“Dear, sweet Miles. How unfortunate for you to cross paths with Alexander Raven, once more. Dear, sweet Miles. How unfortunate for you to be so tied up in personal affairs, that the words of wisdom failed to pierce your mind. Dear, sweet Miles. Why do you still lack focus?
”Dear, sweet Miles.”
A small, desolate room. Wooden walls, floors and ceilings. Sparse of life bar the single person sitting cross legged in the centre of the room. A dull halogen globe swings above head, hanging loosely by a strand of cable. It sways in an invisible, non-existent breeze. Placed neatly in front of the person’s legs, the Roulette Championship; the faceplate reflecting what little light illuminates the space.
“A few weeks ago, I lost my focus. I became enamoured with the past and lost in memories of the past. Instead of directing my eyes forward, to create the future in which forgiveness would be given. I gazed upon the past, and lost myself to the sorrow that it brings. I faltered and lost focus. In that loss of focus, I failed to silence Jack Washington. Not a mistake I’ll make again, I assure you. Yet, it’s a clear indicator of the words I passed on to you on that ship Miles. Lost focus is what cost you on that ship. Too fixated on assisting your friend, too fixated on a family member across the sea. Focus eludes you, because the world around you becomes far more important than that which lies before you Miles. What lies before you now is a chance at redemption. A chance at ‘rediscovery’ as you’ve coined it recently. Something of worth must have existed in the first place, for a ‘rediscovery’ to happen. I’ve yet to see anything but expletive riddled bluster. Not something worth discovery in the first place, I assure you.”
“It’s amusing, Miles. Everyone is so quick to go on at lengths about Alexander Raven. A constant thought in the minds of those who constantly deny the existence of the thought. Nobody is listening if words are to be believed, yet we all know. We all know that words are full of nothing but the lies I seek to extinguish. Distortions of reality to fit the narratives that allow for acceptance of their own deceptions. You are no better, Miles. Just like Finn, just like Bulldog, just like Jack. You are full of lies and distortions of truth to fit the narrative you paint in your mind. Others purport purity in the actions of foul misdeeds and unforgivable perversions of love. You, prance for the world to see, and wonder why your happiness is elusive. The grass is always greener, until the rains cease to come and the land turns desolate. You, Miles. You may be one of the few who speaks truth in not listening to me. It’s unfortunate that you do not listen. I always ask that people listen, understand and follow. You do not listen, so you will not understand. You do not focus, so you cannot follow. It’s an unfortunate reality, and whilst you live in the perverted and twisted delusion you create for yourself, perhaps your stained glass sky is the easiest to shatter.”
The person sitting on the floor grips the championship either side of the face plate and unfurls their legs, slowly moving to stand. They turn their face upwards, the hood that covers their head slowly falling back. To no one's surprise, Alexander Raven stands beneath the slowly swinging globe, allowing the championship belt to hang at his left side, holding the strap only.
“I once spoke at length, about love being a powerful motivator. Perhaps the strongest motivator that exists. It is love that allowed me to refocus. To change how I viewed myself and in turn how I would push through this cesspool of derision and manipulation, of lies and deceptions. Love is what pushes me to find forgiveness from her in the actions I make. It is love that encourages my desire to throw the stones that will shatter the stained glass sky of deception that plagues this Sin City. Love is my greatest motivator, Miles. Yet once again love leads back to focus. Love gives me focus. Love gives the focus to find her forgiveness for the actions I make. Love gives the focus I need to find the strength to shatter the foundations of this incestuous and perverted company we find ourselves in. Chance has become my playground, and in doing so, I have become the master of games. The game of love fixes the odds, and the house will always win. Do you understand Miles? How could you understand; you don’t listen.”
“Everyone can see the perversions of your choices. Too weak a child to make the decision to end a situation that makes you unhappy. Instead teasing and tempting the immoral chances of infidelity. Pathetic are the actions of the immature children. Love is causing you to lose focus, and in doing so it becomes your greatest vulnerability. So quick to rush to the defense of the one who owns your heart, but not your mind. So quick to run across the globe and leave behind your supposed lover, for the temptations of the leather clad succubus. Ignorant to the time old traditions. Behaviour and actions dictate future behaviour and action. What happens when the new toy becomes as infuriating as the old one? Do you go on a new tour of rediscovery? Do you blame the leather clad succubus for your short-comings, rather than understanding that your failure to act upon your own volition is your problem. The petulant child can be as young as a seven year old, or just like yourself at twenty eight. Child of mind and thought, and without the focus to allow yourself the success to break the trend. I ask of you Miles, why do you not listen?”
