Post by Angel Blake on May 25, 2018 1:54:54 GMT
"Not so long ago..."
His icy voice boomed between your ears as if he was inside of your head. You rubbed your temples with feeble fingers your fidgeting feet shuffling you forward.
"We had fathers. Men of great power but without a moral compass. They shaped our mortal vessels by breaking them then rebuilding them, each time discarding a shard until there was nearly nothing left..."
A light flickers in the darkness before you guiding your path. You hear a strange buzz in your ears between his words as your vision begins to cloud and blur. Weakly you reach for something before you, a form of solace, it feels like a cold glass, it tastes like delicious amber that singes your throat.
"By the time I found Blake he was barely human, like you Saint Michael. He was a shell of his former shelf, ripe to become the home of God. I gave him a choice as you were given a choice but for him a sacrifice had to be made. Blake had to let go of everything that made him human..."
Your knees buckle from your drunken stupor and you begin to fall forward, clumsily trying to protect the glass over yourself. Luckily you land on something soft, fluffy, a favorite couch full of terrible memories. You think on those memories now. All the times you forced yourself upon your humble wife and humiliated son. All the times you left them bloody and crying in puddles of their own piss and blood at your feet. Sickly these thoughts bring a smile to your drunken face.
"His family."
You look up in a daze chuckling at the spinning darkness of the room, the static of the television creating an entertaining illusion of light. A shadow moves beyond your sight. Blacker than black. Darker than dark. He stood out like a void sucking in the night around him. Slowly he moved toward you with hands out, a terrible smile spread across that horrible pale painted face.
"It began with his father..."
As he draws closer you feel your bowels turn, you start to gag, the contents of your stomach are trying to escape and you're too drunk to roll off the couch onto your bloated beer filled gut.
"The monster that forged him laid helpless choking on his own vomit as Blake stood over, God by his side. I assured his troubled mind that it was time to let go of the hatred that burned inside of him. Let go of the shadow cast over him that he held tight like a blanket. I promised him these Earthly bonds that weighed him down like shackles were meant to be cast off so that he may become something greater.”
You try to draw a breath but it's impossible, your mouth is full of vomit and it just keeps coming. Your vision blurs even more, the darkness and the void becoming one and the same as the lights go out. The last thing you are able to focus on is the reflection in the television screen…
"In those last moments my vessel learned what it is to be God. He held a life in his hands and chose to watch it drift into the night. It was then that I knew I made the right choice. If he could watch his father choke to death on his vomit then I knew there was nothing he would not do for me.
The image looking back is that of Spike Kane as you reach for your throat in one final attempt to fight was is about to happen.
"However Blake still had a wife, a daughter. Obstacles that would come to stand between us. Obstacles I would have to convince him to overcome. You see my dear Saint once you give yourself over to God there can be none before me…”
“And yet I see those before me…”
“A wife. A daughter. Neither of which are quite as devoted to the inevitable war I am trying to prepare us for. It makes me wonder if perhaps I have made a mistake. Is Spike Kane prepared to give himself over and truly become The Archangel Michael who will command my forces against the oncoming? Are you the vessel your promised yourself to be?”
Darkness envelops you then… Nothing.
”I hope to be given the correct answer before I am forced to watch you choke to death on your own blood, my dear Saint Michael.”
They said that nothing could hurt you
You were never afraid
Voices would echo
Chanting your name
"Do you trust him?"
Her voice was shrill like nails on a chalkboard.
"Do you not?”
He asked the shambling corpse of his dead wife as she danced toward him arms dangling like vines in a breeze in the dimly lit throne room. She chuckled at him, the action causing grey pieces of flesh to flake off her cheeks and float to the floor.
"I'm not the one putting my life in his hands."
"He holds no such power!"
The Lord spoke firmly as he stood, his voice booming in the black like an echo chamber much to her joy.
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. But..."
Her lips curled into a sinister smile as her pale wrinkled fingers rap on the center plate of the IWF Championship, his black eyes looking into the abyss of hers.
"He does covet the world.”
He grips her fragile hand, bones breaking in his grasp like twigs. With a hiss he replies looking her directly in her dead eyes.
"We have become more than petty rivals battling over trinkets."
She simply laughs as she twist her wrist and separates her hand from her arm leaving a broken mess in God’s palm.
"You have. But what has he become? A father? A husband? A lover? Or a vessel? A choice must be made, my love. Rules must be followed. You above all know this."
As she speaks a vision flashes before his eyes of a car crash. Screams deafen his ears. His body rapt with pain as he falls forward but his hands hit stone and he is back in the darkened throne room of his compound. Shelly a more fully realized version of herself only now she appears as she did moments after the crash, her body contorted and covered in blood.
