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Post by KONSTANTINE on Oct 5, 2017 11:40:38 GMT -5
Everything was average, stationery, which made things ironic in a way. Devin went to the gym, continued to try to learn something new for his repertoire. His upcoming return to the wrestling ring needed to show something new about him, an evolution in what was already seen. Encompassing age thirty, Devin understood that the younger wrestlers would dub him a relic of time. Glimmers of arrogance in youth; it wasn’t uncommon, but it was always a headache. Perhaps a new finisher or an attempt to lean on another style he knew of?
Pushing against the weight resistance was an absent motion at this point. The slight feeling of muscles being strained and properly worked upon was something that became synonymous with Devin’s life. Hours were spent maintaining his physique; small changes resulted in some developments. For now, he added ten to twenty pounds to establish his heavyweight position.
A phone call came as he left the gym. Perhaps it was an update on his recent bookings. He had ascertained into the main event scene of Reckless Elite Wrestling. Capturing the World Championship for an unprecedented third time brought him into the business as a main face. Promotional companies and the like were trying to make sure they could use his egotistical essence to draw in views. As such, his phone and her ears never knew peace.
The number in question was unknown to him and the voice brought his nerves to a boil. Whoever the man was panted, trying to recapture his breath and composure.
“Hello?” Devin questioned.
“Hi, Mr. Brando?!”
Most promoters only called Devin by his ring name.
“Yes?” a confused response from Devin as he made his way to his car.
“Can you make your way to the hospital? It’s urgent!”
“Wait, why?” Devin’s heart skipped a beat.
“It’s your wife and your daughter--” his heart almost stopped-- “they’ve been in a car accident!”
Right then, the whole world stopped. The people walking across the street didn’t matter anymore. Their conversation on extravagant food didn’t reach his ears. The man’s heavy breathing over the line grew in volume, alongside the rushing of the atmospheric wind. Devin searched for his heartbeat, but he thought it had completely stopped. He couldn’t catch his breath either, albeit his mind didn’t process the sudden panic entirely. He lagged, failing to find the proper words to respond to the news. Instead, he merely said a single, vague question.
“What?”
“They’re in critical condition! It was a head on collision--”
An abrupt stop in explanation.
“Oh god, they’re losing her--”
The voice wasn’t the original man’s. It was in the background, but it was loud enough for Devin to hear. Upon hearing that, he felt his lungs clench. The phone hung up, the man returning back to the pressing matter that arose.
Devin couldn’t breathe. His heart raced. His thoughts scattered. It was almost impossible to drive coherently. Aside from the obvious destination, Devin couldn’t control the overwhelming dread ravaging his body. The drive itself was short, mainly because Devin took liberties with the speed limit. Skillful as it was, that was only in part to his need to arrive quickly. It took thirty minutes, maybe a little more, but Devin barrelled into the first open parking space. He damn near ripped the automatic doors open, trying to rush in. As he made it, he couldn’t control his volume nor his emotional tone.
“Where’s Rebecca?!” he screamed, startling the already tense workers.
The young woman at the receptionist desk darted her eyes around, trying to find some more experienced employee to help facilitate the roaring behemoth of a man looming there. She couldn’t hear the fear past the bombastic volume. He wasn’t mad, no, Devin just couldn’t take the flood of horrific visions plaguing him. He tried to launch his arm over the countertop to grab onto the receptionist. Not only did she move back, but it was high enough that his chest slammed into it. He scraped his arm against the metallic office wares on the desk, drawing some blood. Devin has bled way worse before, but not for this reason.
“Where’s Amy?” he roared the name of his daughter, his darling princess.
“They’re in the emergency room!” the receptionist, her name was Stacy, yelled out, hiding her face.
As she did, Devin retracted his hands, getting down from the desk. He had realized what the image Stacy saw truly was. A man standing well over her five-foot frame with a hundred pound muscle advantage just grabbed her by her scrubs. He must have looked like the barbarian that existed on television. He tried to calm down as much as he could with the present situation. Devin took a look around the room, seeing the concerned faces of staff. The security guard had come forward, finally getting there by someone’s call. Devin looked at him, seeing a young man who probably hadn’t dealt with someone like him before. There was fear there, and Devin felt a pit in his stomach.
