“Come forth, all ye of little faith. Lay upon me your doubts and fears and let me show you…that they’re true.”“Hello Ken, it’s good to see you in such good health. Vibrant, Youthful, Powerful…i’m sure you’d like me to say God-like…or perhaps you’d be offended at me attaching ‘like’, hm?”“Oh my dear friend Kenneth, this has been a long time coming hasn’t it? We’ve barely held a conversation between us and a handful of seconds where our eyes locked, but those seconds? Oh, they were weighted as any other great purpose. Weighted with the knowledge of our impending impact.“Weighted, and soaked in the kerosene of destiny. Begging for a match. A match no one had the temerity to strike, and one I failed to secure. Really though, it makes this better doesn’t it? That time, that precious time allotted to us to think about it. To fantasize over it. To be lost in the reverie of ‘what could have been’. For you, the relief that it did not come to pass…”“I wonder, is the terror of it finally coming deeper in feel, or have you even acknowledged it yet?”“It’s fine not to. It’s a ridiculous feeling after all isn’t it? Because, who am I to fear after all? A man with a middling record who lost every big fight he was in, in the one roof we shared. An utter failure in your new Chicago home, reviled by all who have the displeasure of meeting him. Who is that man, to a God?”“Well, thank you for asking Kenneth. You’ll be happy to know I’ve got the answer for you right here….” a pause as he unfurls an invisible roll of parchment “Oh, my….it appears to be a multipart answer. So, do bear with me Ken. I promise Kyra won’t grow cold for you in the time this takes. You might miss her signal to betray Mac, though..”“Anyway, onto the point. Which, I do have most of the time contrary to popular belief and heavily in spite of myself…I’m not JUST a man, Ken. Like you, I've gone into the deep end of grandeur. However, where you have come to demand reverence and admiration? I have chosen the path of giving. In most cases, a sign. I’m a harbinger, Kenneth. One for the end, in this particular instance for YOUR end.”“Because it is coming to your end, Kenneth. Your part in this am-dram is, in the end, smaller than my own in Madison Tower. While you may be Baltimore’s Elite in the worst part of Illinois, here in SCW? You’re just another one of Mac’s fingers I get to cut off.”
It was always tradition, no matter how tight the schedule for his bookings were. He took an extra day to recover quietly in the hotel suite the day after an event. This time however it was more a requirement than any sort of enjoyment in tradition. His body cried out in an all too familiar symphony of pain. The more his age advanced, the louder the chorus seemed to become. The alto of knee cartilage bemoaning the rapid decline of its brethren.
The sweet bass of his lower back, serenading sweet fantasy of a body torn in two and torn from the constant, gripping pain of more than a decade of physical abuse. His long, lithe form lay bare except a pair of black cotton boxer briefs, stretched over the blankets of a hotel bed. Pale fingers flex and fan open before curling shut as he fights to get his blood moving, to return the sensation of touch to those hands.
Briefly, within the maelstrom of thoughts that kept him awake at night and anxious during the daylight he wondered if this is how Masque always felt? No wonder the woman had gone so mad, who wouldn’t under the circumstance? He pushed the thought out of his mind before it could fester, before another monster could sink its claws deeper into what remained of his mind.
For a while now, Sin City Wrestling had dropped the hints of him being in a title hunt and now on the heels of a decidedly humbling elimination from the Blast from the Past tournament, those promises had come to fruition. Not quite the championship he was after and not quite the Champion either.
There was a time where Matthew “The Raven” Knox vs “Godly” Ken Davison was a match all the little smarks chomped at the bit for, with gold on the line. But that world was long gone, and now that particular title match was worth little more than an upper-mid card spot. Of course, he was grateful for the opportunity as he was with any. Championships hold value no matter where they are in the figurative pecking order.
Even the lowest ranked, the workhorse titles that changed waists like the competitors ought to be changing socks were physical points of pride and validation. Out of a roster full of people, you were one of the select few who fought hard enough to earn hardware for it.
For now though, most of this mattered little to him. Because there was a greater purpose to be found here. Real, actual advancement in the path he had set for himself in Sin City Wrestling. Knocking Ken Davison out of the equation and rendering him to just another face on the roster made the Saviors even weaker than they were now.