A guttural roar of frustration comes from Alex as he swings the championship up above his head and smashes the light. An explosion of light, before the world is cast into darkness. Murmurs and whispers fill the space, undistinguishable conversation. ‘Failure’, ‘immoral’, ‘pathetic’, ‘weak’ echo throughout the boundless emptiness in a variety of voices and accents.
“Violent Conduct, Miles. It is something that I am quite acquainted with. Violence has always been an acceptable course of action for me. Love and violence are intrinsically linked, yet it is the hand that plays them that differentiates. She who I seek the forgiveness of, the guiding hand. The cycle of violence was broken when she passed. No more would she suffer at the hands of the violence inflicted on others. Clarification, if you will. I was the incarnate of violence, and in doing so I suffered the violence. Violence inflicted upon me, hurt her soul. This world would continue to break her down and push her further into a cycle of pain and hurt. I seek forgiveness for leaving her with my wounds to tend. With the blood to clean, and the bones to mend. She took the pain in my life, and cleansed it. She wore that pain, and I will never forget that. Do you believe that those you love will cleanse your soul of the violence you must be willing to expend? I’ve shown the world that it matters not the nature of the pain that must be inflicted. A gimmick match champion is what I’ve become and I relish in it. Born in flame was the Broken Messiah. Baptised in blood was the One True King. Skull fractured, body set aflame. It matters not the hand that dealt it, for the violence was the payment of the infractions I had made.”
“I ignored the voices that spoke the truth. I refused to listen, I refused to follow. Understanding the guidance being offered and focusing. I refused it, because I thought I was beyond it. It was in violent conduct that I had my eyes opened. The reality was shaped and the delusions were wiped clean. Truth became the world that I was enveloped in. I could see the lies that people told themselves. I could see the falsehoods that led to more delusions. Truth became my reality Miles, and I understood why. In the infliction of violence, I was cleansed. I did not heed that in my cleansing, I was destroying the one I loved. Promises made, and broken. Forgiveness forever sought from that point onwards. I will endeavor for forgiveness forever more. I will destroy anything that attempts to taint my mind again. I will speak the truth and I will throw the stones that bring the realisation with them. I will hurt whoever needs to be hurt, because the violence I inflict will clear the eyes of those who need to focus. I offer you words, but I will act with violence. Focus, Miles. You will need all of your focus, for a split second can change everything. Fears and worries for others, thoughts of others. It will be your undoing. Focus, Miles. Are you listening now? I need you to finally listen to me.”
A single candle flame ignites in the darkness. It sits on a wooden chair, a simple dining chair. The voices, whispers and murmurs begin to slowly fade away, silence filling the space. Fingers wrap over the back of the chair, gripping it tightly. The dirtied and bloodied knuckles illuminated by the single flame. Nails painted in alternating blue and black.
“Beaten black and blue, I laid in that bed. Wounds dotted my body, burns threatened to blister and burst. I know violence well, Miles. There is no match that can surprise the martyr of The Conspiracy. The carrion that I leave in my wake will be understood, and you will listen. You will finally listen and the mockery will end. No more will you, or any of the bickering lyrebirds and stunted wolves lie through your teeth. I will turn you into the martyr I need, Miles. I will hurt you, I will blood you, I will end you. And then, I will cleanse you. Baptised and returned to the world, now with clarity. An understanding of the truth and in that. Love will guide you. Confidence and understanding of the truth. No more will you hide behind the immorality of your behaviours and actions. No more will you pretend to be on some journey of rediscovery. All that will be left is the husk and the soul. Truth and reality. Focused, Miles. I am more focused than I have ever been. I have had my sorrow. I have had my joy. Now I shall have my forgiveness. For in your destruction the beginnings of the change. The change that brings truth to all of Sin City. No more games, no more gambles. We play a game of Russian Roulette, yet I know which gun holds the bullet of truth. Are you ready to follow me, Miles?”
The chair is tipped and the candle clatters to the floor. The flame ignites a liquid and quite quickly a trail of flame snakes away into the distance. A trough of flames ignites and casts an illuminating light across the room. A painting of Alexander Raven in the image of Kali is illuminated. Miles’ head hanging from one of the two hands on the right hand size. Bulldog Bill Barnhart’s body under foot on the same side, a snake with the head of Finn Whelan wrapped around Bulldog’s arm, with what appears to be a version of Miles’ body off to the far left.
“An image of violence, Miles. Kali, the Goddess of Ultimate Power. Symbolism, Miles. Do you understand? I hope you’ve been listening. Love, focus, violence. Violence, focus, love. What is your motivator, and why do you not listen?”
