Salem, Massachusetts

Familiar sight, yes? The hundred-plus year old Victorian manor stood tall, centered away from the hustle of not only the city life, but also the neighboring communities that surrounded them. Land that was seen by many, perhaps jealousy so, as prime real estate. Back before he had even met his wife Rinoa, Kedron had purchased this house and the land surrounding it. Several acres of open land, several acres of woodland. Trees surrounded this house on all sides, with only a single path that led from it to the road, and back again. Few paths also marked the forest around, but paths marked by many a casual trek through the trees. There had been scant attempts by city and real estate developers who had wanted the land for their own, but each attempt had been short-lived.

It belonged to the Williams, now and forever. It was quiet … private … it was perfect. Kedron, unlike his wife, was an intensely private individual. While she made a few attempts at socializing here and there, his own were virtually non-existent. He simply had little use for people, save for his wife and the elderly woman who served as their housekeeper, a Missus Adale Hansel. So you can understand who Rinoa was so caught unaware when the morning sun rose, and her husband walked into the spacious kitchen and asked her...

“Tell me something.” Kedron said as he took the steaming cup of tea from Missus Hansel, and walked around the kitchen table to have a seat opposite his wife. “How would you feel if we were to have dinner guests this week?”

Rinoa had leaned over to offer one of her feline ‘babies’ a much desired scratch behind the ear, when her husband’s words rang true to her ears and she was given pause. She turned her head and tilted it just a hint in silent questioning.

“Dinner guests?” She asked. “Kedron, are you feeling alright? Has your heart being returned had some unforeseen complications after all this time?”

“Droll, my dear.” Kedron sipped at the black tea, no flavoring added. No cream nor sugar -- he did not even wait for it to cool slightly. He drank the scalding drink without so much as flinching. “No, but given the spot I’ve found myself in, I just have a feeling that if there are any hopes of success…”

“Benjamin deserves his explanation?” Rinoa, as she often would, finished his thoughts for him. He simply nodded. She finally said, “I have no objections, but are you certain this is a step you want to take? In all these years, we’ve never had guests over for such a social occasion. Save for perhaps a rare visit from my family. You value privacy far too much for such a thing, and I? Well, you know I have always respected that in you.”

“Not something I wish to make a habit out of…” He seemed to be in his own little world, conflicted as to whether this was something he wanted to truly do or not. What she said was true enough. His privacy was one of the most important things to him. Opening up their doors to guests almost seemed -- somehow, alien to him. The Trick or Treaters in late October had been surprising enough. But this…? “Well, there is a first time for anything I suppose.”

You could just as easily meet him before the show?” Rinoa suggested.

Kedron contemplated this thought only briefly, before he shook his head and said, “No. After everything that has passed between us, such a simple thing won’t do.”

“Well, if you’re certain.” Rinoa smiled one of her rare but heartwarming smiles. She turned her head and watched as the housekeeper had picked up a silver tray, and on it, three crystal dishes. Each with a serving of beef and liver cat food, her babies’ personal favorite. Yes, Rinoa’s cats were quite spoiled, eating off of crystal. She watched with a smile as all three felines; Isis, Cleopatra and Achilles swarmed around the old woman’s feet, mewing for their breakfast. One by one, each dish was set on the kitchen floor and its assigned recipient proceeded to ‘dig in.’

“Missus Hansel?” Rinoa spoke up, and the elderly woman stood upright. “Would that be okay? Dinner guests? I know it's not one of your regular duties…”

“No ma’am, it’s quite alright.” Mrs. Hansel held a hand up, forestalling Rinoa’s worry. “Two mouths to feed or four. I’m just happy to see you have invited guests for a change.”

“It will make for quite the unusual bit of diversity, won’t it?” Rinoa quipped, taking a drink from her own tea, winking at Kedron from over the brim.


Had a look at the promo of one Ben Jordan by now, have you? Well splendid! It helps to make these things run so much smoother. The night in question had arrived, and Kedron and Rinoa had decided to indulge themselves in one of their favorite pastimes while they awaited their guests' arrival; dancing. Rinoa absolutely adored an elegant dance, and here’s a secret about Kedron that you might be unfamiliar with; he could handle himself quite well on a ballroom floor.

With one hand behind his own waistline, and his free hand on his wife’s own waist, the Williams’ spun about the floor of the ballroom in the center of their home to Alan Silvestri’s “Amas Veritas.” When you had lived as long as Kedron, sometimes the simplest of pleasures would serve to become the most meaningful. And for Kedron? Dancing with his wife was a pleasure that bordered on sheer bliss.

“Excuse me, ma’am? Sir?” They continued to dance as the housekeeper’s voice rose up just enough to be heard over the music. “Benjamin and Evie Jordan are here.”

“Splendid!” Kedron mused almost merrily as the husband and wife danced around in a wide circle, and from the corner of their eyes, they spotted Missus Hansel escorting Ben and Evie with their husky canine Bear into the open framel of the room. And without breaking a single stride, Rinoa released Kedron and Ben suddenly found himself pulled onto the dance floor by the wife of the man who had once been his greatest enemy. But give Ben Jordan credit where it was due; he recovered quickly from the surprise of Rinoa’s action, and you know something?

Ben Jordan is quite the dancer in his own right. And whilst they danced, Kedron slowly walked to stand on the opposite side of the door while Evie watched as well. Evie then turned her head to spot Kedron watching her and she shook her head.

“Don’t even think about it!”

“Never fear, Missus Jordan.” Kedron smiled. “I would sooner swallow a rag off a bath house floor.”

Evie murmured, “Don’t you forget it!”


The evening moved on. Dinner had been quite the success, even were Ben and Evie even slightly apprehensive about eating at the Williams’ table. Bear, however, had no such reservations. When that rack of prime rib had been placed down in front of Bear, it was like watching Taz go through a tree. Slowly, the Jordans came to ease their own tension and enjoy themselves, or at the very least, attempt to.

“I can only hope you come to appreciate this, Benjamin. Invited guest or no.” Kedron spoke gently as the two men had left their wives behind so that they could have a moment alone to themselves. Kedron walked side by side with Ben, his hands clasped behind his waist as he served as a personal escort. He continued, “Having guests is not something to which I have been accustomed to.”

“Lately?”

“Period.” Kedron stressed. “Not counting family, you are the very first guests who have set foot inside of these walls.”

“Why?” Ben found himself asking, even though he could almost answer his own question.

“This may come as a surprise to you Benjamin,” Kedron answered. “But I am not the most sociable of sorts.”

“The hell you say!” Ben then paused, placing a hand on his chest and placed a hand on Kedron’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. Was that rude of me?”

To which Kedron just stared at Ben before he shook his head and moved on, “I’m coming to regret this already.” And giving Ben the satisfaction of a smile as they arrived at a large set of double doors, ornately carved in cherry wood that stretched clear to the ceiling. “It was a surprise last year when children showed up on our doorstep for Tricks or Treats. And no…!” Kedron held a hand up, cutting Ben off before he could say anything. “I did not lure them in with gingerbread to be fattened up in my oven.”

“Damn!” Ben smiled. “I could have had a lot of fun with that one! But still, must get lonely.”

“How do you mean?” Kedron asked as he grasped the handle of one of the doors, ready to open but waiting for Ben’s answer.

“I never had you pegged to being an animal lover I suppose.” Ben stated, adding, “No offense of course. But the only person I ever see you with is your wife, and she had made it fairly clear that you and her cats don’t get along.”

“We don’t .. or didn't rather. Not until after you and she had pulled your little fast one. But I do adore all innocent creatures that walk this world.” Kedron then pushed the door open and stepped aside, allowing Ben to go in first with one final say, “It’s human beings that I tend to hate.”

Ben then found himself standing at the forefront of a spacious library, Kedron’s personal study. One of the largest private libraries that Ben had personally ever set foot inside. One desk. A plush, leather sofa. And bookcases. Several bookcases that reached the ceiling and lined every wall. And on each shelf, there were volumes packed tightly with little free space.

“Nice.” Ben nodded as Kedron followed him in, and walked his guest over toward the center of the room. “Your personal man cave?”

“No, my ‘man cave’ is in the basement.” Kedron then flashed a wicked grin, and added, “But something tells me that you’d be hesitant to follow me down there.”