Through the pain a chuckle escaped him, although the grimace that came across his face made clear the price good humor had enacted upon him. When he arrived, they were four strong with Amber Ryan in their corner. Now? One had disappeared, one had detached and distanced herself. Some could even wonder, and after their phone call rightfully so, if she hadn’t switched sides in the war.
The biggest finger of the gauntlet, he made Mac cut off himself. Now it was just Ken and Mac, brothers against the wolves. Picked to pieces and bits by a Raven. The thought almost brought forth another painful chuckle, but he settled for a sincere smile. Slowly, he sat up from the far too forgiving mattress, a choked whimper fighting its way past his lips from his chest as his body protested the movement.
He cast his eyes down to look over the scars his body wore as he was apt to, spending precious seconds reliving the memory attached to each. Fingers trace over the one happy scar above the tattoo of his second oldest daughter’s name, given to him by the love of his life the night they left, before they’d come to trust one another let alone love the way they do.
The thought of her brought forth a small pang of guilt.
His Mari. The only person who did more than reach out with empty congratulations when he reached the professional pinnacle once more last July. And yet, she reached through it all and touched his heart while he had another woman with him as both traveling companion and bedmate.
Hell, the day he flew back to Reno he’d shared a kiss with another, in their apartment. Covered in glass that tore at their skin in physical semblance of the sin they had committed. He’d wanted desperately for her to stop him that day, that moment. Stop him from leaving, set him on a different course entirely.
However, the pining of them in no way meant that he regretted embarking on the path he had set on. God, how could he? While one was a mystery based around a kiss, the other was the softest bit of reality he had ever found. A woman who understood and loved him despite all his flaws, who was pregnant with his first son,
Yet, it wasn’t enough to keep him away when he saw the fantasy drowning, was it?
“And what’s more, your particular finger comes with a pretty little band of gold, doesn’t it Kennth?”“Only took a year and a half, but the fans finally got what they kind of wanted. “Godly” you against me for a strap. However, even I have to quirk an eyebrow at how this went from top of the marque to mid-shelf at the market…”“Back then, I was punching up. You were a path to me proving my worth. Lord knows that I had everything to prove, and nothing to lose…except of course, the match for the right to face you for that particular World Title. Now though? My, how time changes as quickly as it flies by us doesn’t it?”“Since we last shared an arena, I’ve been a world champion. For longer than you were, if you don’t mind the subtle flex. I’ve spread my wings, if you don’t mind the pun. I’ve become more, I’ve ascended, although not quite as high as those in Seattle. And you, Ken? You’ve grown complacent. Stale. Stunted.”“When we last parted, you were on top of the world. The roster you lead marched to the beat of your drum. You were, and still are, the only person to defeat Amber fucking Ryan for a singles title in the 2020s. The old man with no hair and a questionable ticker was as undeniable as that little stoner I trained in Indy..”“....And now, what are you?”“Second fiddle, it would seem. The rhythm guitarist in the cover band of your least favorite band of all time. Because, let’s be honest, The Saviors never were much more than a dollar store Paragon, were they? Which, in that light, makes this about like Zakk Wylde joining Limp Bizkit, doesn’t it? No matter…not that you really do.”“My point is, Kenneth, that our roles haven’t reversed so much as I have outgrown you, and your ilk. You cling to others in an effort to belong, leaning upon ancient declarations of brotherhood and a love built upon reviling another. I simply belong, and every arena I enter belongs to me along with everyone and everything in it.”“And that includes the SCW Internet Championship, Ken. The golden validation to match that of your brother and leader’s. See, the weight I spoke of earlier? It’s not just shared, is it? No, you have the weight of expectation resting upon the cueball you keep atop your neck don’t you? The expectation of championship gold, the desperation to evade the gut punch of losing a title on your first defense.”“We’ve all been there. It’s a hurdle, probably the highest and the one none of us ever speak of. Not near as openly as we do the hurdle of winning the damn thing. Because, if you lose it the first time you defend it? God, it feels like you never had any real business winning it to begin with does it?”“And then, the much more personal weight. This one hanging from your neck, dragging the cueball and its crown slowly toward the ground they’ll be buried within. The weight of expectation that Mac has for you. Oh, i’ve no doubt he won’t speak it, but he feels it. Just as you do. The expectation that you will stop my advance toward him. That you’ll defeat me, and end this crusade of mine…”“What sort of brother would ask such a thing?”“Know this, Ken. On that front, no matter the outcome of our match? You will fail. You will fail more miserably than you’ve ever failed before. Because defeating you, and taking this title from around your waist? They’d be feathers in my cap, no doubt. A win over Ken Davison, even one of advanced age and diminished repute? That’s something to hang your hat upon. You’re still big game, Ken…just more a buck now, than a Lion.”“And nowhere near a God.”
