Post by The Gangsta on Aug 7, 2015 19:33:35 GMT -5
Ante Whitner RP
God is Dead
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Prologue: ラボラット
Lost in the darkness, I fade from the light. Faith of my father, my brother, my Maker and Savior.
Help me make it through the night. Blood on my conscience and murder in mind.Out of the gloom I rise up from my tomb, into impending doom. Now my body is my shrine.
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Chapter I: 解雇
Summit Behavioral Healthcare Center
Cincinnati, Ohio
7/21/15
I left my soul in Cincinnati. It discharged from my body once I laid the first chair shot on Gotch’s skull. It flew farther away after I hit Mike. The f*cker deserved it.
The annoying sound of the mops, the beeps of the answering machines behind the front desk, the obnoxious conversations between doctors and nurses, all of it. I felt like a lab rat, constricted to a maze. Where was the cheese at the end? Was it just a paper telling me to f*ck off and go back to Seattle? I wish it was both.
The dipsh*t next couldn’t stop shaking his leg. I often stared at the ground the entire day and this f*cker has been annoying the sh*t out of me the entire time I’ve been here.
Ante: Hey, piss off c*nt.
The guy started shaking his leg harder as he grinned at me. I saw the rotten teeth in his gut-wrenching smile. Only I could pull off a signature grin like that. I saw his piercing red eyes paint a picture in my head. Alcohol addict, murdered his wife in some trailer park. F*ckin’ white trash.
Ante: I said to shut up b*tch.
The clocking heels of a nearby nurse suddenly grows louder.
Nurse: Excuse me, what’s going on here gentlemen?
The asswipe looked up at her, laughed, and nudged my shoulder.
Ante: Don’t f*ckin’ do that.
Nurse: Excuse me, what did you say?
The douchebag let out an awkward grunt and continued to laugh. I got up from my seat and flipped the bird on my way out. The nurse grabbed my arm and brought me by the staircase.
Nurse: What is wrong with you? You have to learn how to cope with others, that’s why you’re here.
That’s not why I’m here c*nt.
Ante: You’re funny. Tell me, have you ever lost something in your life?
She started to look away from me and began to slowly walk away.
Ante: Excuse me, you didn’t answer my question. You’re a nurse, you’re supposed to help the patients.
She soon walked back to me. Caught the fish. Now it’s time to gut her.
Nurse: Yes.
I wiped away my longer mohawk hair from my eyes. I grinned at her as she stared me down.
Ante: Do you know how it feels?
Nurse: Yes.
Her eyes began to roll.
Ante: I’m sorry, am I boring you?
Nurse: Kind of, can I go back to my desk?
As she begins to walk away, I grab her arm and drag her back to me.
Nurse: Get your hands off me. I can get a guard to escort you out of here sir.
Ante: I was not done b*tch.
I tighten the hold on her arm.
Ante: Do you know how it TRULY feels? To know that week after week, you lose something every time. One domino falls, the others fall with it.
Nurse: Alright, that’s it-
I put my hand over her mouth.
Ante: Look at me Nurse Ratched. We are all created to experience death. We will all go somewhere else one day. Some go to Heaven. Others go to Hell.
She starts to yell for help. The gut knife is approaching the fish’s stomach.
Ante: Shhh. Everything’s fine, Miss. I’d never hurt a woman. Only a coward would do that. I just want you to know that death is waiting for all of us. Hell, even the poor d-bag on the couch over there. The devil will seep in between the huge gap in his teeth and take him at an unexpected moment.
She steps on my bare foot.
Ante: Haha, nurse you’re damned! Pain is oblivious to me, hence why the boys back home call me a leper sometimes. I’m cast aside like a piece of dirt.
She starts blinking intensely. I check around if someone is near.
Ante: And just remember this, never forget what I stand for and what you stand for. Ask yourself every day and every night, am I living to die or dying to live?
I let go of her arm and mouth. She doesn’t yell or run. I reeled in a big one.
Ante: Oh, and also remember. I’m a complicated man. I belong in an army. The war pigs can erase you at the blink of a moment. War is coming, keep safe.
She speed-walks away from me and towards her desk. For a moment, she picks up her phone. She attentively looks back at me, staring her down. She puts the phone down as I make my way back to the lounge area.
I sit down away from the c*ntbag. He still smiles at me with the red piercing look in his eye. I shake my head and return to staring at the floor. The doc then walks in.
Dr. Thompson: Hello, Mr. Whitner. Can you come with me please?