Alexander Raven steps into frame, just in front of the flickering flames. The Roulette Championship folded neatly and held across his forearms against his chest. A smile stretching ear to ear, the trail of fire on the ground illuminating his eyes.
“Here, in the land where the cycle of pain and violence is escapable. In the land of many gods, who dwarf the image of peace. Here, where the world dictates change forevermore, I offer you an opportunity, Miles. Submit, and be freed. Fight, and be cleansed. Do you like the smell of blood, Miles? Do you like the taste of copper and iron in your mouth as your body rejects the beatings? Do you enjoy it? For this is the truth. This is the reality as it stands. Violent Conduct in New Delhi. Your tour of rediscovery ends before it even has a chance to begin. I will put you down like the stunted wolves and the neutered pups I had to hurt to get here. An iron grasp on this championship is the reality that I know. The truth is this, that as long as I stand as the Roulette Champion, there will never be an accolade next to your name. Speak, Miles. And this time, listen. Think and understand. Calm your mind, calm your soul. Your screaming and shouting taints the future. Come, Miles. And be baptised in violence.”
Raven allows the smile to slip from his face, his eyes focused off into the distance. Hair pulled back in a tight bun, tired lines dotting his face. Anger ever present in his eyes, refusing to be doused. A click of fingers from elsewhere, and everything is plunged into the dark once more.
Darkness.
Silence.
Nothing.
“The word of the week, pretentious. In a world full of actions, behaviours and languages, every person falls back to the same. Pretentious. Arty, gaudy, elaborate, grandiose, pompous, extravagant. Take your pick, they act as nothing but examples of the same. Vainglorious attitude. To spit upon the man who begs naught but deeper thought than the surface, is to mock the beggar who wishes for nothing more than an education. La-di-da so say the weak. Look at that tasteless overblown poncy fancy pants. And yet, none of it expands upon their inability to comprehend their own insecurity. To lash out and break down, to pull together the dregs of their own pack. A pack of wolves they are. For when the pup cries, they all come running.”
“Miles Kasey.”
The lowlight of the late evening sun reflects of the glittering water surface. Bhardwaj Lake, a couple hours out of New Delhi. Alexander Raven sits on the edge of the sand, near the lake water. Fluttering about in the lowlight colourful arrays of butterflies. Rabbits make their scratching and noises in the distance, the low chatter of wild creatures dancing lightly upon the wind. Raven’s eyes are fixated on the water surface a few metres in front of him, transfixed. His eyes seemingly distant, his mind far away from his body. Slow, steady breathing brings his chest up and down. The heavy breathing in through his nose whistling slightly.
“Do you know what they call this lake, Miles? Death Valley, some call it. The locals, they call it Khooni Jheel. It means bloody lake. There’s even some that consider this lake a curse. That three human sacrifices are required every year. It’s interesting that here in New Delhi, we come across a location steeped in myth, blood and violent mythology. Perhaps even more interesting is the suggestions about those who would make the journey here. Do not swim, do not go alone. Do not take valuables, and be aware that you are unwelcome. Perhaps one of the more hostile places on this tour. I wonder, Miles. Do you feel confident stepping outside your boundaries? Are you pretentious enough, to think yourself above the suggestions of safety? Here, in New Delhi we make a choice. A choice to completely throw caution to the wind. We have been given the platform to set the tone for all of Violent Conduct Eight. We are expected to do something that would make those who fear Death Valley, see it as nothing but a fairy tale in comparison to the brutality of that which we will inflict upon each other. Do you understand, Miles? Violence is the language expected of us, and whilst I dig and belittle. Whilst I sit upon my high horse and look down upon you and all your little wolf friends I do so for good reason. I need you riled up, Miles. I need you angry, I need you with a focus. Defending Zoey’s honour. Defending the honour of your wolves. Standing up for yourself. Something. I need you to have passion, I need you to have a god damn focus.”
“If you would just listen. If everybody would just listen for once, they’d hear what I’m saying. Nothing I say is cryptic. Nothing I say is to analyse or extrapolate upon someone. If what I say seems pretentious, than so be it. I will accept my pretentious nature if it means that somebody will give me something. If it means that you’ll give me the challenge I so desire. Here, in New Delhi. Just a few hours from this place of blood, death and misery. Of violence, robbery and danger. This Bloody Lake should mirror the rivers of blood that will flow from your very flesh and bone. Are you listening to me Miles? Do you understand?”
“They never understand!”