"Is that why you still haunt me?"
"Oh, my love."
She says struggling to move her badly broken legs. She reaches out for him with limp fingers and scorched flesh.
"You're the one who refuses to let us rest. Hold me."
She lunges at him, her paws outstretched, claws drawn. Her nails dig into the flesh of his chest and tear a large gaping wound. He throws her off with all his strength and sends the scorched corpse into his throne. She sits coyly with a smile.
”My God.”
Her tone is mocking, drawing him in but he is overcome with rage and charges forward with both hands outstretched. He grips her by the throat and begins to choke what life is left from her lungs.
”You are dead!”
”And so are you!”
She mocks him with a smirk, air means nothing to her in this decomposed state.
”Would you kill me again, my lord?”
Realizing the futility of his actions he releases her. She simply slides into a seated position on his throne, gripping the IWF World Championship.
”I thought not.”
He bows his head as Shelly stands, now resembling the women he once knew. Her hair a radiant black, her lips a ruby red, her skin glistening in contrast to the darkness. She holds the IWF World Championship over her shoulder and approaches him, embracing him, becoming him.
”We know what must be done…"
You were one with her
Couldn’t tell you apart
The flames in your heart
Lit up the path
When he turns she is no longer there, the IWF World Championship is now slung over his leather clad shoulder and a terrible smile is spread across his pale painted face.
”I wonder how far you will go.”
He speaks with a rasp in his voice talking directly to you, the Archangel.
”I wonder what this trinket means to you?”
He says in amused wonder.
”I wonder if your pride and greed means more to you than your loyalty to me my good saint Michael. I wonder because I know your ambition. For decades now we have waged war against one another. Rival gods battling for supremacy. However we cast those differences aside. My mortal jealousy of you died with my family. I embraced you like a brother”
“I embraced you as an equal.”
“The world has waited with baited breath for the knife to be raised and plunged into the back of either you or me. They speak in whispered tones about the inevitable double cross and the beginning of a new bloody chapter in our nightmarish war. However I promise you, my good saint there is no knife in my hand. Only an olive branch. I will only bring to battle what you do. I will only fight you as you fight. I wish no ill will toward you. I do not want to see my favorite soldier, my general in the oncoming war against the horde be disfigured, defeated and dead.”
With a sinister grin he seats himself in the throne.
”I want you by my side dear Michael. The Horde is coming and I will need someone as strong as you by my side. You were chosen for that purpose. Your damaged vessel is perfectly constructed to command my armies as my comrade. The darkness you have overcome has made you special, like tempered metal your trials of fire have only made you stronger and more dangerous.”
“You are a beautiful disaster.”
“However the question remains, do you regard me with the same love and respect with which I regard you? Do you cherish our quiet moments together away from the prying eyes of the public as I cherish them? I know in your arms I am safe, protected as you are safe and protected. When we are together I know we are untouchable. Unbeatable. Together we hold this world in our hands like clay for us to mold in any way we wish.”
“My only desire is to have you by my side.”
A slight frown appears as he leans forward.
”What is it you desire my good saint Michael?”
He lets the question hang for several moments before speaking more firmly.
”If it is to defeat me and proclaim yourself champion of this world then it is with great regret that I must inform you.”
“That is not going to happen.”
“While I do not wish to harm you…”
“I will if you push me to that point. I will do whatever you will do and I will take it to another level. I have no great regard for the wasted potential of human life and if you wish to cast aside everything I have gifted upon you simply to achieve another accomplishment in a long life of accomplishments then I will be forced to do what must be done.”
“And that is the real question.”
“You are after all my Saint Michael. My archangel. You are the commander of my armies. Are you willing to risk that simply to call yourself champion one more time? Are you willing to throw away everything we have done, everything we will do simply to stand atop the mountain of the IWF one more time? Are you willing to strike down your God to call yourself champion?”
He sneers.
I know what I am willing to do. I know what my vessel is willing to do. I know because Blake screams in the back of my head to not trust you and bury you right beside all those poor fools who dared oppose us in the Tag Team World Cup. If Blake had it his way you would be dead already.”
“But I believe in you, Saint Michael.”
“I believe you will fight me because you have to. I believe you will try to defeat me because you have to. I believe like your brother before you you will fail and if you chose to press the matter you will find yourself cast out of paradise burning alongside the Horde. I trust you will not force me to take that path but if you do…”
He sits back once again with a knowing grin.
”I will not hesitate.”
Torches ignite around the Lord God casting an eerie glow upon him.
”Your blood will be on your hands.”