“Smart lad.” Ben quipped, but he had a keen eye and for the first time, he noticed that the bookshelves were not the only thing lining the walls of this room, but there were the paintings. Eleven total in number. Each painting was that of a woman subject. Each one expertly rendered to the point it looked as if she were about to step off of the canvas and join them for the evening. The brush strokes? Virtually non existent. Each one preserved in an ornately carved, wooden frame. Ben was no expert on art work, but even his keen eye could tell these paintings were not only master crafts, but old. Very old.

Kedron silently watched as Ben approached one painting in particular, that of an elderly matriarch of a woman. But her age did nothing to defy the fact she had strength in her eyes. Strength and -- power? Ben then turned his head and noticed that two other paintings each bore the likeness of an older woman. The others seemed to age down from eldrly to adult, and perhaps young adult.

Only then did Ben turn to Kedron and say as more of a statement than a question, “Your coven.”

Kedron closed his eyes and simply nodded in silence. He stepped up beside Ben and with a hand, directed his attention to one painting after another, speaking the name of each woman until they arrived at the very painting that had drawn Ben in.

“Prudence Mathews.” Kedron said calmly, but Ben could hear in his voice what seemed an impossibility. Affection. “The coven’s high priestess. She raised me as her own grandchild after my mother… after her death. I could not have loved someone more than I did her. I never met such a skillful witch.” He nodded. “She taught me everything that I know.”

Ben noticed a mistiness to the eyes of his former enemy, and turned away to give the man what privacy he could. Ben then leaned in close and narrowed his eyes at the painting in examination. He asked, “Are these originals?”

“They are…” Kedron stepped right up beside Ben, his eyes fastened on the figure in the painting. “... the very same paintings each of these women sat for over three hundred years ago.”

Ben blinked. He looked from the painting to Kedron, then back again. “Three hundred year old paintings…” He shook his head in disbelief. But the sheer dedication Kedron showed to find, locate and retrieve each and every personal portrait of these women who played such a vital role in his life. Ben was nothing short of impressed. “How long did it take you to find them?”

“A long time.” Kedron answered simply. “But it was well worth it.”

“How do you mean?”

Kedron turned his head to Ben, drawing the attention of the Cockney King to him. Kedron said, “You asked me if this room was my ‘man cave.’” He shook his head, then said finally…

“It’s my penance.”


“I have to admit that I don't even know where to start in this funny little situation that I find myself in. If you would have told me three years ago that I would be teamed together with, of all people, Ben Jordan, for a match -- any match -- I would have called you a fool and thought you insane. And yet, here I am. In that very spot and it would seem I have only myself to blame. My own actions, and it’s not something that I object to entirely. I made my choice to get involved in a situation, and I stand by it.”

“What I can not seem to understand or comprehend is how Vinnie and Bill Barnhart seem to be unable to grasp that none of this would have happened had they not decided to take the loss that evening out on Ben Jordan himself. How they seem all too eager and willing to place the brunt of the blame on me, myself. I may not be involved in social media as I find it to be a waste of time, but I am not blind to the world around me. My wife told me all about the posts from Vinnie and Bulldog, and how everything was seemingly my doing, my fault. Well not to go all schoolyard on you gentlemen, but boo hoo!”

“I have been called a great many things over the years, most of which had been entirely justified. But the one thing that nobody had ever been able to say about me is that I am anything other than what I am. In other words, what you see of me is exactly what you get. I make no pretense to be anything other than what I am, and if my actions cause repercussions? I’m man enough to own up to the fact! But not you Vinnie, nor you Bulldog. From the very moment that evening came to a close, all I’ve heard from you is what I did. How I interfered in your business. How I burned Vinnie or blinded the Bulldog. Do you know what I haven’t heard? A single iota of blame from you, about you. Well then, allow me to declare class to be in session, because it’s time for me to educate you both on one very simple but important fact, and I dare say i hope this gets through your collective thick skulls!”

“Everything that happened that evening, and everything that happened since? Is entirely your fault!”

“I know, but just consider it tough love. You had to hear it. I know that right about now, Vinnie is pretty selective about which reality it is that he chooses to accept, but it’s for the best. You see, had Vinnie been able to accept his friend and tag team partner had suffered a loss, then none of this would have had to happen. And once Vinnie got involved and started his attack on Ben, did Bulldog attempt to stop him? Did he try to get Vinnie to see reason and end his assault?”

Kedron closed his eyes and shook his head in the negative.

“Quite the contrary, actually. The two men joined together to engage in a vicious beat down on Ben, and yet somehow, in some way, it still was not their fault. Therein lies where I opted to involve myself. I have my reasons for why I did what I did. Benjamin himself is aware, but the bottom line is my actions were entirely just that; my own. When you’ve lived for as long as I have, one tends to do things differently every so often. Just to keep people guessing or to keep things interesting. You have to. And let’s be honest here; I could have handled this situation in any one of several ways. I simply chose the most effective methods. After all, you don’t need to be an expert in this profession to realize that I am about a sfar beyond heavyweight as they get. Vinnie and Bulldog? Both have an advantage over me by far in terms of size and strength so why wouldn’t I resort to such tactics as I did? They call it a fight for a reason, and when you’re involved in one, you do what you have to, to whoever you have to do it to, in order to walk away not just as a winner, but also a survivor. After all, is that not the entire point?”

“To survive?”

“So I burned the flesh of Vinnie to the point he resembled a charcoal briquette! So the mist I spit in Bulldog’s eyes would make him better served as a guide dog than a professional wrestler! Gentlemen, you had the Saint down on the mat. You had your chance with him. Now, you deal with me. The polar opposite of Ben Jordan in every single way imaginable. You were not dealing with Ben Jordan in that one single moment. Where Ben is the Saint, I am the Sinner. I am the devil in disguise. That can’t be good for either of you, because you simply won’t know which side of the flipped coin you’ll have to be prepared for. With Ben in the ring, you’ll have to do one thing. Against me, another entirely!”

“And yes, while the two of you are friends and have been together as a team in times past, Ben and I can not say the same. However … we don’t have to. Benjamin and I will never be best friends or bosom chums like he has become with so many varied individuals. And that’s fine. We don’t have to be. Because what he and I have gone through, what we have put each other through time and again, puts us on an altogether different level than the bonds of mere fellowship. Rivals. Enemies. Now…? Allies, merely out to survive against two men who simply can not face the harsh realities of the world. Two men who live in the center of the universe, believing the world revolves around them and them alone.”

“I fear neither of you. Nothing you say, nothing you believe you can do against me, gives me cause for concern. So Vinnie is a former Internet and World Heavyweight Champion. Brava! Congratulations! So Bulldog is a bulldozer of a man, a ring veteran and someone who loves to pulverize his opponents until they more so resemble ground beef! Do you not think I have been through worse? That I have been up against worse?”

“People looked at me, and overlooked what they thought I might be able to accomplish. They saw me lose more than I would win, clearly underestimating me. What happened? Twice now I have been the Roulette Champion, two levels of success more than you’ve accomplished, Bulldog. Or … Beatrice. I swear I’m never altogether certain which Barnhart I am supposed to be addressing considering the man allows his wife to do his talking for him. Fair, I suppose. It’s not as if she’s been booked so she has to get her camera time in one way or the other. Just so long as … she knows her place, and remains on the outside. Just so she does not follow the examples set by her husband or her friend, Vinnie.”

“Several months ago, Ben Jordan stated that out of all that he has known, I showed him the most personal growth. Well, let’s just test that theory this Sunday, shall we? And when all is said and done, and you two gentlemen are left lying broken, battered and bloody?”

“You’ll only have yourselves to blame.”[/font]

Salem, Massachusetts -
October 31, 1695

In Colonial America, the mortality rate for adults could be as low as their early twenties, if they even managed to reach that. Many 'adults' would go on to meet their Maker when they reached their upper teens, nineteen being a year seen by young eyes as both old and cursed. If you lived past your twenties and was lucky enough to become one of the elders, you were looked upon with awe and reverence. It was obvious that you were special in the eyes of the Lord, 'chosen' as it were. It was why the elders commanded so much respect in the small town of Salem, and their word was law.

However, if you were a small child, the chances of survival were reduced drastically. Not only was there harsh winters and new diseases with woefully unprepared doctors to care for you, but if hunting or crops failed, hunger would gnaw away at your belly and leave you in a ripe and weakened state. The local wildlife could also find the young as the easiest prey, helpless and without weapons in which to defend themselves. Rumors and tales were whispered of the wildcats that reached through the cracks in the walls of the homestead to snatch away your babies into the night to take back to their lair.