The last words roar from deep in Raven’s chest. Agitation causes his brow to crease. His hands balling into fists as he rises to his feet. His eyes staring off into the distance still. The once peaceful butterflies now a distant memory as they flutter away. The sounds of creature and critter now falling silent. Just the gentle breeze, the soft lap of water and the orange tinged surface of the setting sun. Bawling his fists tighter still the flesh turning white as the blood is forcefully drained into the extremities. He presses the fists to either side of his head, pushing inwards, shaking his head slowly.
“Violence, Miles. You do not understand it. I know you don’t. You think you’re simply entering into another match. Entering into a place where you get to finally get your hands on me. I need you to understand, that the raking of my words across your flesh, has reason. I need you angry, I need you emotional. Because I need you to want to hurt me, Miles. I need you violent. I need you to be ready to bleed out in the centre of that damn ring, should the gods and heavens wish it. I need you to be this way because if you aren’t. If you aren’t ready to end my career Miles, I will hurt you beyond anything you’ve ever felt. Focus, I have found. You mention that I was silent following my loss. You’re right, I was silent. Not because I was lapping my wounds. Not because I was sorry for myself, or hiding. Jack was the better man on the night, and that’s fine. Sometimes you just don’t step up, and that’s okay. What you need to understand Miles. What you need to understand is that I wasn’t hurting. I was exploring this land. I was visiting places in search of her light. In search of hand, and her forgiveness. A sign from her to guide me, to give me the knowledge I need. My silence was my journey of discovery. For someone who is so focused on identification of their own soul, you seem to lack the ability to comprehend the journeys that other may be on.”
“In the place of death, I spread her ashes. In this lake of blood, I will spread hers. At Violent Conduct, I will bleed, as she bled. For I have discovered my purpose, my focus, my understanding. I am flawed, this is the truth. Delusional, lost and unfocused I have been. Delusional I will be, and flawed I will remain. Imperfections are what makes the world beautiful. Unlike diamonds we will not last forever. Unlike diamonds we will one day fade from this earth. Unlike diamonds, we are flawed. But I have discovered. As I searched this land in search of myself. In search of her guidance an understanding. That emotions shouldn’t be suppressed. That the broken, needing guidance in all things. That the broken will continue flock to their Messiah, whether willingly or unknowingly. Those seeking baptism in blood will find the One True King, and in his False Prophecies they will find the truth. The understanding that this is the ultimate truth.”
Raven has a smile creep across his face, laughter rumbling out of him. A deep, heaving and authentic laugh. Happy, yet also pained. His eyes remain open, his body bending at the mid section as he heaves over laughing.
“Words, Miles. That’s all it is. Words. The reality is this. The more I speak, the more people will deny listening. The more I speak, the more opinions they will form. Accuse me of being poetic, when no poetry have I ever recited. Accuse me of being pretentious, when I’ve never done anything but point out their own hypocrisy. The ultimate truth is this. The more they deny it. The more you deny it, Miles. The more denial the truer it becomes. Every step of the way, the more they deny caring the more they do. On the drop of a hat, reaction. I say something, and everyone suddenly has an opinion. Fenris, Zoey, Finn, whoever that Dick is. Even the returning chaser of golden glory himself Lachlan Kane. Everyone reacts. A wolf pack? Hardly. Juveniles and children react the same. Violent reaction to those who poke and prod. The ultimate truth? You, and every damn one of you Wolves are exactly the filth I intend to purge.”
“The incestuous mixing of this city of sin. I’ve spoken at length of it for months now. I’ve spoken of my desire to shake the foundations, to shatter the stained glass sky of lies and bring the reality to all that inhabit this sinful city. I’ve found my purpose, and it comes at the beheading of all mangy mutts. I’ve put Finn down, and he flounders to have any level of acceptable relevance now. Thinking the world owes him anything, but completely lost in his own enforced insecurity. Fenris got one up on me. I won’t deny it. That man is one of the best I’ve stepped in the ring with. Yet I’m still here, and he lulls in the sidelines. Coming to the defense of his alcoholic little puppy. Zoey screams for my attention, and resorts to juvenile antics when I refuse to give her the attention she demands. Careful Miles, for she had no qualms in being immoral in acquiring you. How long before those screams for attention, become screams of affection? You, Miles. I will break. I will hurt. I will bleed. If I so need to, I will bend, break and flay. I know what I must do. In my hands I hold the gold. In my hands, I hold the wheel of fate itself. In my hands, ultimate bloody violence.”
His jaw clenched tightly, screaming out at the sky above. Birds in the distance flying away in a screech. He thumps his fists into side of his head, doing so over and over. Not hard enough to knock himself silly, but enough to start to cause blood to well to the temples in red splotches. He does this a few more times before slamming his fists together and falling to his knees, staring up into the sky once more.