Close your eyes
We’ll hunt another day
I will remember you
When the snow lies red
His icy voice boomed between your ears as if he was inside of your head. You rubbed your temples with feeble fingers your fidgeting feet shuffling you forward.
"We had fathers. Men of great power but without a moral compass. They shaped our mortal vessels by breaking them then rebuilding them, each time discarding a shard until there was nearly nothing left..."
A light flickers in the darkness before you guiding your path. You hear a strange buzz in your ears between his words as your vision begins to cloud and blur. Weakly you reach for something before you, a form of solace, it feels like a cold glass, it tastes like delicious amber that singes your throat.
"By the time I found Blake he was barely human, like you Saint Michael. He was a shell of his former shelf, ripe to become the home of God. I gave him a choice as you were given a choice but for him a sacrifice had to be made. Blake had to let go of everything that made him human..."
Your knees buckle from your drunken stupor and you begin to fall forward, clumsily trying to protect the glass over yourself. Luckily you land on something soft, fluffy, a favorite couch full of terrible memories. You think on those memories now. All the times you forced yourself upon your humble wife and humiliated son. All the times you left them bloody and crying in puddles of their own piss and blood at your feet. Sickly these thoughts bring a smile to your drunken face.
"His family."
You look up in a daze chuckling at the spinning darkness of the room, the static of the television creating an entertaining illusion of light. A shadow moves beyond your sight. Blacker than black. Darker than dark. He stood out like a void sucking in the night around him. Slowly he moved toward you with hands out, a terrible smile spread across that horrible pale painted face.
"It began with his father..."
As he draws closer you feel your bowels turn, you start to gag, the contents of your stomach are trying to escape and you're too drunk to roll off the couch onto your bloated beer filled gut.
"The monster that forged him laid helpless choking on his own vomit as Blake stood over, God by his side. I assured his troubled mind that it was time to let go of the hatred that burned inside of him. Let go of the shadow cast over him that he held tight like a blanket. I promised him these Earthly bonds that weighed him down like shackles were meant to be cast off so that he may become something greater.”
You try to draw a breath but it's impossible, your mouth is full of vomit and it just keeps coming. Your vision blurs even more, the darkness and the void becoming one and the same as the lights go out. The last thing you are able to focus on is the reflection in the television screen…
"In those last moments my vessel learned what it is to be God. He held a life in his hands and chose to watch it drift into the night. It was then that I knew I made the right choice. If he could watch his father choke to death on his vomit then I knew there was nothing he would not do for me.
The image looking back is that of Spike Kane as you reach for your throat in one final attempt to fight was is about to happen.
"However Blake still had a wife, a daughter. Obstacles that would come to stand between us. Obstacles I would have to convince him to overcome. You see my dear Saint once you give yourself over to God there can be none before me…”
“And yet I see those before me…”
“A wife. A daughter. Neither of which are quite as devoted to the inevitable war I am trying to prepare us for. It makes me wonder if perhaps I have made a mistake. Is Spike Kane prepared to give himself over and truly become The Archangel Michael who will command my forces against the oncoming? Are you the vessel your promised yourself to be?”
Darkness envelops you then… Nothing.
”I hope to be given the correct answer before I am forced to watch you choke to death on your own blood, my dear Saint Michael.”
They said that nothing could hurt you
You were never afraid
Voices would echo
Chanting your name
"Do you trust him?"
Her voice was shrill like nails on a chalkboard.
"Do you not?”
He asked the shambling corpse of his dead wife as she danced toward him arms dangling like vines in a breeze in the dimly lit throne room. She chuckled at him, the action causing grey pieces of flesh to flake off her cheeks and float to the floor.
"I'm not the one putting my life in his hands."
"He holds no such power!"
The Lord spoke firmly as he stood, his voice booming in the black like an echo chamber much to her joy.
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. But..."
Her lips curled into a sinister smile as her pale wrinkled fingers rap on the center plate of the IWF Championship, his black eyes looking into the abyss of hers.
"He does covet the world.”
He grips her fragile hand, bones breaking in his grasp like twigs. With a hiss he replies looking her directly in her dead eyes.
"We have become more than petty rivals battling over trinkets."
She simply laughs as she twist her wrist and separates her hand from her arm leaving a broken mess in God’s palm.
"You have. But what has he become? A father? A husband? A lover? Or a vessel? A choice must be made, my love. Rules must be followed. You above all know this."
As she speaks a vision flashes before his eyes of a car crash. Screams deafen his ears. His body rapt with pain as he falls forward but his hands hit stone and he is back in the darkened throne room of his compound. Shelly a more fully realized version of herself only now she appears as she did moments after the crash, her body contorted and covered in blood.
