gimp mask had it’s mouth unzipped and world War Two era gas mask attached to it, his wild hair wildly stuck out from various holes in the mask as his stained red eyes are dilated.
From a lightpost off to the side hands a human chandelier, contorted to hang from it’s lights - the sinister tag team championships dangling from their shoulders. The camera turns back to the back alley blondes as Kuntzy reaches down, grabbing a can of spray paint and spraying it onto crackhead's mask, who takes in a deep huff, causing Kuntzy to sneeringly giggle before turning to face the camera. He who Cums, sits back on his throne of bodies, caressing them as he grinds his teeth behind - contemplating the situation before him.
Jacob Kuntz: They say, to Kingdom cum…. And I think that’s exactly the right phrase for tonight, don’t all of you? It’s the perfect phrase for what will be an example being set. A standard not set high, but so low that you’ll have to scar yourself in order to reach it. You’ll have to throw away parts of you, if you wish to see eye to eye with us. Am I making sense? No? I don’t really give a shit. Because here’s the things, children. Me and my pretty little Crackhead here, see we have a vision for what this company can, and will be, or not be. If you catch my drift, if you can listen to what I’m saying. If you can just understand! Do you understand? Do you think they understand, babe? No… No I don’t think they do! How could they, look at them… Two children lost in the the slaughterhouse. So many hooks, and sharp objects in which they could hurt themselves on. Do you think they want to hurt? Do you think, the kingdom wants to cum?
A hyena like cackle rattles throughout the back alley as Jacob runs his tongue along the edges of his flesh mask, peeling it from his skin with a sickenly sticky application. Crackhead grunts, tweaks, and vibrates, he claws at the mask at his face, trying to get it off, and puke rockets out of the gas mask - splurting onto the camera. Finally, he gets the mask off and takes a few hyperventilating breaths as he clears his throat and spits onto the ground.
Crackhead Jenkins: Fuckm bud! That’s good Jenkem.
He wipes his mouth off before pushing back his hair and looking into the camera.
Crackhead Jenkins: Shit, my bad.
He grabs a gasoline soaked ragged, one of many, from the ground and wipes away the puke - giving everything a sort of glistening effect.
Crackhead Jenkins: Hopin your kingcum doesn't mind a bit of a sticky situuation?
His words jittered ontop of themself, teeth clattering against one another as the madman’s head cocked ever so slowly to the side, past where most could go, to where he might be on the verge of snapping his neck, before cracking it back into place. His shaking arm goes up, pointing through the camera.
Crackhead Jenkins: Buh-buh-buh because! Weee’re abit of sum thticky buhbuhoys. You like to get high?
He slinks back into his throne and settles in, looking awful comfortable as he grins a crooked grin.
Crackhead Jenkins: You’re gonna get high… So high you burn up in the fucking ether, babbes. All Hallows Eve, but not all Eve’s hollow. And tuh-thu-tuhnight?
Crackhead breaks, his sneering chuckle escaping through his words to the point where he can’t stop. Jacob smirks as he slinks off his throne, taking ever-pandering steps towards the lampost. As he approaches the human chandelier holding their championships contorts their arms backward, at an unreal angle as the championships slide down their arms and into Kuntzy’s hands. Jacob then takes a few steps back, tossing Crackhead his championship before falling back into his own throne. The Back Alley Blondes look at the camera, Crackhead still snickering as he cradles his championship, and Jacob with a far more amused aura about him. He sniffs the air and grins, sending the camera a little kiss and wink before saying their final words.
Jacob Kuntz: Tonight? We are the Kings who Cum.