“The purge of the filth that infests this place, begins with you, Miles. Continues with your demise, and ends with the eradication of your filthy, grotesque and manipulative little lair of wolves. Jumping at any sound, snarling at any threat, and strangle-holding anything that you can get your hands on. If there is anything I respect, it is the power of those outside of your little pack of mongrels. Those who continue to rattle and shake the foundations, and throw the stones to reveal the reality beyond the stained glass lies. But the truth, the reality must remain thus. Violence becomes us, and violence ends us. By my hand alone, you will be blooded. By my hand alone, you will be ended. I want you angry Miles. So that in the moment of defeat. As you fade from consciousness, you are innately aware of this one truth. The truth that the Broken Messiah, the False Prophet and the One True King never once lied. That the reality I painted and handed to you, was the truth that I spoke it to be.”
His hands slowly fall from his head, palms falling open. His eyes held to the sky above him. His eyes suddenly very hollow, empty. His face slackens and the creased agitation now gone. Slowly he raises his left hand, palm upturned and reaches out in front him, seemingly reaching for someone. Softness covers his eyes, his mind once again far away.
“She will forgive me. For she has shown me what I need to do. She hands me the stones, and guides their arc. In her, my anger is justified. In her, my anger is guided. No longer suppressed but put upon the path of focus and destination. Understanding, acceptance and forgiveness. She will forgive me for the atrocities I will inflict in my journey to cleanse the filth that breaks my Conspiracy. My Conspiracy will feed upon the carcasses of dead mutts, and in my offering of sustenance. In my offering of a truth and future. In my guidance to my kingdom, my Conspiracy grows. All those that flock, will be gifted with the sight of truth. No more lies, no more delusions of the Stained Glass Sky. This Sin City will no longer be marred with the filth that the wolves spread upon it. No more. In her light, in her forgiveness, the truth. Blood for blood, and no longer will she shun me for it. I understand now, the truth she always bestowed. That the blood was not the issue, but the disappointment of my own failures. The disappointment was the tears that were cried, not the pain I received because of it. The promises were not broken in bleeding again.”
A deep inhale, and a slow exhale. Slowly he stands, pulling a small necklace from under his shirt, a small red bottle attached it it. He slowly uncorks it and dabs a finger into it. The tip of it now red. He runs the finger down his forehead and onto his nose, leaving a small streak of red. Recorked and returned under his shirt, he snaps his fingers.
Darkness.
The flick of a switch, the sound of a globe clicking to life. The Roulette Championship sitting upon a small wooden end table. Alexander Raven stands behind it, hands holding either side of the table. A single halogen bulb above head, buzzing in the desolate space, acting like a spotlight. Raven has a downward pointing white triangle painted over his mouth, the streak of red from forehead to the tip of his nose.
“Violent Conduct Eight, New Delhi. The Raven and Wolf pup meet once more. This time, the stakes are for the wheel of fate and chance itself. A game of chance, curated with blood. Miles, have you been listening? Do you finally understand? Have you been following me, Miles? If not, you will. Baptised in blood, and cleansed in fire. I will show you my reality. My truth. My understanding. Pretentious, Miles? Yes, I am pretentious in your eyes. I am vainglorious in the eyes of many. The truth, broken, flawed and false. As king I stand true. Cleansed will this city of sin be, and your blood with mark the shattering of the distortions cast by the stained glass sky over this city. The foundations will shatter, and be rebuilt with your flesh and bone. Truth, Miles.”
“For at the end, none can protect you from Alexander Raven. When that bell rings, you and I go to war. When the bell sounds again, I will stand tall. For above your waning body I stand, and you will acknowledge that I am the man. Truth, Miles. You are your namesake away from it. The beginning of my journey of understand, marks your end. You walk into Violent Conduct in New Delhi, but I can guarantee, your succubus will have to carry you out. Snarl and snicker, but know this. Beneath my boot you will fall. Her forgiveness rights me of any wrongs. Can you say the same of your wrongs? Deceptions of the heart, and immorality of behaviour. Juvenile antics and childish actions. Weak willed, and scared of being truthful. Weak, Miles. Will you walk through the Valley of Death? Can you face the truth, and truly accept your emotions? Denial betrays you, and in the end. You will follow. You will listen, and you will finally understand.”
Alex releases the table and wraps the fingers of both hands over the top of the championship belt. He grips it tightly and yanks it backwards as he steps into the darkness beyond the dim light.
“Have you understood me, Miles?”
The flick of a switch once more, and the light goes off.
Darkness.
Silence.
Nothing.