Post by Uriel Black on Mar 25, 2019 2:49:24 GMT
To me belongeth vengeance and recompence; their foot shall slide in due time: for the day of their calamity is at hand, and the things that shall come upon them make haste.
Do you hear those words, IWF? Do you hear them? Do you HEED them?! Do you know what they mean for you? They mean a reckoning, a reckoning which has been brewing for many long months, ever since the hellbitch that holds the leashes of the Pack took the light of this world in the form of our Lord. This moment, this match, this is where all of you will reap the sins that you have sown, and it is a bitter harvest indeed. I could lie and say that I find no pleasure in punishment like this. I could lie and say that I believe any of you truly deserved His forgiveness. But lying is a sin. And as we all know, servants of the Lord should not sin.
Make no mistake, I know that some of you have a higher wage of sin to pay than others. There's the demon that wears our Lord's face. Make no mistake, demon: I don't care if that face is the one that lifted me from perdition, I don't care if yours were once the lips through which the Lord spoke. You are a false idol, wearing His image and twisting His voice for your own ends, and the only acceptable way to deal with blasphemy of this order is to SMITE IT INTO THE GROUND! It's what He would want. After all, sometimes the only salvation a sinner can find is once they've been removed from the mortal coil. I'll leave Him to decide your fate once I'm done with you, won't I?
And that's the beauty of it. You try to take it all upon yourself, Angel...Leviathan...whatever beastly name you've decided to drape about your shoulders, like the shawl of the Whore of Babylon. You believe you can exist as an island unto yourself. But no man is an island. And even with your friend giving you aid, you're still just a man. I'd like to think that I've proven myself quite adept at breaking men. Don't believe me? Ask Ethan King why he's still smarting, even now. Ask Dean. Watch the faces he makes. It's delightful, it really is.
I could talk about the walking font of wrath that is Cyrus Daniels. Maybe the pride factory that is Infamous. Oh, here's an idea: the Bourbon Street Saints. How're you doing, boys? Still don't realize that you're completely inadequate for the name you gave yourselves? I didn't expect you to learn. Men like you rarely do. You'll bounce back with another excuse, ready to wash the Lord's words from your ears so you can replace them with vapid praise, the only thing that gives you comfort in your lives of sin. It's a good thing they put you on opposite ends of the Roulette. That way, you'll have plenty of time to come to terms with the fact that you're just not good enough to be the ones that go all the way here.
I suppose I can't avoid the obvious forever, now can I? There are two names, more than any, that stick out in the field, the ones that I'm going to find myself drawn to like some sort of fucking magnet. I'll start with the less pleasant of the two. Ethan. I bet you're just in a great mood aren't you? Chance to not only win the Strong Style Championship but also go on to the main event of Night of the Immortals. Thing is, that requires you to survive Dean Harper. And I don't think you know just what that takes out of a man. I know. Intimately. I can tell you what Dean Harper takes out of you. It doesn't matter how strong you think you are, it doesn't matter what kind of a man you think you are, he will drain you and leave you a twitching wreck on the floor. He's insatiable. He's unstoppable. He's more than just a man, Ethan. He's what you think you are. He's the Son of God. So, by all means, think this will be easy. Just remember what happened to Mason St. Croix.
And then there's the Brat Prince himself. Hello, Dean. Miss me? I've missed you. I get lonely sometimes, and I think of our time together. How well we got to know each other, how close we became. I didn't really want to give you back, but it was to the point where the hellbitch was threatening to carve my skin off with my own teeth, and that's just the sort of occurrence that puts a crimp into your entire day, y'know? I figured I'd hedge my bets. Besides, I knew we wouldn't be apart forever. Tell me, Dean: are you happy? You've your title, you've won Cross away, he's put away that terrible cocktease Raine for you, you should be riding high. But I bet you're not. Something inside you is hollow. Unfulfilled. You've got a yearning, and it's for something that you just haven't found still. Well...you know where to find it. You know how to find me. I told you I would bring you to the kingdom of the Lord, Harper, and one way or another, I intend to keep that bloody promise.
Let this Roulette be a lesson. Let it be remembered. And let all who cross my path know that if you walk away, the Lord has blessed you with His mercy. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti...
AMEN!
Uriel looked out from the balcony, hands folded as the Windy City moved beneath him. He had thought about going to confession, but...after his last experience, he was...afraid? He was concerned, if nothing else. Besides, the priest had said to go back to confession in a month's time, and it hadn't been a month. He looked back into the room. The Oracle lay behind him, dozing, unencumbered by his thoughts of guilt. Oracle was righteous. Oracle believed wholeheartedly. And Uriel had believed, too. But there had been a base part of him that had seen this as a way to escape prison, nothing more. So why did he feel guilty?
