The best weapon against an enemy is another enemy.
Jan 17, 2024 9:24:34 GMT -5
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Post by robert on Jan 17, 2024 9:24:34 GMT -5
In the dimly lit kitchen, silhouettes played on the tattered tiles, constructing a chiaroscuro effect that amplified the serene atmosphere. The delicate murmur of the refrigerator furnished a distant backdrop as Robert and Chris sat at the weathered wooden table. A lone bulb flickered above their heads, radiating a benevolent brilliance, revealing the exhaustion etched on their faces. Robert leisurely ran a hand through his hair, his eyes glistening with determination and doubt.
"How long?"
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee loitered in the air, a heartwarming companion in the peaceful ambiance. Steam climbed from the mugs nestled in their hands as the rising tendrils carried with them the promise of a momentary escape from the rigors of their lives. Chris leaned in over his coffee, emitting a resounding sigh. He lifts his mug and replies with haste.
"A few weeks."
Chris leaned back as the worn-out chairs creaked as they shifted, the sounds punctuating the reserved conversation between them. In the murky light, the lines of weariness on their faces became more prominent, evidence of conflicts fought in the ring and the challenges encountered beyond it. Robert sighed, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on his shoulders.
"Dreams? Or voices?"
Chris pressed the mug to his cherry-red lips and closed his eyes as the first sip danced on the tongue. A ritual in a cup, it's a rich symphony of earthy undertones and roasted notes, coaxing the mind into focus with every revitalizing gulp. Chris tried to relish the moment for what it was and revealed a Cheshire grin.
"Both... You?"
As they sat, the camaraderie that illustrated their partnership spilled into the kitchen. Their silence spoke volumes, a language born of years of shared triumphs and defeats. They leered towards their wrestling boots that sat dead center resting on the table, symbolizing their voyage through the unforgiving world of professional wrestling.
Nodding. "Same."
The two clink of their mugs meeting in a reserved toast resonated. They acknowledged the bond that transcended the roar of crowds and the sparkle of the limelight. The kitchen, a monastery of serenity, became the backdrop for a moment of reevaluation and linkage between two friends whose partnership outstretched far beyond the confines of the squared circle.
"It's been years."
In that dimly lit space, the worn-out kitchen became a refuge, a place where the echoes of their wrestling legacy mingled with the comforting aroma of coffee, forging a sanctuary where Robert and Chris could find solace in each other's company, sharing not only the physical weariness but also the unspoken understanding that bound them together.
"Why now? What could they want?"
Their partnership was forged in the fires of wrestling's most harrowing battles. Together, they had soared to the heights of conquest, apprehending championships and earning the admiration of fans worldwide. But time was an unrelenting antagonist, leaving its indelible mark on their bodies and spirits. This wasn't about the years of wear and tear on their bodies. The demons crawled beneath the surface, pursuing a way to wreak havoc.
Chris folded his arms. "It's the S.E.X. cup."
"We've faced it all, Chris; we can do this without them." Robert said, his voice tinged with nostalgia.
Chris nodded, his eyes recollecting the weariness of a thousand battles. "Rob, I don't disagree with you, but I don't think they will allow us that luxury." said Chris.
"I've got a wife and child now; we let these atrocities out of the cage, we might not get them back. Once you open Pandora's box, Chris, there is no going back."
Page's eyes, usually vibrant with perseverance, now retained a foreign gaze, misplaced in the shadows. A muscle in his jaw twitched intermittently, betraying the internal struggle underneath the surface. The kitchen's stillness became a podium for the cacophony of introspections, and Chris was at its epicenter, indecisive of which route to tread. The clock's ticking on the wall echoed the seconds slipping away, each tick a reminder of the crucial decisions he couldn't circumvent. Chris remained in a moment of reflection, caught between the echoes of his past and the uncharted territory ahead. His body language spoke volumes, demonstrating a man foraging for solutions, comfort, and perhaps a morsel of clarity amid the present indecision. Abruptly, a trace of decisiveness kindled in his eyes.
"I agree. We go down this rabbit hole and might not come out. Let's walk to clear our heads."
As Robert stood up from the table, he peered into his coffee mug at the reflection, staring back at him, which felt like a distant echo of the enthusiastic persona he once exemplified in the wrestling world. The glitz, the limelight, and the crowd's roaring cheers seemed worlds away from the intimate unrest that now engulfed him and his partner. The birth of his son had brought a seismic transformation in Robert's life. The innocence in his son's gaze penetrated his soul, prompting a storm of sentiments he hadn't foreseen. The uncompromising demands of professional wrestling now clashed against the newfound responsibility of fatherhood, casting suspicions about his place in the squared circle and the ghouls it can unleash upon the world.