I get up and keep that one verse from Smells Like Teen Spirit in my head.
“Hello, hello, hello, how low.”
He opens the door to the entrance and brings me outside. There’s a limo parked right in front of me.
Dr. Thompson: Mr. Whitner, your psychological evaluation has been completed and handed to the Highline-West Seattle Mental Health Center for a follow-up appointment with Doctor David Harris.
Ante: Thanks, you do realize I’m going to Japan in about a week, right?
Dr. Thompson: Um, no, I didn’t.
Ante: Well, surprise!
Dr. Thompson: Alright, I’ll reschedule the appointment to when?
Ante: I have no f*ckin’ clue.
The limo driver starts to beep.
Dr. Thompson: Okay, I’ll figure it out. Just go and take this.
He hands me a prescription for more Xanax. Sure, just load me on more f*ckin’ drugs you smug assh*le. I glance at the paper and I just recall the countless nights, staring at stacked papers on my coffee table. Loss hit me like a f*ckin’ speeding truck. I’m over it. Mike is what I have to keep on my mind for the next few weeks. Then, I’ll be back on top, ready to conquer any other competition out there. It will be a mere amount of weeks before I truly forget what loss feels like and how glorious victory feels.
I walk over to the limo and enter. Before turning to the driver in the limousine, I flip off Thompson. F*ck these people. I then turn around.
DMK: Long time no see Ante.
Ante: Donnie? What the f*ck are you doing here?
DMK: Everyone’s left me Ante. What else do I have to do? No more takeover, no more war. I’m just a lone wolf you prick.
Ante: You saw what I did a few weeks ago?
DMK: Of course I did. Why did you do it?
I begin to scratch my beard. The thought of Mike reminds me of dirty, hairy, greasy filth.
Ante: He groomed me as his heir apparent. I was next in line for his f*ckin’ throne. He turned my mind into a war machine, built to kill and dispose of his enemies. He wanted to slay every “good guy” in the WFWF and he created one out of me.
Donnie starts to laugh.
Ante: I’m sorry, am I f*ckin’ amusing you?
DMK: No, haha. You’re just a dumbass for picking a fight with Kyzer.
I lean in closer to Donnie with the serious, crazed look in my eyes.
Ante: I know what I’m in for. If I don’t kill Mike, I’ll die trying. It’s simple as that.
DMK: Haha, okay Ante. Whatever you say.
Ante: I’m sorry Donnie, where’s Samael and Tugarin now? They’re chasing down titles without you. They did it all without your help.
Donnie ceases to laugh.
DMK: I built them, I created-
Ante: They were built to dominate before you popped into their lives. Tugarin’s a f*ckin’ dragon and Samael’s an asskicker. I don’t understand how you created them.
The little red fumes are plunging out of Donnie’s head now.
DMK: I have the audacity to come to this dump and drive you to the airport for your flight to Japan and you treat me like this? You’ve changed, there’s something about you that seems different.
Ante: I embrace the light and the dark now Donnie. I’m the master of it all. And you have just faded away. You crave attention, just like I do. Now I embrace the attention because at least I have it.
DMK: Do you want me to kick your ass out of this f*cking limo and make you walk your bipolar ass to the airport, huh?
I laugh and take the doobie on the car seat next to me. I unroll it and pour all of the sh*t inside it into my mouth.
DMK: What the f*ck are you doing?
Ante: I’m on my own now Donnie. Nothing holds me back, not even the wrap to this doobie.
I swallow all of the sh*t in the doobie and throw the wrapper at Donnie. Donnie shrugs it off with the fumes still pouring out of his head.
Ante: I lived in a Gangster’s Paradise once, Donnie. Now I f*ckin’ own it.
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Rivers of evil, run through dying land. Swimming in sorrow, they kill, steal, and borrow. There is no tomorrow, for the sinners will be damned. Ashes to ashes, you cannot exhume a soul. Who do you trust when corruption and lust, creed of all the unjust, leaves you empty and unwhole?
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Chapter II: 敗北
I own the paradise I once called home. Billboards are everywhere across the city with “ANTE WHITNER: LONG LIVE THE KING”. And to think that everyone in the world once hated me.
Ever since that moment at Choke Hold, I’ve felt a different vibe from the crowd. The sudden eruptions of cheer and joy filled my weakened soul with peaceful bliss. It was so overwhelming that I almost completely forgot the reason I was in this position.
Who would’ve known that a man with a piling list of losses, spanning months, could create such a storm of controversy in one night?
Who would’ve known that a man that everyone once hated would become a cult icon to many back home and around the world?