Rage was not a new feeling. Whereas cleanliness and purity brought one closer to the Almighty, Rage? Rage brought them closer to humanity. Because at the end of the day, Rage is a part of all things. Rage is the spark that makes passion burn. And here, in the back of a Dodge Charger in Philadelphia? Caught in another web cast by Cam Roth? Matthew Knox passionately wanted a way out of the predicament he was in.
Initially, they had quelled his suspicions on the time the travel was taking by assuring him it was protocol for high profile and celebrity collars. Take the back roads so the dirt sheets don’t get a shot of him in the back of the cruiser. But the way they spoke in low voices, and the younger one’s eyes kept snapping to and away from him? He knew the score.
He’d never see booking, let alone the jail. With the smallest of grimaces he fought back the creeping, icy fear that rose to fight the rage. No, he couldn’t give into that right now. Think logically, Cam Roth? As bad as he was? He was no Marv Nixon. The child was wrathful, but he was no killer. That wasn’t going to happen. But it would do nothing but tickle his future son in law to know he’d dealt a blow to his ambitions.
When the Charger pulled into the alley, he had resigned himself to his fate. Gotten a jump on strategizing how to overcome the injuries. Decided to fall down to one knee after the first blow. His most injured one, to protect it. Tuck in the chin, try to minimize the facial scuffing. Get in a headbutt. Maybe a bite if he was cheeky.
He had been here before, although it was in a far different life. Live by a far different man. Then, though, the drugs were definitely his.
And so the thrashing came to pass. Fists at first, strings of mockery.
“That all you got, tough guy?”“Thought this guy was a pro fighter?”
“The pretty ones are all propped up, get wins off paid dives don’t you know that?”“Well shit, he won’t have that problem in the morning..”
Empty, mostly. The worst damage his face had been given was from the cheeky headbutt when the badged thug had dared imply that he wasn’t that pretty.
No room in life for liars, after all.
The batons came then, and the first blow drove him down to the knee he had planned upon. The ringing in his ears and the pain in his head caused the loose grip he had on reality to slip if only slightly. The gaping, grinning maw of The Raven some had taken to calling Corvus filling his vision in time with the white hot flashes of pain as each blow landed.
Eventually, he slumped to the side, the conversation distant.
“Alright, you got that bullshit ready to go?”“Yeah yeah…seems a waste though, we coulda slipped it to Joe and gotten another cool couple bills.”“Greedy fuck, that Roth kid already set us up better than any of them hooker-lovin’ politicians ever did.”“Yeah, yeah…but more is more, right?”The tug on his hair brought him up, more privy to the conversation. The glint of moonlight off a needle surged adrenaline and fear, he jerked against the cuffs and tried to thrash his head away but the needle was far too swift, and true. Before long an all too familiar warmth began to run through him.
No..No, No. No.
He didn’t feel the man’s grip release, barely felt himself hit the ground or them releasing his cuffs. Their voices were distant and muffled, as if millions of miles away and underwater. Through his body, the pain was numbed and replaced with a familiar and warming numbness. Fingers contracted into his palm, as if he could pump the poison out of his blood.
Poison? The living should be so lucky if death was this pleasant.
No..not pleasant.
He exhaled a molten breath, rolling onto his back to stare at the stars in the sky. When he was young, he was always sure they were the dead who hadn’t crossed over, dutfully observing the chaos of the living they could no longer weave themselves into. It brought an odd sort of comfort, knowing that his mother and father were there. Many a cold night waiting for the dawn to come, and for Deuteronomy to be hammered home to him once more.
To bring forth the reddened knuckles, for the pride he dared show when the book of Matthew was brought up. Such cruelty by those so pious, to beat the pride from a boy scared of his shadow. Or, try to anyway.