He sighed, shaking his head. He had no reason to feel guilty. He was doing the Lord's work. But he did. Because he knew it wasn't all true. Oracle suspected, of course. He had to. But Uriel couldn't tell him. What would he say? "Sorry, Oracle, I've been running about, acting like a violent hedonist and saying it's God's will?" Uriel shook his head, muttering softly to himself. "Right, 'cause that'd go over well with him..." He glanced back again, sighing softly. None of this felt right.
He looked up at the night sky. The city made it so hard to see the stars. Back home, where he'd grown up, the sky had been a sparkling canvas, dots of glowing silver on a velvet-black field. When he'd been small, he would spend whole nights laying back and watching the stars. But now...he couldn't think of the last time that he'd even tried. Uriel looked down at his hands, chuckling. "God's creation is so beautiful, and all I do is destroy it."
"Not all you do." a voice whispered behind his ear. Uriel spun on his heel, but there was nobody there. Just Oracle, snoring away in his bed. The man could have leveled Jericho with his snores, Uriel swore up and down. He sighed, shaking his head, and turned back to the rail only for the voice to whisper again. "You could be so much more, Uriel. But not here. Not like this."
Uriel turns again, and the woman from his dream months ago is standing there, eyes twinkling with the city's light. He shook his head slowly, blinking again. "You...you're not real."
She shrugged. "I mean, we've had this talk. I'm real somewhere. Maybe not like this. Weeee don't know each other yet. But I'm out there."
"And God is sending me visions of you, to...what? Berate me? Tempt me? Guide me back onto the right path?" Uriel shakes his head, sighing. "What even is the right path anymore?"
"You read that book an awful lot for someone who acts like they don't understand its message." the woman smiles, looking up to maintain eye contact with Uriel. "You're good at destruction, Uriel. It's a gift. But think about it. How often have you actually tried to create instead of destroying?" Uriel opens his mouth to reply, but shuts it again, shaking his head in bewilderment. A smile spreads across the woman's features, and she walks over to Uriel, looping her arms around his neck despite the nearly-foot height difference, and pulls him down to place a brief kiss on his forehead. Uriel pulls back slightly, feeling his forehead burning where her lips touched, and her eyes flash again. "You're good at this life, but maybe this isn't God's best place for you? Food for thought." With that, she turns on her heel, walking back into the room.
Uriel follows her in with a start, but by the time he makes it inside she's vanished. All that's there is a still-snoring Oracle and an empty bed with his suitcase at the foot. Uriel looks around at the emptiness for a moment, shaking his head and sighing before he turns to close the blinds and we fade away.
Do you hear those words, IWF? Do you hear them? Do you HEED them?! Do you know what they mean for you? They mean a reckoning, a reckoning which has been brewing for many long months, ever since the hellbitch that holds the leashes of the Pack took the light of this world in the form of our Lord. This moment, this match, this is where all of you will reap the sins that you have sown, and it is a bitter harvest indeed. I could lie and say that I find no pleasure in punishment like this. I could lie and say that I believe any of you truly deserved His forgiveness. But lying is a sin. And as we all know, servants of the Lord should not sin.
Make no mistake, I know that some of you have a higher wage of sin to pay than others. There's the demon that wears our Lord's face. Make no mistake, demon: I don't care if that face is the one that lifted me from perdition, I don't care if yours were once the lips through which the Lord spoke. You are a false idol, wearing His image and twisting His voice for your own ends, and the only acceptable way to deal with blasphemy of this order is to SMITE IT INTO THE GROUND! It's what He would want. After all, sometimes the only salvation a sinner can find is once they've been removed from the mortal coil. I'll leave Him to decide your fate once I'm done with you, won't I?
And that's the beauty of it. You try to take it all upon yourself, Angel...Leviathan...whatever beastly name you've decided to drape about your shoulders, like the shawl of the Whore of Babylon. You believe you can exist as an island unto yourself. But no man is an island. And even with your friend giving you aid, you're still just a man. I'd like to think that I've proven myself quite adept at breaking men. Don't believe me? Ask Ethan King why he's still smarting, even now. Ask Dean. Watch the faces he makes. It's delightful, it really is.
I could talk about the walking font of wrath that is Cyrus Daniels. Maybe the pride factory that is Infamous. Oh, here's an idea: the Bourbon Street Saints. How're you doing, boys? Still don't realize that you're completely inadequate for the name you gave yourselves? I didn't expect you to learn. Men like you rarely do. You'll bounce back with another excuse, ready to wash the Lord's words from your ears so you can replace them with vapid praise, the only thing that gives you comfort in your lives of sin. It's a good thing they put you on opposite ends of the Roulette. That way, you'll have plenty of time to come to terms with the fact that you're just not good enough to be the ones that go all the way here.