The small boy that laid in his sick bed had not influenza, nor the other high ranked causes of death, such as small pox or typhoid fever. But his skin paled with a sickly yellow, and the sweat that glistened from his pores had the faint traces of a sour scent. The hand, wrinkled with age, caressed the boy's cheek, and then gently brushed the sweat soaked strands of jet black hair from his cherubic face. The elder female, a woman that had miraculously made it to her late-sixties, sat at the edge of his bed and leaned over, gently pressing her lips against his forehead. The boy's body stirred in discomfort as she sat upright, and a second woman entered the room, this one being much younger, in her twenties perhaps. She wore a dressing gown as if she were preparing to retire to bed, but the call to help one of their own had been strong, and her concern grew. Her honey-gold hair hung low over the shoulders of her dressing gown, as the only light in the room was both the candle in her hand, and the one the elder placed on the oak carved stand at the child's bedside.

Abitha: How is Kedron?

Yes, that Kedron. The very same as the one who stands now, a man that reigns as the current Roulette Champion. An innocent child that grew up to become the "Son of Salem."

The elder, clad in her own dressing gown and her iron gray hair hung low to her waistline, continued to stare down at the boy.

Abitha: Judith?

Spoken as an equal, the younger woman questioned again. The elder, Judith Taylor, exhaled gently through her pursed lips as she turned her attention momentarily from her 'patient' to but one of her 'sisters' of the Craft. She shook her head.

Judith: His fever grows as his weakness does. I do not understand it. He does not have the disease that have taken others in the village. of that I am certain.

Young Abitha Browne stepped up to the boy's bedside to examine him herself. She looked him over with a motherly concern of her own, but a fresh horror of an idea passed her mind, and she looked to Judith.

Abitha: Could he be 'touched?' Given to whom his mother was...

Judith: No. Of that I am certain. He is ill, it is just a matter of discovering how, and what form before...

She shared a disconcerting glance with the younger of the two and sighed.

Judith: Just, before.

She stood up slowly, her joints stiff and pained from the cool, wet weather they suffered from this Autumn. Her movement drew the coarse blanket from Kedron's bare foot and Abitha moved to cover him back up, when the dancing light from her candle's flame gave her pause. She saw something.

Abitha: Judith, look. Look at this!

Judith walked around to the foot of the small bed and leaned in to closely examine where Abitha's fingertips touched. A bite mark, just below the child's ankle. The two women then shared a look between them.

Judith: Snake bite. It must be! Quickly! Fetch my things, and our sisters! Before the venom reaches his heart!

Abitha did as she was told, hurrying from the room as Judith takes Kedron's hand in her own and pats it with a motherly concern...


London, England -
October 31, 1700

They watched as the fire grew from the base of the pyre. Green wood had been used as was the tradition with hunters; reason being it caused the fire to burn hotter and for longer. It purified the condemned and was as the fires of Hell to which the accused would be condemned to for all eternity. The scourge of their kind, Noah Jordan, stood in righteous fervor as he, and the townspeople, watched the fires consume the life of Abigail Williams. The very same witch whom had put Salem on the map. The very one who had kick started the historically infamous Witch Trials.

And the only one who was actually what many innocent had been condemned as.

The death of a witch, by fire or drowning or hanging, was seen as a public spectacle. All good followers of the Lord had the right to bear witness. Even those who were not of the community, and whom could not be seen. Or rather, ignored.

A small handful of spectral figures stood amongst the judging townsfolk. All women, each of varied age from youth to elder, all save for one. The young lad who stood in defiance, and who attempted to best control his emotions at witnessing the death, the murder, of his mother. And his dark eyes shifted to bear down on Noah Jordan, and an unbridled hatred rose in his breast.

The hand of Judith Taylor found a place on the boy's shoulder, and his rising anger abated. None of the townsfolk paid them no mind, for they could not see them. But before the light in her eyes dimmed, Abigail Williams saw. She saw her former coven come to pay their respects -- and she saw her son.

And in Salem, a young boy fell against his elder's body and cried heavily.


Salem, Massachusetts -
October 30, 2020 - 11:59 PM

The ground in the clearing was littered with leaves of many colors, the Autumn had taken effect earlier than normal this year. Reds. Yellows. Oranges. What had once been green, the circle of nature. Rinoa loved these times best, more so than any other. Oh how she enjoyed her walks through the woods on their land, simply enjoying the falling of the leaves, the colors changing through the branches, and the soft rustle of her feet walking over the fallen leaves.

But Rinoa was not here, and the day had long passed the Williams by. Kedron had left on his own, not by choice but by necessity. This was, after all, his burden to bare. And while Rinoa would have gladly shouldered her share for the sake of her love, he would not have it. The crime was his, as was the guilt.

It was why he laid at the altar she had taken such great pains to ensure perfection for him. His back flat against the ground, and his head nestled in a pile of leaves, his long, black hair spread out like a cloud of ink swirling in a bowl of water. No candles were lit. In the woods, it would be far too dangerous. The light of the moon was enough, and was traditional. Nature in all its glory.

Kedron's eyes remained closed, his hands clasped together at his waist. All he could do was wait. He had no clock or watch to tell the time, just his uncanny senses. He would know, for this All Hallow's Eve was different than so many others that have come and gone. This year of 2020, not only was the moon high above full, but it was the second such full moon in the month of October. A blue moon.

Such a rarity, that it was taken as a sign.

And then, at the stroke of midnight, his eyes opened. He knew they were there. He could feel their presence. He could smell the ginger that always had seemed to permeate Phila as she would so often cook with it. The wind blew, and the lovely scent of orchid struck him. The favored scent of Judith Taylor, the woman he had loved as a grandmother.

His eyes were wet and throat dry. He swallowed hard, and licked at his dry lips.


Kedron closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, an effort to control his emotions that threatened to break as a raging storm against a dam, but more so to continue to savor the scents. A desperate cling to what he had lost so long ago. He shook his head and a smile crept up on his lips.


"That was why we sent her to you."

Kedron's eyes snapped open, and he sat upright in the clearing. He had heard the voice as clearly as if they had been right next to one another. The same who had come running when he was sick with fever. The woman who defended him staunchly when a young Salem girl had accused him of engaging with her, unspeakable acts. The voice of his adoptive grandmother.

Judith Taylor.

"That was why we sent her to you."

He closed his eyes and wept. He did not need to ask to be forgiven, because he already had been.


Kedron Williams: "Mac Bane... well! What are we to do with you?"

"This is an interesting situation that I find myself in, Mac. For the longest of times, I had hand selected when and where I would set foot inside of the ring, against an opponent that had been chosen for me to test my skills against. For the longest of time, I had been consumed professionally by Ben Jordan, but once those issues were -- settled, I suppose you could say -- I found myself in something of a conundrum."

"I was without direction. I felt my life had no true purpose because my set goal had ended in failure, an admission that I am both relieved and disgusted by. I continued about my personal schedule, only competing when it amused me, but it would seem I no longer have that luxury. And why? Simply put..."

Kedron held up the Roulette title belt in one hand.

Kedron Williams: "... Because of this. It's funny, isn't it? How so many men and women, those we fight against and alongside, strive to be the very best in the eyes of their peers, to hold such a championship. They have come to the belief that holding a championship title, wearing a belt around their waist, will not only grant them honor and respect from those around them, but from perfect strangers as well? But such an adornment would also grant them a freedom in their career. Power."

He shook his head, looking downward as his long hair felt in sheets around his face.

Kedron Williams: "What fools you mortals be. If anything, holding one of these simply binds you tighter, restricts you. It is why I am here, and will soon be meeting you inside of the ring at High Stakes X. Apparently you earned this chance to fight for the Roulette championship, and many had predicted that you would be challenging O'Malley for the title when November 22 came about."

Kedron paused and waved a hand idly as if in mock boredom.

Kedron Williams: "Only that was not to be, and I wonder if you're not too disappointed. from what I can gather, nobody had expected O'Malley to have dropped his precious championship when he did. They had believed he would have had a much longer title reign, but fate can be a cruel bitch. Because for all the challenges he was able to overcome, the one he had not met was the man he had defeated for the title in the first place way back when on that dreadful cruise ship. Only, he didn't really beat me, did he?"