"Hey, Rob, you ready?"
Page's voice smashed the reverie, tugging Robert back from meditation.
"Yeah, Chris, let's do this."
Robert responded confidently, camouflaging the interior dispute brewing underneath his unyielding facade. Despite Cataclysm's indisputable heritage, Robert and Chris grappled with doubts that gnawed away their conviction and even showed up in their dreams to greet them. The atmosphere shifted dramatically as Robert and Chris walked out the cabin door and ventured into the forest's heart. Towering, gnarled trees with serpentine branches cast elongated, ominous shadows that danced eerily in the pale moonlight. The forest bed was inconsistent and blanketed in a dense carpet of moist, decomposing leaves that crunched under their every step, adding a haunting soundtrack to their voyage. The mountainous topography added a supplementary layer of foreboding to the geography as the jagged rocks jutted from the earth, constructing an unstable pathway requiring meticulous navigation. The air was thick with a supernatural stillness, broken only by the periodic hoot of an unnoticed owl or the rustle of unseen creatures in the underbrush.
"So, what do we do?"
The two stopped as Chris goggled upward at the sparse beams of moonlight filtered through the viscous canopy aloft, producing a metaphysical brilliance that illuminated patches of the forest while disavowing others in impenetrable darkness, playing tricks on the eyes and provoking the imagination with disturbing images.
"We do what we consistently have, sit the opposition down, and move on to the next round."
Robert's eyes darted as the two continued forward in silence, which was periodically shattered by the distant howl of a coyote, transmitting bloodcurdling shivers down their spines as the breeze carried whispers through the leaves, harboring an inexplicable sense of apprehension. The further the duo wandered, the deeper they discovered themselves encompassed in the haunting night symphony to nowhere, the very essence of the forest seemingly conspiring against its intruders.
"Do you hear them?"
"It's faint... But they're there."
In the darkness, Robert fumbled for the matchbox in his pocket, his fingers skimming the coarse surface until he discovered it. An indefinite sheen emanated as he struck the match against the side of the box, briefly illuminating his face with an amber hue. Chris and Robert watched momentarily as the minuscule flame pranced at the end of the matchstick, casting erratic shadows on Robert's features. As he brought the flame closer to the tip of the cigar, the ambiguity appeared to withdraw, demonstrating the contours of their surroundings. The orange glow from the match intensified for an instant, ricocheting in the glint of Robert's eyes. With a calculated draw, he brought the lit match to the end of the cigar, and the tobacco caught fire, casting a cordial, red glow.
"They're getting louder."
Chris interjected.
"Not to mention closer..."
Robert let out his initial burst, revealing a delicate cloud of smoke that swirled around him, momentarily concealing his silhouette. The aroma of scorching tobacco wafted through the air, mingling with the earthy undertones of the cigar. As the match burned out and darkness reclaimed its territory, the gentle glow at the end of Robert's cigar continued to emit a subtle warmth, furnishing the only visible evidence of his presence in the night. Robert extended the cigar to Chris when it abruptly went out, sending a chill down Cataclysm's spine. Robert and Chris noticed no indications of civilization, no lights, no sounds, no people. As they continued, they reached a clearing in the woods, where they witnessed a ring set up in the middle. It looked like a standard wrestling ring, excluding the ropes, no turnbuckles, and no mats. It was just a wooden platform encompassed by metal poles. There were no cameras, no microphones, no announcers. There was no audience except for the trees and shadows accompanying them.
"This yours?"
Robert shook his head.
"I've never seen this before."
Robert and Chris entered the ring, skimming for what was next, but the duo uncovered nothing. Chris then did something unanticipated as he hollered.
"We know that you are here! Show yourself!"
Robert nudged Chris...
"Jesus hoss, how about some forewarning next time? You just scared the Poop out of me."
From behind them, a ghostly whisper materialized from the darkness.
"I'm right here."
The air grew heavy with an unnerving tension as the voice was slightly above a murmur, as if mysteries from the abyss itself were being unveiled. The hellion's words slithered through the air like serpents, carrying a metaphysical weight. Each syllable dribbled with a menacing resonance as though the very fabric of reality quivered at the sound. Chris and Robert, frozen in position, strained trying to decipher the sinister message that lingered in the air. The whisper seemed to crawl beneath their skin, awakening a rudimentary fear that nestled in the depths of their minds. As the haunting remarks resumed to intertwine their spectral tapestry, the boundaries between the living and the unknown blurred.