"Is that why you still haunt me?"
"Oh, my love."
She says struggling to move her badly broken legs. She reaches out for him with limp fingers and scorched flesh.
"You're the one who refuses to let us rest. Hold me."
She lunges at him, her paws outstretched, claws drawn. Her nails dig into the flesh of his chest and tear a large gaping wound. He throws her off with all his strength and sends the scorched corpse into his throne. She sits coyly with a smile.
”My God.”
Her tone is mocking, drawing him in but he is overcome with rage and charges forward with both hands outstretched. He grips her by the throat and begins to choke what life is left from her lungs.
”You are dead!”
”And so are you!”
She mocks him with a smirk, air means nothing to her in this decomposed state.
”Would you kill me again, my lord?”
Realizing the futility of his actions he releases her. She simply slides into a seated position on his throne, gripping the IWF World Championship.
”I thought not.”
He bows his head as Shelly stands, now resembling the women he once knew. Her hair a radiant black, her lips a ruby red, her skin glistening in contrast to the darkness. She holds the IWF World Championship over her shoulder and approaches him, embracing him, becoming him.
”We know what must be done…"
You were one with her
Couldn’t tell you apart
The flames in your heart
Lit up the path
When he turns she is no longer there, the IWF World Championship is now slung over his leather clad shoulder and a terrible smile is spread across his pale painted face.
”I wonder how far you will go.”
He speaks with a rasp in his voice talking directly to you, the Archangel.
”I wonder what this trinket means to you?”
He says in amused wonder.
”I wonder if your pride and greed means more to you than your loyalty to me my good saint Michael. I wonder because I know your ambition. For decades now we have waged war against one another. Rival gods battling for supremacy. However we cast those differences aside. My mortal jealousy of you died with my family. I embraced you like a brother”
“I embraced you as an equal.”
“The world has waited with baited breath for the knife to be raised and plunged into the back of either you or me. They speak in whispered tones about the inevitable double cross and the beginning of a new bloody chapter in our nightmarish war. However I promise you, my good saint there is no knife in my hand. Only an olive branch. I will only bring to battle what you do. I will only fight you as you fight. I wish no ill will toward you. I do not want to see my favorite soldier, my general in the oncoming war against the horde be disfigured, defeated and dead.”
With a sinister grin he seats himself in the throne.
”I want you by my side dear Michael. The Horde is coming and I will need someone as strong as you by my side. You were chosen for that purpose. Your damaged vessel is perfectly constructed to command my armies as my comrade. The darkness you have overcome has made you special, like tempered metal your trials of fire have only made you stronger and more dangerous.”
“You are a beautiful disaster.”
“However the question remains, do you regard me with the same love and respect with which I regard you? Do you cherish our quiet moments together away from the prying eyes of the public as I cherish them? I know in your arms I am safe, protected as you are safe and protected. When we are together I know we are untouchable. Unbeatable. Together we hold this world in our hands like clay for us to mold in any way we wish.”
“My only desire is to have you by my side.”
A slight frown appears as he leans forward.
”What is it you desire my good saint Michael?”
He lets the question hang for several moments before speaking more firmly.
”If it is to defeat me and proclaim yourself champion of this world then it is with great regret that I must inform you.”
“That is not going to happen.”
“While I do not wish to harm you…”
“I will if you push me to that point. I will do whatever you will do and I will take it to another level. I have no great regard for the wasted potential of human life and if you wish to cast aside everything I have gifted upon you simply to achieve another accomplishment in a long life of accomplishments then I will be forced to do what must be done.”
“And that is the real question.”
“You are after all my Saint Michael. My archangel. You are the commander of my armies. Are you willing to risk that simply to call yourself champion one more time? Are you willing to throw away everything we have done, everything we will do simply to stand atop the mountain of the IWF one more time? Are you willing to strike down your God to call yourself champion?”
He sneers.
I know what I am willing to do. I know what my vessel is willing to do. I know because Blake screams in the back of my head to not trust you and bury you right beside all those poor fools who dared oppose us in the Tag Team World Cup. If Blake had it his way you would be dead already.”
“But I believe in you, Saint Michael.”
“I believe you will fight me because you have to. I believe you will try to defeat me because you have to. I believe like your brother before you you will fail and if you chose to press the matter you will find yourself cast out of paradise burning alongside the Horde. I trust you will not force me to take that path but if you do…”
He sits back once again with a knowing grin.
”I will not hesitate.”
Torches ignite around the Lord God casting an eerie glow upon him.
”Your blood will be on your hands.”
Close your eyes
We’ll hunt another day
I will remember you
When the snow lies red
Well howdy there pardner.