Kedron shook his head.

Kedron Williams: "No, you can hardly call it defeat when you win by sending your opponent into a swimming pool, but the shims of the SCW higher ups are hard to predict, even for me. So when I was ready, and when I opted to finally 'cash in my return match, it was all but as foregone conclusion. O'Malley fought bravely, and had defended successfully against many a variable challenge, but against me? The championship was again my own, and you...?"

Kedron frowned, then crossed his forearms over his bended knees, leaning forward.

Kedron Williams: "I hope that you're not too disappointed, Mac. If you were like anyone else, you had probably spent all of your time preparing to face that Irishman, and instead you find yourself pitted against the talents of a Salem descendant. Take a look, if you will, at the wealth of experience I have had inside of the ring against some of the notable talents in SCW. Highest among them, former World Champion, Benjamin Jordan. Current Internet Champion, Teddy Steele-Warren? Defeated him. And why just this past week, I faced none other than former World Champion, and possibly soon to be again, Austin James Mercer. Defeated him."

"And then, here you are. my opposition. My challenger. The man who had earned this title opportunity, but that seemed to be as far as you've been able to grasp when it comes to glory. After all, what else have you really managed to accomplish since winning that match at Violent Conduct? Who did you beat? Lachlan Kane? Agostino Romano?"

Kedron smirked with an audible scoff.

Kedron Williams: "Stephen Callaway? Please! Bottom feeders, one and all, at best! And yet when you are expected to face greater challenges, say -- teaming with your lovely woman against the Black Sheep? You fall in defeat. And yet you think that you are just going to waltz into the ring and take what is mine? Sorry Mac, but no. Your mid card performances will continue, and you will remain without gold to call your own."

Kedron's visage was then in a close up against the camera.

Kedron Williams: "I am the Bane of your existence."[/font]

Samhain

Despite what some Hollywood fools might lead you to believe, this oldest of holidays was most definitely not pronounced ‘sam-hine.’ It was spoken as ‘SOW-in.’ Samhain is a Gaelic festival marking the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter or the "darker half" of the year.


Home sweet home. Finally.

It seems like it's been forever since they had set foot back inside the old world Victorian Manor that had been theirs since the very beginning of their marriage. But once the restrictions involving the Saxon Hotel had been lifted by the powers-that-be behind Sin City Wrestling. Kedron Williams wasted no time inspiriting his wife Rinoa back to their home in Salem, Massachusetts. It's where they had been since their time upon the Sun Princess Cruise, since Summer XXXTreme VIII, where Kedron’s reign as the Roulette Champion came to an untimely and somewhat embarrassing end.

Kedron had held to his belief that championships were meaningless, at least to him personally. But to lose one thanks to gravity and falling into a pool?  To crawl out of the water and realize that another man was holding what had just mere seconds ago been your property? Yes, even the Son of Salem was having a difficult time in grasping and accepting that.

Most men (and women) would have wasted little to no time in immediately making their campaign for the fanciful “return match,” but not so much Kedron. No, he watched and he waited. He wondered if the comparisons with others would be ironically drawn forth at his ‘disappearance,’ but that was more of a morbid curiosity State of Mind. There was only one with whom he cared in what they thought of him. From the early days of August, he would simply bide his time.

The dreams, they still came. Haunting his sleep. True, they did not suffer his torments every night as it seems they had when he had given that deepest part of himself up as part of a bargain with evil, but they still came. Only now with his heart and soul intact, it would seem what he gave up in regularity made up for with intensity. These disturbances in his sleep or what caused him to rise later than his wife. It was why it was well past the noon hour when he finally stirred awake and opened his eyes to a new autumn day.

And he had heard it before his eyes had ever opened. He was always sensitive to the nuances of Mother Nature, and he had picked up on the rainfall before the first drops had ever even struck the roof of his shared home. While most people drew their enjoyment from clear, blue skies and bright, warm sunshine, not so much Kedron. He was what one would refer to as Pluviophile, or a person who drew their enjoyment from the rain. Blue skies? Dark clouds and gray overcast, that was how he enjoyed it. And this rainfall? It was a strong one for the Autumn months, not quite a thunderstorm which he would have preferred, but still quite pleasing in its own soothing way.

There was nothing quite like the sound of the rain pounding at the glass windows, or how it appeared as a cascading waterfall from off above the roof. It was why he walked freely to the double glass doors of his and Rinoa’s bedroom that led to an upstairs balcony, overlooking their spacious property. He threw the doors open and stepped out into the cool wind and the freshest scented air, the very wind blowing the rain back and into his face, soaking his flesh almost immediately. His hands gripped the banister and he tilted his head back, eyes closed, and simply allowed himself to bask in the pleasure of the rain washing over him. His hair, his flesh and his clothes all soaked within seconds. But did he care? Not a bit. It was the closest to euphoria that he could experience the physical pleasures of when his wife was not involved. The water ran down his cheeks and pooled at the strong cleft in his chin, and he finally opened his eyes and glanced down at everything that belonged to Rinoa and himself, and he froze.

Rinoa adored nature almost as much as she did animals, and thus trees and flowers and shrubbery dominated their landscape -- and every bit of it had been decorated for the season. Their season. No, not these ridiculous and fanciful decorations like laminated cutouts of goblins and cartoonish skeletons, or orange and black lights with that fake, silken spider webbing. Rather, colorful gourds dominated. Decorative Indian corn  of assorted, Pleasant colors  was woken against and around their  tallest tree . Pumpkins that she would attempt to cowl him into helping her carve into jack-o'-lanterns lined the path of their drive, waiting to be brought to ‘unlife’ and moved to their porch to welcome trick-or-treaters that never came to their home. And there in the center of their front yard, in a spacious clearing, was the large scarecrow that Rinoa always erected to greet those very visitors who never came.

It was their time, their season. Yet it was always the hardest on his wife, and why? Because of him.

With that sobering thought, he finally pushed himself away and turned back to re-enter their home, carefully peeling his wet attire from his body before he even set foot inside so as not to draw the ire of his wife. Powerful warlock though he was, he knew better than to trail rain water into her bedroom. And after a very long and luxurious hot shower, Kedron finally arrived downstairs to find the interior of their house had also been transformed with Autumn decor, including candles and wreaths along with other simple displays of nature.

And no sooner did his feet set foot on the bottom step than did he spot the three sleeping felines, Rinoa’s ‘babies,’ as they slept huddled together atop the wicker love seat that he had bought for her but quickly became yet another piece of the felines’ ever-expanding personal property. He crept silently along the floor in search of his wife, not wanting to wake the cats and draw their attention to him. Ever since the efforts of Rinoa and Ben Jordan had made him ‘whole’ once more, the animosity the felines had for him vanished and now they simply would not leave him alone. And he would have been successful in avoiding them -- had he not forgotten about that one plank of wood in the flooring that his bare foot set upon and caused that awful creaking noise, startling the three forms awake.

Their eyes snapped open, and the three heads lifted to spot him across the foyer, and they moved as one; hopping down from their ‘bed’ and hurrying after him.

Kedron Williams: “Son of a…”

He was only able to half mutter before the three hairless bodies weaved around his feet and shins, their bodies rubbing against him to stake their claim to him as their own. All he wanted right now was to grab a cup of tea and perhaps a bite to eat out on the downstairs porch to better enjoy this dreary weather, but it would seem he was to have company. Whether he preferred it or not. And once he was finally able to tear himself away from the company of the three pesky felines, he headed through the hall other Victorian house and into the kitchen where he finally found the love of his life standing at the counter unloading paper bags filled with…?

Kedron Williams: “Candy? Have a sweet tooth, do we?”

Rinoa looked up from her small chore and smiled, despite herself. It was a soft, gentle smile as was Kedron’s usual gift. She was often referred to as ‘icey,’ betraying almost little to no emotion except for where he or her three ‘babies’ were concerned.

Rinoa Williams: “Don’t be silly.”

Was all she said, but the evidence spoke of the contrary. Three large, paper bags from the nearest grocer, and everything from popcorn balls to giant Snickers bars and every tooth-aching delight in between. He waved a hand toward the treats.

Kedron Williams: “Then … why?”

Rinoa Williams: “To be prepared for the Trick or Treaters, obviously.”

His wife stated matter-of-factly.

Rinoa Williams: “It would be a shame for the little ones to come knocking and we not have anything to offer up.”

