Post by Sabin / Madjinn on May 26, 2023 17:29:23 GMT
Sabin sits in a gaming chair, hunched forward with his hands clasped together. He rolls the chair back and forth ever so slightly, but his gaze fixates on the emerald eyes of his six month old daughter, Mikaela Jade; she sits inside of a baby jumper, and gasps and giggles every time she bounces herself inside of the jumper and building her own leg strength in the process. Sabin cannot refrain from smiling when he sees how much she enjoys herself– the smile on her face from ear to ear, the hearty giggle that would light up the room… She looks up toward her father and just smiles again before searching the room with her gaze, as if she were searching for her aunt, Lilith Ophelia Blake, who was no more than two months older than her. The two were rarely apart.
Sabin rubs his hands together and purses his lips together… His glance shifts toward the ground in front of him, and he seems to lose his focus. The room begins to blur.
You are not a Blake… Sabin thinks to himself.
He sighs over the fact that neither he, nor by extension, Mikaela Jade, are part of the legacy of Angel.
Neither am I. I still call him Father because he taught me… so much… he taught me how to fight; he taught me how to be ruthless; he taught me to hurt people; break people; humiliate people… He taught me how to be the monster that I needed to be. I may call him Father, but does he call me son? Sabin sighs while the question barrages his mind over and over again. His fingers rap against the hardened plastic of the armrest, and then scratches his nails against the surface. His eyes gaze forward toward Mikaela Jade who has her own look of bewilderment. Oblivious to the questions and thoughts that intrude Sabin’s mind.
“Everything okay–”
The question startles Sabin, and he fixes his gaze ahead to see Angel standing in the doorway.
“–son?” Angel asks.
Son, Sabin thinks to himself, and the simple word does bring a smile to his face and erase part of the doubt.
Mikaela Jade gleefully squeals when her grandfather walks into the room, and she begins trying to push herself forward only for the bands of the jumper to pull her back. She appears frustrated, but persists with trying to continue forward… only to be met by Angel walking toward her, and he raises her up from the jumper and holds his granddaughter in his arms.
Sabin scratches at the side of his head while standing up from the chair, and nods, “Yeah,” Sabin answers, “Yeah, just have a lot on my mind…”
“Don’t think about last year,” Angel says in a commanding tone while walking to the nearby rocking chair where he takes a seat, and rocks gently back and forth with Mikaela held securely, “None of that matters now. I don’t think about the times I’ve lost at Night of the Immortals, because as many times as I’ve lost on that grand stage, I’m the one that’s still standing, and I’m the one that they’re still chasing.”
Sabin nods his head in understanding.
“You need to create your legacy–” Angel says, and turns his attention then to Mikaela, “She will need to create hers. If you are only ever concerned with me, or only ever concerned with William, you are never going to accomplish anything. You are never going to live up to your potential. You have to want to do this… for yourself…”
Sabin remains silent for a couple of seconds, pondering the words when a chime resonates from Sabin’s pocket. He tucks his hands into the pocket to pull out his phone and glances at the message.
Can’t make it tonight.
Something came up.
Sabin sighs after reading the message, but puts the phone away. Angel, his father, can see the look of disappointment already written on his face. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” Sabin answers rather snappily, “I should get a travel bag together for Mikaela.”
Sabin goes to the walk-in closet while Angel continues rocking back and forth, but the world around them begins to break away only to reform in a world of ruin. The void. Wraith sits in a room that resembles the room that they were just in, but the walls are broken, the paint is chipping, the carpet is coming up, and just… everything you could imagine in a world of ruin.
“Do you want to know what makes us a great team?” Wraith questions and takes a momentary pause.
“What makes us– what makes Angel and I a great team– is quite simple… and I do not want to sit here and tell you that it is because of something as silly as being father and son because that is plain and simple, a copout. What makes us a great team is our aspiration– our desire– our knowledge– that we are the best to step foot inside the ring! What makes us a great team is our willingness to hurt anyone who stands in our way. What makes us a great team is that we both know that neither one of us will hesitate in doing what has to be done! And the kicker…”
Wraith hunches forward resting against their elbows while cocking their head to the side, “It doesn’t matter who stands against us… whether foe– or family. Do you understand that? Do you understand that Angel and I have been in the ring with each other, and we have torn each other apart, piece by fucking piece! We did so– without remorse. We did so– without holding back. We left scars on each other that will never, and can never be erased. We did not hold back. He tried to break me, and I tried to break him. When I thought, when I believed that I had broken him! When I believed that I had ended the illustrious career of the most iconic figure in professional wrestling to this day! KNOWING that he was not just an ordinary man– he is FATHER– he trained me to be a killer, he trained me, despite knowing that the day would come that I would come for everything he has… He had risen. He had returned. He had reclaimed the grandest prize in the business as his, for the reason, and by his own words: ‘we did not deserve it.’”
Wraith snorts out almost frustratingly because of how those words had stung him when they were first muttered.
“How did we respond? Dean– you cowered. You ran away. You decided you couldn’t hack it anymore because Father did not believe in you, and it was never even the fact that he did not believe in you, it was because you did not believe in yourself! Why should he? Why should I? Why should this family?! How did I respond? I got back into the ring, and I fought– I fought every time… I fought father at Heir to the Throne and came close, so incredibly close, to winning the event and earning my rematch against the cancer that is JC Keeton, and you can bet on the fact that I am going to continue to fight! I am going to continue to get in the ring– to hurt people– to earn my way back to the top… and I really could not give a damn whether Father gives me his blessing, and I could not give a damn whether Mother gives me hers! It wasn’t that long ago that Dean and I stood as the final two combatants in the Roulette. Each of us were looking for the opportunity to eliminate the other, and stamp our ticket to a match against Father at Night of the Immortals, but it was Dean… who ended as the victor… it was Dean who persevered. The day will come that I will reclaim my place at the top of this company, and the top of this industry…”
Wraith straightens their posture, proudly holding their head high.