Devin started down the hallway, where he was stopped. He had to fight every rising intention to toss the employee that stood in his face into the wall. For a brief moment, the chains keeping the same monstrous, sadistic world champion back from the normal people of the world were tested. They snapped back, sending the beast back into the recesses of Devin’s mind, for he knew that the man before him was only following protocol. Devin couldn’t go interfere in what they were trying to do.
The men and women of the hospital were trying to save his family’s life.
He took a seat where they designated and tied his hands together, interlacing her fingers. Bowing his head, Devin remained there. Way longer than the sun going down and until the sun rose. They asked him if he wanted to eat, and he said no. His body went into a stasis of sorts, the grief and anxiety locking up his bodily functions. It wasn’t until--
8:23 AM ON AUGUST 16TH, 2016
The doctor said.
DR. LIAM DEVILLE
His name burned into his memory. A tall man--probably played basketball and football in high school--with sandy brown hair stood in front of him. Devin couldn’t see his eyes, they were shrouded by the backlight. Furthermore, he hunched over, barely able to maintain his posture. That was when Devin got a good chance to see how long time had elapsed since him sitting down. He rubbed his eyes wearily, shaking out the cobwebs.
“That’s...when we lost Rebecca.”
The words echoed throughout Devin’s head.
“What about Amy?” Devin couldn’t bring himself to realize what the doctor originally stated. He stood up, making his way past the doctor. People stepped forward to stop him, but Dr. Deville told them to let him continue. They watched his weak stroll down the hallway until he found where they kept Amy. He entered, feeling the impending dread taking his ability to walk. She sat there in the bed, hooked up to many machines. His eyes caught every purpose of the machine until he knew what was happening.
Life support systems.
Devin walked forward to her, moving some of the nurses. They looked at him, coming to understand who he was and what he was doing there. They backed off, knowing what he needed. One nurse even took the moment to place her hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t hear her words, the only thing audible was Amy’s faint breathing. She struggled in her battle with Death, which brought tears to her father’s eyes. She was already much stronger than he was, and he wished he could aid her.
Devin sat down in the nearby seat, reassuming the position he had way earlier. In that seat is where the destructive world champion shed the first tears that he has shed since becoming a wrestler. Grim reality had set in, and he couldn’t do anything in all his might to stop it.
And so Devin Brando sat there, waiting for his daughter to die.
“It has come to this,” began the speech given by KONSTANTINE. Looming, rather than residing, in a crimson tinted room, the man stroked at the loose strands of his hair. Whereas the lighting fixture baptized him in the harsh shades of red, his countenance showed nothing affiliated with the mood. A few television monitors flickered on the ASCENT logo, where the news releases of the signees and the upcoming competition. On repeat, the feeds spoke more of the final battle on the show. Five people shall enter and one will walk out as the Genesis Champion. Each time the line was repeated, KONSTANTINE’s expression began to show some semblance of humanity. His mouth twinged, a remnant of a smile dawning on his manufactured ghoulish face.
“After a long journey into finding those who dare compete in such a haven of talent, the pieces are in place. The ascension of the land known as can finally begin,” he paused, twirling a finger around a thicker set of hair, “and thus, my patience has been tried. Some shall believe me to be either silent or nonchalant towards this establishment. I didn’t promote the place, sans my one vocalization.”
He absently shrugged, “I was growing bored.”
“Despite a vexatious lad deriding my intent with unnecessary quips, I spoke on how asinine this waiting was. I felt the hunger inside of me growing to its peak, and if it went beyond that, I wouldn’t know what to do.”
KONSTANTINE bit down on his thumb, a subconscious display of resistance. “I no longer have to wait. A week, yes, but I don’t have to stay in stasis. My hands can finally reach out towards the shimmering gold and take it for myself. All I have to do is to make it past the highly acclaimed roster that has been promoted. I stay aware of the happenings of those who I will name my enemies.”
“I have seen the young stars making good on their potential.”
“Tiffany, stumbling on occasion, has encompassed her father’s legacy and took control of the very company that led to his untimely death,” KONSTANTINE showed a shred of remorse beyond his cryptic expressions, “and she wishes to continue that by making her way to the top. A honorable dream, but one that must die out for my success.”