Kedron Williams: “Yes, I would never forgive myself were that to occur.”

Kedron finally arrived at the kitchen stove for that much-desired steaming cup of tea. The trace of sarcasm behind his words was not lost on Rinoa, simply overlooked. Behind her, as she continued filling the orange, plastic pumpkins with the tooth decaying treats, Kedron shook his head as he poured from the kettle.

Kedron Williams: “Someone is a glutton for punishment.”

And straight away, the moment the words left his lips, he felt the momentary bristle from his wife. Even if for a brief second, he felt a momentary sting of sadness that his words had just caused her. And he regretted it immensely. Every year it was the same. Every year, Rinoa did then what she was doing now. She decorated their property. She would purchase an outlandish amount of candy with the hopes and expectations of the neighborhood children coming to their door. Rinoa simply wanted to experience the pleasure of opening their door with a basket of candy and hand, and be greeted by a huddled group of children in colorful costumes crying out “Trick or Treat.” It was a simple enough desire, but every year she was turned away disappointed. Every year, the chimes of the door were not wrong. No small fists wrapped on the wood of their door. And there were no begging for treats. She would sit by the door in her wicker chair, hands in her lap and that strong if not sad smile on her face. And the candy would be left untouched until disposed of.

Every year.

And he had only himself to blame. Their, or ‘his’, reputation seemed to stifle the Salem families from allowing their children to set foot on their property. Still, that did nothing to stifle Rinoa’s hopes to one evening have children knock on their front door. Ordinarily that would suit him just fine, but he knew that it hurt his wife. He turned around, his back against the stove, to offer her his sincerest apologies but found that soft, gentle smile on her face as her eyes found his.

Rinoa Williams: “They’ll come. This year will be different.”

He gifted her with a genuine albeit stiff smile in return as he lifted the ceramic cup to his lips and drank of the black tea. She casually glanced again in his direction and perhaps for the first time, noticed the slightly dark tinge beneath his eyes and her brow knitted in concern before her eyes dawned in understanding.

Rinoa Williams: “The dreams … again?”

He simply nodded in silence, confirming her concerns.

Rinoa Williams: “They always seem to get stronger at this time of year.”

Kedron Williams: “But this year they’ve grown stronger … and much worse.”

And at this time it was her turn to take in a moment of guilt, knowing that it was her actions that returned her husband's heart and soul to him, that opened him up to such vulnerability. She wasn't altogether certain or confident that she knew the proper way to bring up the subject, or whether she should at all. It had been, after all, the darkest point of her husband's life. His greatest regret, known only to herself and one Ben Jordan.

Rinoa Williams: “Perhaps this year you should…?”

Kedron Williams: “What, Rinoa? Apologize?”

He openly scoffed at the very thought as he turned and set his half drank tea back on the counter and moved to exit the kitchen.

Kedron Williams: “Some things are beyond such a simple concept. Some actions are unforgivable.”

That being said, he walked past her but not before she laid a hand on his arm. He paused just long enough to look into her loving eyes. She smiled, and laid a hand against his cheek before she turned to resume her task, allowing him to step out.


Kedron Williams: “Well, well! What an indulgent week this has become! I have to admit that I did enjoy sitting back and watching as my wife engaged this pitiful ‘demon’ in a battle of wits, but as often is the case, it was like a hawk doing battle with a flea. I think Keira and Roxi are indulging this malignant spirit with all of this attention, because ‘it’ clearly has delusions of grandeur in believing herself to be the ultimate of evils.”

He smiled with a cold bitterness as he shook his head in mock disdain.

Kedron Williams: “But that was as a matinee as what is to become is the grand finale. O’Malley. Former SCU Underground Champion. Reigning SCW Roulette Champion. Or to put it in Layman’s Terms where your title reigns are concerned… one down, one to go. Even I have to admit that I felt express disappointment and perhaps even a touch of disillusionment when your reign as Underground Champion ended at the hands of that religious zealot, Father Gerald Sheppard.”

He shook his head and clucked his tongue.

Kedron Williams: “What you must have felt when you realized that the championship you coveted so strongly was now in the possession of a man who has strong armed and brainwashed his own flesh and blood to follow the teachings of a carpenter long dead for over two thousand years. Why, that would rank right up there by losing your championship by simply … losing one's grip and falling into a swimming pool on board of a luxury cruise liner. Hm?”

He tilted his head with an inquiring expression on his face.

Kedron Williams: “So yes, O’Malley. Finally you and I are kindred spirits with something in common, but unfortunately for you, that is where our camaraderie comes to an end. I really had no intention of seeking this return match for my former championship…”

He waved off the thought with an idle hand gesture.

Kedron Williams: “But the powers that be behind Sin City Wrestling wanted to give you a proper challenge, and here we are! I was quite content sitting back and biting my time, watching as the shepherd led his flock into the mouth of the wolf. Watching as you impressively defeated one Challenger after another, knowing that none of them for me. Knowing that you had not genuinely step inside with the ring to defend the championship that you hold so dear against the man who held it before you. Knowing that you did not pin my shoulders to the canvas nor force me to tap out, in order to walk away with that title.”

“And yes, I do fully acknowledge the fact that you received no assistance from that lovely wife of yours. When you won the title, you won it on your own. The only assistant you got? Was from Gravity itself. Hardly your fault given the circumstances, but still not the most impressive way to win a championship. But, you know … traditions. The fact is neither your fault nor my own. You gave me just credit as a fighting champion, and I can do no less. You’ve defended your title against whomever they laid out in front of you without complaint. It is almost a shame to see such a fighting spirit be extinguished, but sadly…?”

He made a face and nodded.

Kedron Williams: “It is going to be. But before we eventually do battle, I have to wonder which O’Malley I am going to end up facing. Dare I even ask? Because watching you, whether it be your interactions on social media or how you perform outside of the ring with all eyes upon you, it’s like some sordid soap opera that elderly matriarchs watch to pass away many a lonely afternoon. Yes, indeed.”

He nodded his head with a faux expression of sadness, or perhaps disillusionment.

Kedron Williams: “We all know of the trials and tribulations that you go through in your daily walk of life.”

He then rolled his eyes.

Kedron Williams: “Believe me, we know! Which is why I can not help but wonder just which O’Malley we will have deign to grace us with his presence? Will it be the quintessential family man who has a seemingly unending stream of unresolved issues with the woman he had promised to honor, for better or for worse, until death do they part? Perhaps we will see the Father of the Year, who has defended himself and rightfully so, on thinking of the better welfare of his offspring as opposed to his own, selfish desires? And has not let us hear the end of it since?”

“Or will we, and this is perhaps the O’Malley I personally wish to see -- the champion? The fighter with the fire in both eye and soul? The man who thought nothing of how he won, just so long as he did? The man who will stop at absolutely nothing to keep what he sees as his? Ruthless. Aggressive. Greedy. Materialistic. That is who I want to face. That is who I look to defeat. After all, what good is besting a champion who is not out there at his very best? A weak champion losing creates a weakened lineage. That simply will not do. And despite all evidence to the contrary…”

He placed a hand over his heart and nodded his head.

Kedron Williams: “Respect. In certain cases, we have much in common. But for every similarity, there are far more evident differences. Where you are ruthless, I am unyielding. Where you are aggressive, I am malevolent. I am everything that you are, and everything that you have yet to become. Inhuman. Cold blooded. Without pity. These are my strengths. You, here…”

He tapped a forefinger to his temple, and then placed the very same hand over his heart.

Kedron Williams: “And here … these are your weaknesses. The very ones that will spell your downfall.”

“Human emotion is for the weak, O’Malley. You would do well to remember that.”[/font]

 
Kedron Williams: “A ship -- again? Are they serious!?”

Las Vegas, Nevada -
A few weeks ago

Kedron had held the door to his hotel room open for his wife to enter first, as always, then followed in but his mood was indeed soured. He tugged hard on his black, silk tie until it came loose and he threw it to the bed, and almost immediately regretted it as the three Sphinx cats took it as a sign to play and all three ganged up on that hapless but expensive accessory. He closed his eyes and exhaled an annoyed huff, as Rinoa took a seat on the edge of the bed. One of the cats, Achilles, broke away from the play and meandered over to her and nestled his chin on her lap while she scratched him behind the ear, causing his eyes to close in contentment and a heavy purr filled the room.

Rinoa Williams: “Kedron, calm down.”