“And Father knows it.” Wraith states boldly and clearly.
“Father wants it. Father embraces it. But–” Wraith snorts again, “Night of the Immortals is not going to be about my day of reclamation… It is only going to be the opportunity for Dean to stand up– the opportunity for Dean to stop crying about what he deserves, and actually take it. But therein lies the rub. You see– I don’t believe Dean has what it takes to finish the job… I don’t believe Dean has it in him to do what must be done. I think I know exactly how it is going to happen: Dean is going to have that killing blow… the stars are going to align for Dean just as they did for JC Keeton one year ago, but then the difference is that… Dean… is going… to choke. Dean is going to drop the ball. Because that’s what Dean does. Dean has to rely on someone! Dean has had to rely on Rowan. Dean has had to rely on Father. Dean has had to rely on Warren. Dean has had to rely on… JC… Keeton.” Wraith sighs as the name escapes.
“Allow me to take a little trip down memory lane. Night of the Immortals… last year… there I was, nineteen-years-old and already headlining the biggest event of the year as the defending champion. I am not going to sit here and lie to any of you, because that’s not who I am–” Wraith scoffs, “–that’s not what I do. I wanted, more than anything, to walk out with my title. I wanted, more than anything, to stand tall at the end of the night…without any doubters…without anyone being able to claim me as a one hit wonder,” Wraith grits their teeth as those next three words come out.
“At nineteen-years-old, walking into the grandest stage of them all as the reigning IWF Men’s World Champion– there I stood facing off against my challenger… JC Keeton… and there was no doubt in my mind that I was going to be victorious. There was nothing that was going to stop me! There was NO ONE that was going to stop me! I was enraged after I lost! I was FURIOUS! There was the part of me that wanted to break JC Keeton in the middle of the ring… but that bell,” Wraith snickers, “That bell saved him. I screamed– internally– I wanted to be let out of my cage, and I wanted to finish the job… but then…”
Suddenly, you can hear the audience chanting…that ever familiar chant that resonates with Wraith; the chant that began at Night of the Immortals, and still carries on to show their undying support for the former champion.
You can’t kill him!
You can’t kill him!
You can’t kill him!
Wraith’s smiles at the thoughts, as they sway one hand back and forth as they had been lost in a song. The chant continues several times over, “Music to my ears. The announcement may have been made that there was a new IWF Men’s World Champion, but the audience sang a very different tune. I won. I won the war…”
Wraith cocks their head to the side and leans forward, “I remember it quite vividly… I remember taking you piece by piece. I remember taking your body, piece by piece; your soul, piece by piece; everything, PIECE! BY! PIECE! I took everything from you… You won the match, JC; you won the title, but when you crawled your way out of the MGM Garden Arena, nobody could recognize you. Not even yourself. I won the war…” Wraith says while tapping their black fingernail against their chest, and leaning back, “I did not sit and sulk! I was in the ring the next night! And where were you? Lying at home… for weeks… licking your wounds; sulking as a shell of a man! A mere shell of your former self. It took everything out of you to pick yourself up off the floor each and every day. You deserved to suffer. You wanted to punish yourself, and that was why you sought Angel– to punish you, to make you suffer, and to finally… give you the mercy… of ending you. I broke you; he ended your suffering.”
Wraith sneers.
“You were dead in the water by the time I was finished with you, and all Angel did was hold your head under until the bubbles stopped… But such is the life of this wonderful business, nobody ever stays dead! Do they? No, no– you, like Dean– disappear for a couple of months… Disappear while the rest of us carried this company on our backs! Disappear, and then come back with a head full of steam and think that you are going to be inevitable. Disappear, and then come back and hope the world has forgotten and forgiven you for every atrocity you have committed! That is another thing that makes Angel and I different… We are not ashamed of what we do in the ring. When I broke Warren Suffering’s arm, I did not have remorse! When I gave that same treatment to those three nobodies that wanted to be in the ring with me– I had no remorse. When I choked out Carvel Barley, I did so without remorse. We have gotten back into the ring each and every time, whether these fans love us or loathe us, we have gotten into the ring to do what we do best! And what are you going to do, JC? When your world continues to crumble around you… you are going back into hiding. You are going to wait for it to blow over, and return in a couple months while pandering to the crowd in hopes that they bring out the trumpets for you! In reality– we’re all going to be rolling our eyes, and asking each other, ‘How many more times do we have to put up with this?’”
Wraith rolls their eyes, and begins to hit their hand against their head several times.
“But you cling to relevance, JC. You cling to matter… And to make matters worse, you and your friends like to bark about how I’m the one that doesn’t belong in this match, and each of you like to talk the other up and think that having more and more people agreeing with you is going to make you seem favored, when all it’s really doing is playing to your own insecurities. Dean, Angel, and I are family… At the end of the night, we are still family. Who are you to cling to our name? Who are you to cling to our family? Sunday night, JC Keeton– Sanguis Immortalis erases you. Sunday night, Dean… fails… Dreams do not come true. Sometimes– all you are left with is the nightmares.” Wraith grins.
END.