“K-Remix--” he struggled to say that, and decided there that he wouldn’t call him by that.
A guttural noise tore from his lungs. “Kristopher and Elina represent not only themselves, but they’re having a match that will surely affect the confines of Elysium as well. A win on either end will push the winner into a different bracket, the World Championship one. Elina could further stress that she’s not only posing to be the first Hybrid Champion, but also take down one of the Original Eight. Kristopher can try to gain some momentum after some mishaps on his part, but put himself on the right track towards success.”
“Veterans like myself, Lex, and James have been through this song and dance before. We look to reaffirm our places as top champion, and we don’t mind destroying any hopes and dreams that come our way,” KONSTANTINE tilted his head to the left. The monitors began to go through a round of interference, with static taking over the repeating feed. Slowly, the face of Finale began to appear. Smug, handsome, and knowledgeable of that fact, the picture of choice presented it all. KONSTANTINE merely popped his neck before rotating to view the picture. The camera spanned around his back, showing serenity towards his opponent.
The passiveness of his deposition gave way to a heavy punch into the monitor, leaving a fracture right in the center of Finale’s face.
“Everything came back to you, Finale. I spoke of Elysium truly because of you.”
“Everything that is going through my mind right now. The anger and the loathing is all because of you. For my first match, the first roadblock in the way of me becoming the first Genesis Championship,” he paused, “but it’s not because of you existing. It’s because of what you represent to me.”
“When I saw you, Finale, I saw myself in you. I saw the person that I hate the most. When I first started, I was Finale. I was self-absorbed and egotistical, but in the world I thrived, I couldn’t be that. I had to find that brutality, that beast within myself, but I was weak.”
“You are weak, Finale. Strong in terms of your prowess. You have made it to the top, but you’re weak because you haven’t broken out of your shell yet. This...this mindset that you have crafted for yourself won’t let you reach the top of ASCENT. You can become strong like I did.”
KONSTANTINE touched the face paint, drawing back a spot of red on his fingertips. “When I killed myself, that wretched side of myself, I became who I am now. I’ve heard you speak on Frontline; you must hate yourself. Even if you won’t say it, I can sense it. With what seemed to be a tale of several faces, I saw you crumble and show disdain for your surroundings like I did.”
“I saw you come over old feuds and chase new dreams. I saw them all come crashing down. All of these things I have been through that made me who I am now. And yet, you still remain the same. A relic in my mind and an unyielding irritation. For that, I must erase you. Hailed as a barbaric man behind those alluring features, you and I will spill blood.”
“All for the Genesis Championship.”
“Nonetheless, I’m benevolent,” his mouth twitched again, “I despise everything you are, but I can mold you into something closer to me. I can break down those walls that have led you to where you are now. You think you are strong enough right now to defeat me and win what I’m fighting for. I need to first wake you up from that dream, which I will do by beating you.”
“The next step is to kill the man who stands across from me. To rid you of Finale, and bring out the true Rory Costigan, and make you into a true challenger, you need to die. Maybe--maybe I’ll injure you,” he searched for an answer, “like Ash Scion did, but worse.”
He started to craft the plan for what he was going to do to Finale. The television screens trickled with static, distorting Finale’s face.
“But will that make you change? Will it remove the tumor that makes you the wise-cracking bitch that you are? I’m not exactly sure, to tell you the truth. Because there’s a honest possibility that what damage that I do to you before I take the Genesis Championship might not help you.”
The camera loomed in front of KONSTANTINE, showing the haunting blue eyes of a formerly broken man.
“I might just go a little too far. You’re already hurt, and I’m not the best at holding back when I do these kind of things. When we fight, you might push me hard enough that you might trigger the original thought that lurks beyond this benevolent side of myself. You just might spoil your only chance for rebirth.”
“I hate you enough that I just might kill you just because.”
“Devin, I see you found your passion again.”