Kedron set his hands on his hips as he all but paced the front of the room that he and his wife had called home lo these past many months as opposed to their grand estate in Salem. He shook his head, a growing annoyance on his face as if he were working overtime in NOT calming down.

Kedron Williams: “I don’t understand. You would think that given the crux that cruise ships have become because of this damn virus, they could find a more appropriate location for this event! I mean, look at that one cruise liner that had a boat filled with people sick with COVID-19 and they were left drifting for weeks because nobody would risk allowing them into a port! Yet here we are, about to climb on board a ship ourselves when the country is growing worse by the day with this virus!”

Achilles rolled over onto his back, exposing his belly. This was a sign of great trust for any cat and Rinoa showed her appreciation by tickling him lightly on his soft skin.

Rinoa Williams: “If I didn’t know any better, Kedron, I would say that sounds an awful lot like concern.”

Kedron stopped his pacing and slowly, and I mean slowly, turned at the waist to stare at his wife. Many would be unsettled by his stare, but not her. She just smiled.

Kedron Williams: “Do not be ridiculous.”

Rinoa Williams: “I’m serious. Why, I’m beginning to think that having your soul back has turned you into a caring human being.”

Kedron shook his head, turning away from his wife.

Kedron Williams: “And to think you thought there would be no harmful side effects…”

He walked over to the kitchen area and opened the mini bar beneath the counter, only to shut it again with a heavy slam.

Kedron Williams: “I just don’t see the point. Christian underwood just pulled the rug out from a number of people when he told us that the ship wasn’t even setting sail. So, what? We’ll just spend our time idle on a ship in Los Angeles that is docked at its pier for a week?”

Rinoa Williams: “Not exactly that far from where we’re at right now, my love. We’ve been in this hotel for a couple of months at least…”

Kedron Williams: “By your own desire.”

Kedron felt no shame in stressing to his wife that she was the reason that they were staying at the Saxon rather than at their spacious Victorian estate in Salem. “The better to keep up appearances.” She had said to him, and “And while we may not be vulnerable to this virus, others are.”

Kedron adjusted his silk shirt with satisfaction while Rinoa tilted her head to the side. Achilles had rolled back to his paws and rejoined his sisters in tearing and clawing at Kedron’s tie, which had set him back almost two hundred dollars. Still, better his tie than his hand. Though the attacks on his person had pretty much stopped ever since he became ‘whole’ once more.

Rinoa Williams: “But isolated as we’ve been, at least attending the festivities on this cruise ship will at the very least give us a change of scenery.”

Kedron turned and held a hand out to his wife…

Kedron Williams: “Rinoa … darling. You know that whole ‘look on the positive side of things’ that you’ve turned into an art form?”

Rinoa Williams: “Yes?”

Kedron Williams: “Stop it.”

Rinoa chuckled and went back to giving each of her cats affectionate scratches, allowing Kedron time enough to walk over to the bed and snatch his now mauled tie from their claws. Of course, this only added to the cats’ mutual enjoyment as now they thought ‘daddy’ was playing with them and all three shot off of the bed before the Son of Salem could react and they pounced on him, clawing their way up his pant leg as he fought to dislodge them and ‘playing keep away’ with the tie.

Kedron Williams: “Rinoa! Get them off! Rinoa…!”

And he fell back against the bathroom door which swung open and he toppled inside, landing hard with the three cats on top, still going for the tie!

And Rinoa? She had fallen on her own back on the bed, laughing merrily at her husband’s expense.



Night had fallen in the “City of Sin,” and while there was still life within the Saxon Hotel, much of the population had retired to their rooms to rest and recuperate while their journey toward Summer XXXTreme VIII started within a day’s time. And this room in particular had been cloaked in darkness. The shades drawn, the lights turned off -- the only illumination being that of the soft lighting of the moon peeking through the shades and caressing the room’s interior.

Rinoa Williams was sound asleep in her bed, and her three feline ‘babies’ -- Cleopatra, Isis and Achilles -- were snuggled up against and on top of her, sleeping peacefully. Kedron, however, was not. Ever since that one night where he had set foot inside of this room and discovered an intruder, a member of the Cult of Blood, standing over his wife, he had not slept soundly. He had chosen to keep a close eye, especially now that he had regained possession of his Grimoire. Once the Cult discovered the fact, no doubt they would resort to drastic measures to gain possession of it. Which was why he had enacted a curse against any who dared try.

The Cult had already targeted his wife’s three cats -- and paid a humiliating and painful price for that gross mistake in judgment.

He had taken precautions now to ensure the safety of his family, yes, the cats included -- as well as safeguarding his Grimoire, the collective sum of all of his knowledge in the world of the arcane. And he sat alone in the darkness, in a chair opposite the bed he shared with his wife. His ankle was kicked up over his bended knee and his chin rested atop curled fingers as he watched her sleep. A sight he never tired of.

Kedron Williams: “So, let me get this straight. Not a ring, but a swimming pool with cables stretched out horizontally over the pool, and this…”

He extended his hand to the SCW Roulette championship belt which rested in its place of honor in the room, front and center on the dresser where the plasma television had once been. Neither Kedron nor his wife were particularly big television watchers, so they had it removed from its spot and stored away to make more room for themselves as well as their own personal effects. His fingers caressed the center plate of the Roulette title belt.

Kedron Williams: “... Is to be suspended in the center, above the pool, and the man to retrieve it earns the right to be called the champion…”

He turned his head and shook it in disbelief, scoffing.

Kedron Williams: “Well that’s a stupid concept if I were ever to hear one. I would say that it ranks right up there with the concept of a Ladder match. Only in this case, aside from your opposition, you have gravity to contend with. And if your hands slip, unlike a ladder match, there is no going back. You’re simply finished. Out. Eliminated. Still…”

He gave a light shrug of the shoulders.

Kedron Williams: “Mark Ward and Christian Underwood worked overtime so they could hold this match as it is tradition for this particular event, and despite all evidence to the contrary, that I can appreciate. I myself am a great believer in upholding traditions, whether they be business or pleasure. And so here we are, and here I am against not one man attempting to wrest this title from my possession, but three. Two of whom I have faced before, and one who is entirely new to me.”

Kedron stood up from his chair and casually crept along the plush carpeting of the room, and did not so much as cause a stir from the bed’s occupants. It was almost eerie, that whether it be against the carpeting or tile linoleum, his feet did not make even the slightest sound so as to disturb his wife or her cats. He walked to the small mini bar and opened it without a sound, retrieving a frosted over glass and a bottle of hard scotch.

Kedron Williams: “I bet that right about now I am asking the very same question that Stephen Callaway is asking of himself. He is asking what he is doing here, and I am wondering the exact same thing. Now I admit that Callaway has a few victories under his belt, but let’s face facts; they are few and far between. And most of the time when he walks away as the winner, it’s almost like his opponent doesn’t even try.”

Kedron winced.

Kedron Williams: “Oh, I am sorry Stephen. Did that hit a little too close to home? If I recall correctly, you may have even scored a win over me a very long time ago, but times do indeed. There was a point in time where you seemed to be a rather proud athletic competitor, but just look at what has happened when you realized that you bit off far more than you can chew over time. Your unimpressive standing has slowly eroded away your self confidence, leaving behind it an embarrassing shell of a man. Now every time we hear from you, you turn everything around into one giant ‘woe is me’ pity party.”

“It makes me wonder if perhaps this is why you were entered into this match as opposed to someone like Caleb Storms or even Teddy Steele-Warren. Maybe the higher ups simply felt sorry for you and decided to toss you a bone. Or perhaps they have this deep rooted belief that you could be the Cinderella story of Summer XXXTreme VIII where you will shock the world and walk away as the brand new champion?”

Kedron smiled, his teeth shimmering brilliantly in the moonlight as he poured for himself a generous amount of Scotch. He set the bottle back in the refrigerated mini bar and stood upright, examining the glass’s contents.

Kedron Williams: “But to me? You are simply the token challenger who had nothing better going for him. After all, someone has to be the first to fall into that fetid pool. It might as well be you.”

Kedron walked back over to his chair and slowly sat back down. He leaned back and took a sip from the contents of his glass in hand, savoring the warmth as it burned down the back of his throat. His eyes remained closed for several long seconds until they opened once again and danced with merriment.