Who would’ve known that a man with a mental disability could overcome his fear of slaying a god?
The spirits of the crowd lifted me from the deep, dark, depression that came with defeat. After months and months of suffering, the abyss has finally sunken and the eagle has risen once again.
But only the eagle would know what this abyss felt like.
Ever since I defeated Devilkiller and sent him running home in February, I had that sense of domination in my head. The whole king persona consumed me.
And that was the last time I won a match.
First it was Josh Dean and the absent Chase Landon. Dean whoops my ass and I lay a beating in redemption. A king always has to get the last word. He challenges me to an unsanctioned fight in Los Angeles, where the KKK and the SoS showed up, leading into a full-on war.
Nikki Dean shows up, claiming that my prized title was a fake. She challenges me to a ladder match and I’m sent flying through tables and sh*t. The crown is lost and I really couldn’t cope with that idea. I couldn’t let go of that king persona.
Then Kyzer showed up into my life. We were randomly drawn together to face Nikki Dean and Trace Demon. The f*ckers beat us. Kyzer blames me for the whole ride home. I saw our partnership as some sort of divine intervention with the God embracing the king and helping him accomplish great feats.
And this is where it gets good. The tag-team eliminator. Kyzer was dead set on winning this thing. He pictured our opponents as fools who stepped up to the wrong duo. He was wrong and he blamed me. He tells me to spare no mercy on Jon Gotch’s head and I do. But I follow through with a coordinated strike on Kyzer’s head as well. The God turned corrupt, taking the corrupt heart of the king with him.
It all seemed as if only hours had passed by, when in reality, it was f*ckin’ six months.
Six months that I will never get back. Six months where I could’ve proven to everyone that I was king. Six months where I could’ve avoided Kyzer’s wrath. Six months that I could’ve utilized to plan the KKK takeover.
Defeat makes you sore. It takes away your body and mind, making hours feel like months and days feel like years. I couldn’t let go of what had happened to me. I was on the top of the world and just like that, I became a slave to a greater being. I guess defeat makes you a slave. You must owe your debts to the world through hard labor that takes a heavy toll on your physical and mental health. And you still don’t get what you want.
Defeat made me feel like I was serving a life sentence. A life sentence for all of the sins I’ve committed. A life sentence for all of the people I hurt. A life sentence for being me.
And at Choke Hold, I was finally motivated to break the chains that held me back. I was not gonna spend the rest of my life, running and hiding from my weaknesses. A man faces their weaknesses with a heavy heart and a positive outlook on either outcome.
Kyzer locked me up in chains and I broke those chains.
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To safeguard my philosophy, until my dying breath. I transfer from reality, into a living death.
I empathize with enemies, until the timing’s right. With God and Satan at my side, from darkness will come light.
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Chapter III: 異なります
I recall being in that sh*tty hospital for a couple of reasons. One being that I almost murdered two men in front of tens of thousands of people. And the other reason being that I’m not particularly sane to be competing in the WFWF.
I never was sane to begin with. Bipolar disorder held me back from many professional wrestling companies, but Lila Sleater and Trace Demon saw something else. They saw potential, raw and untapped. The best of its kind.
I kept my bipolar disorder under control as best as I could. Letting a little loose could prove fatal for some of my opponents. However, some matches, like my match with Samael and the one with Devilkiller, I didn’t let the drugs stop me. In fact, I threw my pills out in the trash before those matches and as you can see months later, I f*ckin’ won.
In that time period where I slumped into a bitter depression, I completely forgot about my pills. I didn’t give a f*ck about food, drink, and most importantly, drugs. And when it came to Michael Kyzer calling me out back onto the field, I couldn’t function. I had to rely on every single call he made. That’s how Pete Carroll and the f*ckin’ Seahawks lost the Super Bowl. Carroll said to throw, Wilson threw, and cost the team the entire game.
That’s what happened with us. And it’s ironic to think that about five months earlier, Kyzer’s hometown of Seattle foreshadowed it all along.
Anyways, no drugs equal no Ante Whitner. No Ante Whitner equals no tag-team titles. It’s simple.
But, here is where it gets complicated. In the first match with Dean and Demon, I was too sleep-deprived and too weak to even compete in the match. Losing was actually my fault. In the second match, I felt different.
I felt a sudden urge to murder everyone in sight. The blood poured through my eyes as all I can see was red. Unfiltered, pure, red. I saw all of these people, taunting me and telling me violent and horrific things. Each person represented a different breed and different severity of violence. They mentioned all of these mass murders in history and something I could do to top all of it. A huge f*ckin’ holocaust with the smell of burning bodies fueling the flames.