Lord knows, his pride endured. It survived with the rest of the pieces of him that did, precious few next to the heaps of the dead. Pride that kept him in depths and scaling to new heights alike. Pride that brought him Gold, and all the pain with it. Pride that wouldn’t let him let go.
Pride that brought him right to this alley, right to a relapse he had fought off and evaded for going on two years.
Maybe, he really was as awful as they all made him out to be?
The feud with Roth, driving his daughter into the arms of his enemy while doing nothing to stop the other from going insane. The realization that he may yet have another child on the eve of his first son being born, while a daughter gestated in secret with a woman he never really loved. And through all his best attempts to render Zeus to little more than Steve Urkel in the department of relations, the sin of his presence in Sin City Wrestling.
The drunken confessions, the throb in his chest he fought to dul. Boxes created, stuffed and sealed for the sole purpose of keeping his path as just and true as he claimed it to be. He was here because his friend was drowning herself while her husband measured dicks with the Wolf’s Lair and gallivanted with his saviors.
A thoughtful smile…well, one of them.
Ken…
Fuck you, Ken Davison.
Another man that death had just barely missed, who engaged in hubris fueled endeavors of wrath while exalting himself as better than the rest of the scum around him. Another man convinced that ring acumen made him the father of Christ. A man so blinded by the gleam of old gold that he couldn’t see his coffers had been filled with bronze.
A man who shouldn’t matter, a relic of a time in his life that no longer served a purpose and yet? Yet he couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t let the failure go. Not even now, with a win over JC and that monkey off his back could he get over the missed opportunity. The chance it could have provided. To save the home he thought he had. To be a guiding light before the darkest and most venomous of hubris’ came to drown it.
So focused on that thought, so focused on Ken and how to defeat him that he neglected JC. Disregarded him as a threat, and left Amber in his mind as a known commodity. The real danger. Maybe she was, like she still was now.
Danger..Amber’s in danger.
God, it’s so warm here…
A low groan cut through the haze of memory and hatred as he rolled onto his side, toward footsteps that echoed off old, chipped stucco. They were panicked, running from something. They had nearly passed him by when they stopped. A touch on his ribs, pale fingers brush hair from his face.
“Knox? Knox what the f–” the voice was familiar, as were the sharp features and dark eyes revealed as the hood was pulled back
. "Jesus fuck you are a mess…"More cursing as Avalon Blackthorn straightened back up, panic and concern sharing the rent in her facial expression as more obligatory curses fell into a murmur.
She knew the footsteps that her fury had left in their wake weren't far- revenge was a fools game and she'd paid her fair share to play tonight.
Knox would probably kill her if he knew what she'd done to Roth, and on his home turf as well. Even just the thought brought the brief curl of a smirk across her lips before she was back to Knox and the present dilemma.
A glance over her shoulder confirmed the worst of her fears, the decision to make and sacrifice that would become its consequence.
It was worth it. That's all that mattered.
Heavy eyelids lulled, briefly causing her to turn into a blot on his vision before he shook hsi head, forcing himself to focus. A hand lazily reaches up to grasp her sleeve, trying to tug himself up enough to brace against the concrete as he let out a small groan.
“You left your cape at the arena…” slurred, spoken more to the ground than the ear he meant to aim for. A forced laugh, as though macabre humour would do anything for them.
24 years old and already looking at a second stint behind bars for what… trying to do some good?
Avalon shook her head knowingly, trying to quell the nausea rising in her throat as the voices started resonating off walls.
"You'll be pleased to know I left all my common sense there too… along with what's hopefully remaining of Cam Roth's teeth." Fear drove through her knees, rage forced his weight off the ground and determination balanced his dead weight against her own as her footsteps echoed as loud as the thunder of her beating heart. Another chuckle, a weak hand motion and the strength he had no right to lean on brought him to legs he could barely feel.
“I’m sorry I dragged you here…figured you’d just be a clown bouncer..” words rolling out on heavy, molten breaths. Not labored per say, but clearly unusual. He leaned into her in what could be the parody of an embrace, ignorant to the coming danger
“Be sure to let me know how wrong I was when I come down…promise never to lie to me, Avalon. Okay?”His hand drifted to her shoulder, squeezing it firmly as he made the request from the fog of what would usually be left field but now might as well have been the interstate.