"Well, Chris, you woke up the dead."
Chris shrugged as they pivoted gradually and witnessed a singular masked man behind them. He sported an ebony hooded cloak that shrouded his entire body, excluding his face. The ghoul's face was shrouded by an ivory mask with no characteristics besides two raven holes for eyes. Robert stepped forward...
"What do you want?"
"You spineless coward... We have a brand-new world to dominate. Yet here you are, contesting the very fabric of this association. An affinity you constructed; I might add. When times got challenging, poor little Robert required something more... So, you created me... You make me nauseous, concealing yourself in shadows, hiding from who you are. You cannot elude yourself, Robert. I'm always here nibbling away at your cerebral cortex. Here I am, stepping forward as indecision bombards your pitiful mind."
Robert takes a step back, plunging to one knee.
"You've kept me sealed deep down in that prison you call a mind and thrown away the key. Did you think you'd not have a darker half? Did you believe I'd let that happen? You are blind to what true power can bring you. Boy Wonder ensnared you the second he called, saying there was a tag team tournament, pulling on those pathetic heartstrings. Soon enough, the air around you will feel like a cage, and I will be free. But don't worry, Robert, I'll take care of our new son and wife."
Chris folds his arms arrogantly.
"You..."
"Quiet, lap dog! The beast sends his respects... By the way, you'll see him real soon."
"No..."
"I've observed the two of you from deep behind Robert's chickenhearted eyes, floundering to have everything you both desire. While the world attempts to make the two of you decide. God doesn't have to choose... No... No... We take! This is your destiny whether you like it or not, you unappreciative shits, and The Beast and I will regain control of Cataclysm once more!"
No sooner than the wretched words left the masked phantom's mouth, he pounced at Robert, clutching him by the throat and raising him in the air. Chris vaulted into action but was quickly subdued by another cloaked figure that came from nowhere and extracted Chris from the ring onto the ground out of sight. Robert struggled to break free, but the Monstrosity was surprisingly strong and overwhelming Robert...
"Your weakness, Robert, is your righteousness."
Robert felt his air supply gradually cut off as he was being suffocated; his vision blurred and faded. He kicked at the monster's legs, attempting to make him lose his balance. Robert then threw several elbows as the devil in disguise stumbled back momentarily, dropping Robert, who gasped for air, coughing and wheezing.
"Chris..."
As Robert fought to catch his breath, he glanced around desperately for any sign of Chris. The Monstrosity was persistent, and the menace born from the pits of hell resumed to ridicule Robert.
"You can't save Chris, Robert. You're both preordained to fall. First, I'll take over this vessel you call a body, and then Chris will have no alternative once the beast comes knocking." The Monstrosity sneered.
Mustering every ounce of strength, Robert forced himself to his feet, wobbling backward. Disregarding the discomfort in his throat, he monitored the dimly lit surroundings for Chris. A glint of movement caught his eye, and he spotted Chris struggling against his captor on the ground. Driven by determination, Robert pounced toward the masked apparition, terrorizing Chris with a suicide dive, knocking the aberration to the ground. With a surge of adrenaline, he discharged a flurry of punches, forcing the cloaked figure to release his grip on Chris. The two friends quickly regrouped, back-to-back, ready to face their adversaries.
"You can't escape your fate." it hissed.
Infuriated by their resilience, the Monstrosity approached them with a sinister snarl. In unison, Cataclysm launched a coordinated incursion, using their combined resilience and dexterity to fend off the Monstrosity. The conflict raged on, each side refusing to yield as the atmosphere crackled with tension and the clash of good versus evil echoed in the darkness. Chris tried a close line, but the Monstrosity sidestepped it and slammed Chris's head into the metal ring post, forcing a crimson mask that flowed like wine from his forehead. Robert rushed in, only getting Irish whipped into the ring post with no padding.
"The two of you will be very uncomplicated to take over. The Beast and I presumed that you'd at least put up a fight... Let's get this over with."
The Monstrosity lifted his foot, ready to stomp on both of their heads.
"Not tonight bitch!"
They kicked the Monstrosity's foot away, causing him to lose his balance. They got up on their feet and bombarded the hellion together; each punched him, kicked him, elbowed him, and kneed him. They hit Robert's alter ego with everything they had and more, knocking him down on the ring floor and pinning him together. They examined the fiend, who lay motionless. The mask shattered, exposing a part of his face.
"No..."
It was a face they recognized.
It was a face they knew.
It was a face they despised.
It was a face they feared.