Kedron Williams: “And then there’s my dear friend, Lachlan. You know, when I won our match a week ago and walked away with the title still in my possession, I almost felt bad? Because when you beat me in that non-title match five weeks ago, you got your hopes up. You worked your confidence up so high that you quite literally had nowhere else to go -- but down. And that is exactly what you did, you fell. And where did you fall? The only place you had left to go; straight down. And I almost felt for you.”

He held a thumb and forefinger close together.

Kedron: Almost. “You see, the only person you have to blame for that failure is yourself. And I'm not just saying that because you allowed your confidence to Skyrocket straight into the stratosphere. Your main issue was that you forgot to bring your wife to ringside with you. After all, it was your wife's intervention in our non-title match that allowed you to walk away with the victory over me. And there's no debating that point Lachlan. It is a simple fact. And maybe, just maybe, had you brought Sierra  to our championship match last week, you would be going into this Ultimate X match as champion rather than challenger. And there is not a person, man or woman, in SCW that isn’t aware that Sierra is behind the vast majority of your in-ring success.”

“A shame then isn’t it that she didn’t make her presence known in our championship match? Or did you -- you know -- instruct her to stay away from the ring so you could handle things on your own?”

Kedron gave the camera a sly wink.

Kedron Williams: “Either way, I have to commend you for your hutzpah. Walking away from defeat with your held still high, and assuming that this Ultimate X match aboard a ship would somehow be a different end to your fairy tale story. You think that out of everyone in that match, you will be the last man left standing -- or in our case, hanging? You think that one-by-one, you will be the man to retrieve my property and leave as champion? The very first time you would have held gold on your own? Oh…”

He tilted his head to the left and smiled with mock sympathy.

Kedron Williams: “That level of naivety is … well, sad, really. But I can’t fault you for wanting to prove yourself, even if you have to fall again and again. It’s to be commended. Jesus Christ only rose once, but you? You just keep going and going.”

He shook his head and rolled his eyes before moving on. He stood up once again, but this time he walked past the bed and approached the glass sliding door that led to the small patio on the outside of the room; a perk for champions, this little extra taste of luxury. He slid the door closed almost entirely to continue with his wife’s peace and his own privacy. He stood beneath the night sky, his eyes straining to see the stars but not for the multitude of lights courtesy of the Vegas Strip.

Kedron Williams: “They say that behind every great man is a great woman. Never was that cliche’ more true than where my third challenger is concerned, O’Malley. For the longest time, ever since you returned -- first to SCU and then to SCW -- you’ve been shadowed by that mysterious, raven-haired beauty Darcy. So many wanted to know who she was, what she was doing here -- and hats off to you for keeping her identity and purpose under cloak and dagger for as long as you had. And then, when the truth slowly grew to reveal itself, it was nothing what people might have expected.”

“I thought of her as a supporting character in the ever growing soap opera that was obviously your life, but not so much. At least, not to the degree assumed. No, Darcy seemed more of that whisper in your ear, the devil on your shoulder. A supporting role, yes, but so much more. You seemed absolutely lackadaisical where your career was concerned and the direction that it was headed. And I strongly suspect that were it not for Darcy pushing you to the point of nagging, you wouldn’t be where you are right now; standing atop a second-tier promotion while struggling to even break mid-card here in the major league.”

“All biting wit and sarcasm aside, I perhaps would be one of the few and far between who do not judge you for your past transgressions in your personal life, O’Malley. Your family drama is by no means any big secret. You’ve pretty much laid it all out for everyone to see on social media that you are living with a great regret in life where your child is concerned, and you should be. But…”

He held up a forefinger to pause for a moment’s thought while he took a drink from the glass.

Kedron Williams: “Mistakes happen. I should know, as I’ve made enough of them throughout the years, and ones that are far greater than anything you might think possible. When I leave this world, I know where I’ll be going in the afterlife, and I have accepted that. There’s no turning back for me, but you? You have the opportunity to turn your own life around and the fact that you are making that attempt shows that you are not too far gone. But that’s personal. Professionally?”

Kedron looked up and his face was marred with wonder.

Kedron Williams: “Sometimes I look at you and wonder that you are cut from the same cloth as men and women such as Evie Jordan and Fenris. Ariana Angelos and Helluva Bottom Carter. You know -- graduates from the famed GO Gym, the same facilities that prepared you for the world of professional wrestling.”

“Yes, you are indeed the reigning SCU Underground Champion, and you worked overtime in earning that distinction…”

Kedron then hid his eyes behind his hand and shook his head, his shoulders shaking slightly with the effort not to betray his amusement. He slowly lowered his arm…

Kedron Williams: “I am sorry, I just couldn’t keep a straight face. I had stated earlier what I think of matches like this Ultimate X and ranked it right up there with a Ladder match, but… that’s how you ‘earned’ your Golden Briefcase, is it not? The guarantee that you could make a bid for a title match whenever, and wherever you were. Oh and you certainly took advantage of that loophole, even I have to hand you full credit for that Judas act.”

He shook his head with wonder.

Kedron Williams: “To jump a man from behind and strike him down with the very championship belt he had just won to take it for your own … and to do so to my old ‘friend’ Ben Jordan..? Truly you are a champion among men.”

He paused and turned his head to gaze into the camera.

Kedron Williams: “In case you couldn’t tell, that was sarcasm.”

He looked back to the city’s skyline while he continued.

Kedron Williams: “I find it amusing at best that you continue to berate your Go Gym peers and claim that you either are or will soon be, more than any of them had ever been. You want to be the best, the most celebrated and recognized of all of your fellow graduates, but if that is indeed your goal, you are clearly going about it the wrong way. In SCW, you have not even come close to matching what Evie Jordan and Fenris have pulled off, and in SCU? You talked down about the rookies Carter and Ariana but those two have garnered more fan adulation and respect amongst their peers than you have. Yes, you are the Underground Champion, and they have yet to capture singles gold, but both of them defeated their previous champions face to face, as opposed to an ambush from behind. And, how often have you defended that precious title of yours whereas Team Go seems to be defending their titles multiple times per cycle -- and successfully I might add!”

He chuckled.

Kedron Williams: “And they’re even in the Main Event of Supernova III, not you! Does that tell you where you stand in the overall scheme of things? No? Well then, how about this?”

He turned to the camera, one arm rested upon the railing.

Kedron Williams: “From the moment the lineup was announced for Supernova III, how often has your name been hyped as the reigning Underground Champion? Whereas Alexis Staggs made a passing comment about what will happen should Darcy get involved where my own wife is concerned. Knowing Darcy is getting more attention and fanfare than you are, O’Malley? That really must make your manhood go from here…”

He held a thumb and forefinger a few inches apart.

Kedron Williams: … to here.”

He narrowed the gap between thumb and forefinger to where they were almost touching.

Kedron Williams: “And while I do have to commend you for taking a stand and making certain that Darcy no longer plays a role in the outcomes of your matches, we have to realize that it is a matter of too little, too late. She had already gotten you to where you needed to be, so telling her now to stop is like bringing a contraceptive to a baby shower. The damage has been done.”

Kedron then finished the drink and set the glass down on an oval table on the patio and started to step back inside, casting one final look to the camera.

Kedron Williams: “See you on the ship -- gentlemen.”

 
Kedron Williams: “I still don’t understand why we have to wear these ridiculous masks!”

It was late in the hour. The sun had set hours ago and even though the stars were hidden in the heavens thanks to the lights of the Las Vegas Strip, you knew well enough that they were there. And the famed Strip itself? It had just started to return to life, as some of the famed hotels and casinos had opened under ill-advisement, while still more were preparing to open their own doors early next week. And the people who filed in and out acted as if they had not a care in the world, laughing and socializing, eating, gambling and drinking as if a pandemic was not threatening everything they held dear; themselves included.

Enter Kedron and Rinoa Williams. The two were, by nature, ‘night owls’ and when Rinoa felt a desire to stretch her legs from the confines of their room at the Saxon, Kedron was only too willing to oblige his wife’s desire. True, he was not the sociable sort, but even he felt the stirrings of desire to be in the cool night air of the Vegas desert.

His complaint was about the masks that Rinoa had insisted they both don, despite the fact that due to who (and what) they were, both were immune to this dreaded disease. All too used to her husband’s blatant complaints, Rinoa stroked his arm with her fingers and smiled.