"Don't you dare apologize!" A low hiss escaped with the words as she lowered her volume, as though they weren't an obvious sight. "
You knew… we knew… if thing were gonna go south…" Avalon couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence. It was always implied that things would go wrong… that's why she had insisted on being there. If nothing else but to break the inevitable fall.
Right now she had no career to threaten, no real life or love to speak of - a blank slate, void of personal connections and commitments.
She'd made it easy for him to rely on her… cause they both knew she'd never just stand by and let everything go to hell without taking anyone else they could with them.
"You never asked… and I never told you." Firmly, she made for the lights ahead. Open street was dangerous for those on the run, moths to a flame that burned a little to bright… what were the other options though?
Another dark alley, another dumpster leaking into corrosive puddles. Silently Avalon had promised to make things right…
Whatever the fuck that would entail. He did his best to move with her, fighting being a further hindrance to the only friend he had in the world. He tried to focus on the lights without becoming blind, tried to watch their path without letting the blur of concrete sicken him. In the fog, he found another friend. Sentiment. Soft thoughts to distract him, and perhaps filled with enough saccharine to accelerate her heroism.
Or leave him on that comfortable looking pile of cardboard to rot. Either way, really.
“You’re such a…” he snorted
“God, even I hate this word…you know, how special you are Ava? The one person, who two of the worst people tried to instill the best of themselves in..” a heavy sigh wrapped in a bemused chuckle
“God, you roll your eyes like Red…makes me wish I could still land a kick on you..”A slight misstep but he felt her catch him, a smirk coming to his face. That was like her, too. Although, technically he was the last one to catch the other…
Focus, Birdbrain…“Cam…he’s not worth it. And he’s not worth hating, not worth sullying yourself with it….I deserve this shit, or at least part of it…” he leaned closer as they walked, a hissing whisper rolling past his teeth
“He blames me for his mom dying…..he doesn’t know I know…and now, you know..”“So…let this lie..don’t do anything foolish, Ava. You’re better than it..you’ve always been better than it..” a pause
“We never got that Cinnabon, you know..”Another forced chuckle, this one stuck in the younger woman's throat though and came out resembling more of a cough.
"It's a bit late for that. We both knew bringing me in would eventuate in… well… I'm not a bystander. Red hates it too, although she never admitted it. Told me heroics were for those looking to lose more than they gained. Told her it was a good thing I didn't have a hope with her training me then…"A soft pause. Trying to focus on the words instead of the welling resentment of her own inability to leave well enough alone.
"She punched me in the mouth for that one. Thought I'd ducked it…" Instinctively, even with so much time in the rearview, Avalon could still picture the moment. A brief distraction from the lights- brighter, safer. Too safe. They were never gonna make it…
“She never misses…it’s why she’s going off the deep end….” he mumbled, shaking his head
“Or something like it…weight of expectations, mostly her own…lashing out though? That’s love, i’ve come to convince myself…” his own brief pause.
“If it was hatred, we’d not be here talking about it. At least, that’s my theory…but I am INCREDIBLY high on heroin right now, so I wouldn’t trust a goddamn thing I say if I were you…” he let out a soft chuckle then, lifting his head to read a street sign as they passed it. They weren’t far.
Briefly, he thought of an old film. The warriors. A group of broken friends fighting against insurmountable odds to get home after their leader had been cut down. This was close, except they had no leader. Or numbers. Or vests. And there were no baseball bat wielding clowns…
…Yet.
Pushing the thought from him, he killed the silence with a more pertinent statement
“The hotel isn’t far now…Just leave me on my side and go to bed when we get there. You’ve done more than enough, Ava..” Avalon shook her head vehemently, forcing down the doubts and the guilt that she'd gone too far… it was stupid. It was impulsive.
She couldn't deny though that it felt really really fucking good.
"I never tried to understand Red. Found life a little more peaceful that way." A lie she found comfort in, Avalon shifted the dead weight slightly for what felt like an eternal home stretch.
She wanted to cuss him out and tell him that he was a furious, idiotic mess however concern and determination silenced those voices before they ever took hold.
There would be plenty of time later.
She hoped.
Her words rolled through his head, but in a jumbled mess more than anything. He couldn’t pick up his head, let alone any subtleties in her body language and tone. The pavement was all a continuous grey streak now, leading to the promise of a warm bed and a sleep he would only wake up in misery from. He wondered what he’d remember, if anything?