Images of the bloodshed that Devin caused in the places he competed in as of late littered Sirena’s table. She tapped her pen on the table, a minor annoyance to Devin, but one that he had grown used to. As she did, she drew up one of the images off her desk, and took a long look. Devin, in that image, organized a heinous attack on his enemy’s girlfriend, making him choose for either her to get hit with a pipe or take the hit himself. The man decided to take it upon himself, but Devin made sure his girlfriend took a heavy blow. The image itself displayed him and his giant partner in crime, GRENDEL, moving away from the ring. Sirena lowered it back to the table in favor of another, but she made sure to cast a look towards Devin. The sadistic man in the pictures laid across her office couch, tossing a rubber ball against the ceiling. It was his reply to her tapping the pen. It bothered her more than she would tell, which derived a pleasure out of him. He made note of it through a chuckle.
It did help segway him into a reply to her playful barb, “it’s all preparation.”
“For?” Sirena asked, discarding the next photo with a roll of her eyes. She wasn’t interested in his more pedestrian affairs.
“ASCENT, as they call it. Quite the name, right?” Devin asked, turning his head to her. Sirena didn’t care enough, keeping a neutral expression as a retort to her sarcastic question. “It fits the place and the owner’s ambition.”
“Right…” Sirena droned, tucking a strand of brunette hair behind her ear, “this was all training for you?”
Devin caught the ball and shifted up, slowly, feeling the small aches and pains in his body. “Yes, in the other places, I’m merely using the chances to fight to sharpen my edge. I sent you the roster of ASCENT. You believe that I cannot come in without shaking the ring rust? I spent a full year on the shelf--”
“Grieving,” Sirena sharply corrected, dropping her pen onto the table. She did so to exemplify her statement and free her hands to resume her work on the computer. Once again. Sirena didn’t care much for the people that Devin would have to fight against. Her simple response also brought some harm to Devin’s mood, bringing his eyes towards the ground. He rose them narrowed at her, to which she returned the sentiment.
Sirena, the friend, was gone; Sirena, the boss, had arrived.
“Allow me to tell you what could be your downfall, since you’re so adamant about succeeding in ASCENT and nowhere else,” another shot, this time directed at his failure to win championships, “you seem preoccupied with using wrestling as a method to grieve. Unfortunately, that has led to you stumbling when it matters most.”
She paused, “you’re talented beyond measure, Devin, but you’re not good enough to just coast by.”
She was right, which brought a sour expression out of Devin, who stood up from the couch entirely. He clutched the ball in his hand, transfiguring its purpose to that of a stress ball. With a disgruntled noise, he moved towards the immense window panes that surrounded Sirena’s desk, an architectural representation of her superiority complex. As he looked on to the ants making their daily routines, Devin couldn’t help but ponder on the the idea of his stagnation. Sirena, harsh as she may be, didn’t hinder her honesty to make him contemplate the reality of his failure. It was an extra pain on how she continued her work while she spoke to him, however.
“You think I’m trying to coast by?” Devin scoffed.
The tapping on her keyboard stopped, “if you’re not, then you need to retire. You don’t have the skill anymore. I understand that this is your career, but you could always refocus your efforts to the company you’re standing in right now,” a beat, “my company.”
Black Mist was the place he worked when he wasn’t wrestling, an intelligence agency that brought researchers from around the world to participate in studies. He, himself, was an agent for them to collect--recruit such researchers.
It was mostly in part to a debt he owed Sirena.
“I could,” Devin replied, “or I could go and finalize this stage in my life by ripping these bastards apart.”
“Language,” Sirena corrected, but she added a playful giggle, “so all of this prior to this event?”
“Training, refining, and reintroducing myself to everything that wrestling has to offer,” Devin looked at his hands, squeezing to feel his nerves cry out in temporary pain.
Devin and Sirena stayed quiet for a moment until he decided to speak again. He made his way to the door, chuckling darkly to himself as he did.
“Oh, I found a doppelganger.”
“You did?” she was genuinely interested.
“His name is Finale,” Devin pondered on his next words, “I think I’m going to break his spine.”
Sirena didn’t bother to reply, merely gazing upon Devin as he took his leave. Before the door closed, she did have something off-topic to add to their conversation. “I hope that Alice does you well. She’s excited to work with you, after all.”
Devin nodded, closing the door behind him. However, he couldn’t help but to think of a new, almost comedic fact.
God, I’m babysitting two kids now. How lovely. |
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