Rinoa Williams: “Appearances, darling. And besides, if we go without, you know one of those ‘holier than thou’ sorts would be up in our business and we’d end up on some social media video -- for good or ill.”

Kedron slowly turned to his wife as they walked and smiled, prompting her to scoff playfully.

Rinoa Williams: “Kedron, we are not getting rid of these masks just to cause a small riot.”

Kedron’s smile was infectious, pun not intended, and Rinoa had the wisp of one on her lips as she listened to her husband pout.

Kedron Williams: “You never let me have any fun.”

They continued walking, and Kedron’s eyes fell down in front of them and he sighed.

Kedron Williams: “And them? Was their accompanying us absolutely necessary?”

And by ‘them,’ Kedron was referring to his wife’s babies, the three Sphinx felines; Cleopatra, Achilles and Isis. The three cats were weaving through their legs expertly, without causing either of ‘their humans’ to trip and fall, walking ahead of them both as some form of honored escort.

Rinoa Williams: “What? You could hardly expect me to leave them cooped up in our room, could you?”

Kedron Williams: “We leave them out every night to hunt. Las Vegas is filled with murders and thieves. One of these days your ‘babies’ will hurt one of them.”

Of course Rinoa knew that Kedron was merely teasing her. Well, for the most part. Kedron adored all the innocent creatures of the world save for human beings, but her three cats took some getting used to. And for the longest of time, all three of the cats would hiss and swipe at her husband for merely being in the same room as them. It did not make for the most harmonious of co-existing. And now that Kedron was whole once more, the three cats met him now with more acceptance and curiosity than ever before. To a degree, it was something he had wanted, but cats could be persistently annoying at times!

Rinoa Williams: “Go play, babies.”

All three felines’ heads turned up at their mistress and they then turned and took off into the roaming shadows of the city surrounding them, confident in their safe return. The three cats had a sixth sense it seemed and no matter where they were here in Las Vegas, they never had an issue in returning to their ‘mothers’ loving embrace.

Cleopatra led her two siblings in a merry chase around the feet of many a tourist, deftly avoiding any outstretched hands that sought a soft pet or to perhaps take hold of them. They wound about between two casinos and into the shadows of one where it was in the process of repairs and being added on to, when they came to a halt and looked up…

At the hooded figure standing over them with the mark of the ‘Blood Cult’ emblazoned on his (or her) chest.



“‘Crazy demon clown dude.’”

“That is how our esteemed ‘King’ referred to me as in his production of this week’s card, and in my assigned match against a familiar face in Griffin Hawkins, is it not? That’s alright. I have been called much worse by much better. And I bear the man no grudges or ill will for such a low key attempt to be humorous or witty. It is not the fault of Jack Washington that he has so little imagination that this is the best that he can come up with when speaking of yours truly.”

“I mean, ‘crazy?’ Okay, perhaps that I can give him at least a partial point. To have done the things that I have one would have to be at least somewhat crazed. ‘Demon?’ I have been associated with those of the infernal realms so I suppose I could be compared to such, that whole guilt by association and all that. Despite the aid of my wife and Ben Jordan, not so easy a thing to shake as one might hope or imagine. But -- clown? I can forgive the ‘dude’ part because that is just a remnant of lower class intellect, but the clown part has me confused. I mean, do you see me walking around in that garish clown makeup like our former star Anthrax or lurking in storm drains with a red balloon, trying to entice children? No? What then? Do my eyes or eyelashes attract Jack’s wanton attention and that is simply his way to notify me of his fatal attraction? Sorry Jack, but not only do I not bend that way, but I am a man spoken for.”

“Therefore I can only assume these subtle digs on your part are either from a simple lack of thought on your part, or a desperate bid for your name and personality to remain relevant on the minds and tongues of the so-called SCW Universe. I mean, let’s face it. You don’t exactly stand out, do you? You look like the same cookie cutter template of what seventy-five percent of the roster thinks a wrestler should look like. Your appearance, your very being, is what the whole ‘dime a dozen’ saying was created for. There is nothing about you that is original or stands out. Then when you see someone who thinks, acts or looks different, you decide to whisper a few insults from behind the safety of a computer screen. You did it to me, and you did it to Griffin Hawkins, the very same man that you booked me against.”

“But do you know what the difference is between men such as us, and yourself? Take me for example. After my final encounter with Ben Jordan at last year’s Summer XXXTreme VII, I took time off. I took a ‘lot’ of time off, but my name remained. So much so that when I finally made my return, it was to secure a shot at a championship title. When SCW had reopened, Griffin’s name was on the lips of so many to make a return and when he did, he became a record setting champion for the very same title that I now hold. Why is that, I wonder? Because people remembered us. Our names remained. Griffin’s many championship accomplishments and his feud with Christian Underwood. My storied rivalry with Ben Jordan and everything that came along with it. And you, Jack?”

“Even if you emerge as the new World Champion this weekend, a year from now your name will be lost. Nobody will even care that you were here. You will be at best a footnote in SCW history, and where the title lineage is concerned, a transitional champion at best. But, that’s if you win, and speaking as a man who has been in the ring with Ben Jordan numerous times? You haven’t got what it takes to put that man down for the count.”

“But I’ve wasted enough time talking of an even bigger waste. No, this time it should be all about a certain someone else. A man who I am familiar with both inside and out of the ring; Griffin Hawkins.”

“Ah Griffin, what cruel twist of ironic fate has brought us to this dance of the macabre once again? We met in the ring only one time before, and yes indeed. It was you who walked away as the winner. Times change, however. In more ways than one it would seem by recent events. You see, I am no longer that blind derelict of a man whose heart was blackened by vengeance and allowed that same emotion to blind him to the ways of the world, especially the world inside of the ring. If I were, I never would have defeated Stephen Callaway or Caleb Storms to get the chance to face Jack Russow. I never would have ended up defeating Russow and sending that whining little bitch crying to his friends in search of easier pastures to make himself feel better and more emboldened! But we all know enough about Russow’s measure of a man. As I said before; this is about you and me.”

“History can not so easily be erased or overlooked, and where you and I are concerned, things do tend to become complicated. You bested me once inside of the ring, and you aided me outside of it -- even if you weren’t aware that you were doing so. It’s the thought that counts. But just as I stressed I was not the same man that you once defeated, I can see that you are no longer the man that once defeated me. You haven’t been ever since you lost the Roulette title to Russow and staked a claim to bigger and better things. Now a great many men would try and take advantage of this and make fun of you for it, but me…?”

“Well, I will attempt to take advantage, but to make fun of? What is there to insult? Even the greatest wrestlers in this business lose matches, some many times over, but that does not make them any less great. Take me for example, and yes I admit a foul taste at this slice of humble pie, but my own win-loss record is far from spotless. I suffered many more losses than wins, one being to yours truly, but I simply moved on and used each one as a learning point. The wins that I did get were against top level competition, and that fact alone spurred me on to keep going.”

“My point is that I did not let the losses define me. Even my first match after winning this trinket -- I lost to Lachlan Kane. Mainly thanks to the assistance of that bitch he joined in wedlock. But unfortunately all the people see in the end is a win for Lachlan, no matter how he accomplished it. And as upsetting as it was, it helped me in the end, Griffin. Because now I know I will have to face him with higher stakes, namely my championship being on the line, and that will just serve to make defeating him even sweeter.”

“But look at you now, Griffin. You stepping up and deciding that you want Ben Jordan and the World Heavyweight Championship! Well, while the end goal is admirable, you’ve had your eyes on that particular prize even when you still reigned as the Roulette Champion. And for that reason alone, you have to be careful because greed can bring about change in a man, and none for the better. I imagine that is why I am stuck in my second non-title match in a row since winning this title, as if you are granted the championship match, facing me and possibly winning would put a real wrench in whatever Summer XXXTreme VIII plans the bosses have in mind. Not that it matters, mind you. Because I have no intention of walking away from that ring with anything less than a victory. This little downward spiral that you’ve been on? It’s only going to get worse -- for one more match at least. Because I have much more to lose over this encounter against you, even though the material risk is virtually nonexistent.”

“Win or lose, our World Champion is a giving man, and I am fairly certain you’ll get what you ask for whether you technically qualify or not. Me? Two back-to-back losses after winning a championship? Well, even I know that does not speak well of your status as said champion, so I am afraid that I am going to have to end your aspirations to stop that slump that you’ve found yourself in. No offense, it’s strictly business.”

“You understand.”