He wondered if it was real, any of it? Was he still in the alley? There was no way Avalon had really happened upon him, dragged him across Philadelphia in the dead of night just to save his worthless carcass, right?
It was in this reverie he remained, even as their luck run out. A pair of familiar faces, a third parked not far off, keenly observing even through a scuffed and bruised face. He was deaf to her bartering, appealing to their logic. He didn’t hear the slight bit of emotion that dared creep in that convinced them to not let him die on the curb outside the hotel.
She really was special, wasn’t she?The diamond patterns in the carpet swirled and ran together, forcing his eyes to shut. He felt like he was tumbling through a void as she finally relieved herself of his weight. Strong hands, however small gently rolled him onto his side. He felt her turn away, finding the strength to fire out a desperate hand to grab back upon the sleeve that had supported him.
“Ava…” he murmured from the darkness, pausing as he focused on moving the air from his lungs and out his nostrils until he found the space aboard them for the sentiment
“I’ll be better..”With the most genuine of smiles she might muster in the face of oblivion, Avalon gave him a nasty little wink… one he recognised on the moments before teeth started hitting the floor. Followed shortly before the rest of their bones…
No… No, you won't… and neither will I."His hand fell like a stone in the sea then, fingers dragging over the carpet as the door closed behind her. He remained in the void, struggling against the grip of an all too familiar friend as he drifted to an ignorant sleep.
Ignorant of the cuffs being latched onto her wrists. Ignorant of her return to the alley they had taken him to, ignorant of how vigorously she resisted arrest according to their reports. Ignorant, blissfully ignorant of how she spent her night feeling every blow dealt by the imputent wrath of Cam Roth the Third while he drifted in a cloud of warm, poisonous numbness.
Because, as always, The best of us suffer while the wretched are spared.
The designs of a merciless God.
“So many of us fill that void where our self worth wasn’t fully allotted with monickers. I know, i’ve already said this, but I need you to keep trusting me here Ken. I’m wordy, I know but you need to hear every last syllable of this.”“I’ve spent a large portion of my time in this business showing the mortality of the self exalted. Usually by means unbecoming of a gentleman, or any man really. You saw me emasculate, break down and destroy one such man back in Baltimore. Sure, most chalked his demise up to the theatrical ninjas in the parking lot but anyone who knows this business, the warfare of it?”“I destroyed Insidious. I destroyed Sah’ta Thor. A man who thought himself as untouchable as a politician and mighty as a Deity. A man I once loved like a father…”“And I’ve held no love for you, Ken…so what am I willing to do to you?”“Now, I know you’ll likely be offended at the comparison. As you should be…to a degree. Thor was nowhere near your level there. He had no gold that wasn’t rusted, his coffers were filled with cobwebs and his kingdom was of ash…Things haven’t quite gotten that dreary for you. Not yet….but the first step toward that drear comes at Climax Control.”“I’m sure you’re comfortable, wherever you are right now. Enjoying that domestic peace you’ve found. That you’ve earned. This match, this title? Maybe they don’t mean quite so much to you. Not near as little as I do, I'm sure.”“I await with baited breath your declarations upon me and my character. Mostly to see which version of me lives in your head. Am I the overgrown man baby acting like a goth kid? Will there be some jab at my abundance of bastard children? Perhaps a crack about me being a junkie who amounted to nothing in your eyes? I personally am pulling for you to lob another accusation of obsession at me.”“Those have come to be a personal favorite. A guilty pleasure, like ice cream at midnight. Empty, full of calories and a help to no one..”“I suppose though, whatever drivel you let stain the front of the shirt Kyra bought you just for this promo? It won’t amount to much. All that will matter is what happens between the time the bell rings a start, and an end.”“You evaded me before, Fate kept you safe Ken. Loyalty, however? Loyalty to a fool blinded by ambition has undone all of fate’s hard work. Because win, lose, or draw? I’m going to send you back to her arms in pain. I’m going to make her daughter see you wince in pain while you do your best cosplay of a father. I’m going to make you wish that your heart had given out and taken you to meet the other Father you continue to cosplay as even today…”“I am Raze. I am Ruin. I am The Raven, and in this land of Gods and Monsters? Only one of us gets to survive, Kenneth…”“And I will make damn sure, that even if it’s you?”“No one will be able to tell.”