It was a face they treasured.
It was Robert!
Robert glanced at Chris as they attempted to take in what was transpiring before them. As they glimpsed back, The Monstrosity was gone. The chilling sound of a maniacal chuckle pierced through the stillness of the night, reverberating eerily through the dense mountainous woods. Each sinister cackle seemed to resonate among the towering trees, constructing an unsettling symphony of madness. The darkness amplified the haunting nature of the laugh, shrouding the identity of the unseen source. As the laughter echoed, it carried an unmistakable sense of malevolence, sending shivers down the spines of any creatures that dared to inhabit the nocturnal realm. The forest, once a place of tranquility, now resonated with the twisted amusement of an unknown figure, casting an ominous shadow over the moonlit landscape.
"This isn't over..."
"Not by a long shot."
Cataclysm sat down on the exposed ring apron. Chris tilted his head before speaking.
"Little pig, little pig… Let me in."
Smacking lips in satisfaction.
"The third annual S.E.X. Cup is upon us with a who's who of professional wrestling, all looking to do what no one but the Molvados has been able to achieve… Win it all. That's one component of the inspiration behind Cataclysm tossing our names into the hat. The other side of that equation guarantees that The Cabal is nowhere near the finals or the Cup altogether. Alexander Marshall has hurled his weight around for far too long, and I should know… I was a part of it. Am I proud of that? Not really, because I swiftly detected that the Cabal wasn't anything more than a prop to keep Peter Vaughn on top. Well, now that my briefcase isn't required here, the only other thing there was to do was to make a phone call to a dear friend of mine, a guy that I've held Tag Team Gold with for a year, a guy that I can say I entrust more than anyone other than my wife.
Robert "The Omega" Main."
Robert cracked his knuckles.
"El D, when you turned your back on the fans by aligning with the Cabal as the third man, it was one of the most superheated turns that abruptly fizzled out like anything you leach yourself into. Why? Because you've never been a guy that can carry his weight against the top of the food chain as a singles wrestler. My friend, you've been downsized to nothing more than a lackey in a Mickey Mouse operation. Plain and simple. Just because they tell you are eating well doesn't mean you are. Those ketchup packets they feed you are complimentary at the gas station. You require the Cabal, you need to have things skewed in your favor, and you need Alexander Marshall pulling your strings."
"I hate to be the bearer of bad news."
"There aren't any strings on us, brother."
Chris raised his eyebrows in delight.
"Leah, I mean this in the nicest possible way. Who the f**k are you? Oh, that's right, you're the Cabal's female to hit a metric because you sure as s**t haven't done a d**n thing but look stunning and get thumped like a two-dollar w***e walking the streets of Vegas. Road hard and put away wet doesn't entirely illustrate the scenario in which you're about to find yourself. In no circumstance have you crossed paths with a team that flourishes on brutality and bloodshed while leaving a body count in our wake?"
"This is the first step in the right direction."
There was a drawn-out pause before Robert resumed.
"Thunder Pro Wrestling has an abundance of fraudulent visionaries, a grouping of individuals who talk from a distance, and act Twitter tough yet won't step out of their comfort zones because they know if they step to Cataclysm, they'd be left with their dome peeled back lying in a puddle of their internal organs left exposed for the over-hyped pieces of toxic garbage they are. That right there is why you two chodes will fall in line. Because you won't have a choice. We don't conceal ourselves behind social media, and we damn sure don't make dishonest guarantees; we carpet bomb the Poop out of you until you shut down. We undoubtedly didn't enroll in the Sex Cup to not leave an everlasting impression at your expense. The harrowing validity of the circumstances you'll encounter can be summed up in two words."
"You lose."
"Cataclysm is so much more than Chris Page and Robert Main. Do yourselves a favor and brush up on what we bring with us before it's way too late in the game, or don't. Assume you know the depths we carry on our shoulders, pretend that we aren't anything to worry about, or even de-emphasize us like we aren't everything we've established; we don't have any qualms about exposing each of you. We aren't skipping ahead, we aren't proclaiming victory, and we aren't going to pretend that The Cabal won't use tainted tactics to stamp their ticket to the next round… The intimidating truth is Cataclysm will permanently be the benchmark established exclusively on the notion that in our illustrious run, there is a singular team that has ever conquered us, and they had to climb a ladder and yank some belts down versus whipping us definitively."
"We are the only undefeated team with REAL longevity."
"We are two guys who share the objective of shattering your hopes, dreams, and aspirations. Your bodies will exhaustively understand that their breaking point has one name attached… Cataclysm."