I suppose I can't avoid the obvious forever, now can I? There are two names, more than any, that stick out in the field, the ones that I'm going to find myself drawn to like some sort of fucking magnet. I'll start with the less pleasant of the two. Ethan. I bet you're just in a great mood aren't you? Chance to not only win the Strong Style Championship but also go on to the main event of Night of the Immortals. Thing is, that requires you to survive Dean Harper. And I don't think you know just what that takes out of a man. I know. Intimately. I can tell you what Dean Harper takes out of you. It doesn't matter how strong you think you are, it doesn't matter what kind of a man you think you are, he will drain you and leave you a twitching wreck on the floor. He's insatiable. He's unstoppable. He's more than just a man, Ethan. He's what you think you are. He's the Son of God. So, by all means, think this will be easy. Just remember what happened to Mason St. Croix.
And then there's the Brat Prince himself. Hello, Dean. Miss me? I've missed you. I get lonely sometimes, and I think of our time together. How well we got to know each other, how close we became. I didn't really want to give you back, but it was to the point where the hellbitch was threatening to carve my skin off with my own teeth, and that's just the sort of occurrence that puts a crimp into your entire day, y'know? I figured I'd hedge my bets. Besides, I knew we wouldn't be apart forever. Tell me, Dean: are you happy? You've your title, you've won Cross away, he's put away that terrible cocktease Raine for you, you should be riding high. But I bet you're not. Something inside you is hollow. Unfulfilled. You've got a yearning, and it's for something that you just haven't found still. Well...you know where to find it. You know how to find me. I told you I would bring you to the kingdom of the Lord, Harper, and one way or another, I intend to keep that bloody promise.
Let this Roulette be a lesson. Let it be remembered. And let all who cross my path know that if you walk away, the Lord has blessed you with His mercy. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti...
AMEN!
Uriel looked out from the balcony, hands folded as the Windy City moved beneath him. He had thought about going to confession, but...after his last experience, he was...afraid? He was concerned, if nothing else. Besides, the priest had said to go back to confession in a month's time, and it hadn't been a month. He looked back into the room. The Oracle lay behind him, dozing, unencumbered by his thoughts of guilt. Oracle was righteous. Oracle believed wholeheartedly. And Uriel had believed, too. But there had been a base part of him that had seen this as a way to escape prison, nothing more. So why did he feel guilty?
He sighed, shaking his head. He had no reason to feel guilty. He was doing the Lord's work. But he did. Because he knew it wasn't all true. Oracle suspected, of course. He had to. But Uriel couldn't tell him. What would he say? "Sorry, Oracle, I've been running about, acting like a violent hedonist and saying it's God's will?" Uriel shook his head, muttering softly to himself. "Right, 'cause that'd go over well with him..." He glanced back again, sighing softly. None of this felt right.
He looked up at the night sky. The city made it so hard to see the stars. Back home, where he'd grown up, the sky had been a sparkling canvas, dots of glowing silver on a velvet-black field. When he'd been small, he would spend whole nights laying back and watching the stars. But now...he couldn't think of the last time that he'd even tried. Uriel looked down at his hands, chuckling. "God's creation is so beautiful, and all I do is destroy it."
"Not all you do." a voice whispered behind his ear. Uriel spun on his heel, but there was nobody there. Just Oracle, snoring away in his bed. The man could have leveled Jericho with his snores, Uriel swore up and down. He sighed, shaking his head, and turned back to the rail only for the voice to whisper again. "You could be so much more, Uriel. But not here. Not like this."
Uriel turns again, and the woman from his dream months ago is standing there, eyes twinkling with the city's light. He shook his head slowly, blinking again. "You...you're not real."
She shrugged. "I mean, we've had this talk. I'm real somewhere. Maybe not like this. Weeee don't know each other yet. But I'm out there."
"And God is sending me visions of you, to...what? Berate me? Tempt me? Guide me back onto the right path?" Uriel shakes his head, sighing. "What even is the right path anymore?"
"You read that book an awful lot for someone who acts like they don't understand its message." the woman smiles, looking up to maintain eye contact with Uriel. "You're good at destruction, Uriel. It's a gift. But think about it. How often have you actually tried to create instead of destroying?" Uriel opens his mouth to reply, but shuts it again, shaking his head in bewilderment. A smile spreads across the woman's features, and she walks over to Uriel, looping her arms around his neck despite the nearly-foot height difference, and pulls him down to place a brief kiss on his forehead. Uriel pulls back slightly, feeling his forehead burning where her lips touched, and her eyes flash again. "You're good at this life, but maybe this isn't God's best place for you? Food for thought." With that, she turns on her heel, walking back into the room.
Uriel follows her in with a start, but by the time he makes it inside she's vanished. All that's there is a still-snoring Oracle and an empty bed with his suitcase at the foot. Uriel looks around at the emptiness for a moment, shaking his head and sighing before he turns to close the blinds and we fade away.
Well howdy there pardner.