The sight of a decapitated head pleased me. I grinned at the thought of hundreds of bullets penetrating a body with great force. Anything dealing with gruesome acts of violence gave me overwhelming orgasms.
All of these people told me what to do next. First step, Gotch. Next step, Kyzer. Last step, everyone else. The fact that I probably murdered Gotch gives my dick satisfactory pleasure to this very day.
But, the longer I kept hitting Jon Gotch, the more thoughts these people put in my head. They told me all about Kyzer’s sins and how he must repent for them. How he must confess his wickedness and pray to the lord. Kyzer’s ego didn’t make him a ploy to God. He was God. And as the time went on, I felt his divine presence suddenly urging me for mass murder.
I thought for once he was on my side. I thought he finally stopped b*tching and complaining about every single thing I did. But, that wasn’t f*ckin’ true, was it?
Instead, he just wanted me to stop the repeated chair shots. A c*nt who can’t fathom the image of a fractured skull and a pool of blood. God was cuffing me to the one-way train to hell. I had to fight back.
Oh, and I didn’t just fight back. I fired the first shot of a historic war. I could picture all of Kyzer’s soldiers, dead, lined up in rows for mass burial or cremation. Ah, the smell of burning flesh. Ah, the sight of a ditch, silencing the souls of hundreds.
I hit Kyzer with a vicious chair shot. B*tch got absolutely nothing. And I know exactly why. You see, I have a knack for ancient Chinese sh*t. F*ck the Japs, Chinese death penalties are beautiful. In Japan, I plan to tie all of Kyzer’s limbs to each ringpost. All at once, I’ll have Donnie, Samael, and Tugarin pull down those posts and rip every single limb off of his body. I can just hear the screeching sound of his flesh and bone tearing as he screams in agony. Fun!
Chicks in Japan dig this sh*t, even though it’s from a country they’ve hated for centuries. I can picture all of the voices in my head grabbing a limb and holding them up in victory. Victory will finally be mine. Damn, the pay-per-view can’t come soon enough.
Ah, the thought of it all. The blood, the red lights, the fire, all of it, god. Mike would be sitting in a pile of diarrhea right now if he knew my plan.
Hahaha, f*ck God.
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The blood runs free, the rain turns red. Give me the wine, you keep the bread. The voices echo in my head, is God alive or is God dead?
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Chapter IV: 拒否
Crossroads Church
Cincinnati, Ohio
7/6/15
I thought I would never find myself in a church again. Since my father’s death, almost everything since then has been positive in my life. I became a professional wrestler, joined the WFWF, and became a historic National Champion. Why the f*ck would I find myself here again?
Because of Michael f*ckin’ Kyzer.
I’ve come to a crossroads in my life. One path to uncertain eternity and the other path to bonafide glory. One path belonging to fate and the other path belonging to Michael Kyzer.
I opened the large wooden doors to the church. The lights, the glass, and the crucifixion of Christ gave me a welcoming greeting. No one was here. No priest, no deacon. No one.
I knelt right before the altar. The place where Damien could’ve been slayed.
Ante: God, what have I done?
Reconciliation was at my finger tips. I had to let all of it out to God. The true God.
Ante: I have all of these horrible thoughts in my head.
I felt an unearthly presence next to me. It was as if God has personally come down from Heaven to talk with me.
Ante: I had an omen last night. I was told to do horrible things in front of thousands of people. I have to prevent it God. I have to.
But I knew, in my head, that nothing was going to be fixed. It was an omen, nothing can change it.
Ante: God, my future is uncertain because of this omen. I don’t know what to do.
I looked at the cross with Jesus Christ on it. The blood pouring down his head gave me vivid images of the omen I had last night. I clenched my head and yelled in pain. I leaned my head on the step leading to the altar.
Ante: Spare me Lord, please.
It was too late. Satan was on his way to finally slay me.
Ante: I beg you. I have committed many sins, but I repent them all.
The images returned. A smashed head plagued my entire living nightmare. It was vaguely familiar, but the popping images of a chair and Michael Kyzer blocked it from full view. I grabbed my head and slammed it a few times on the altar.
Ante: GOD, HELP ME!
As my eyes started to fade from daylight, I fell backwards. I layed on the floor, with blood rushing from my nose, contemplating if I should continue with my confession to God. Weary and uncertain, I end the reconciliation with a closing prayer.
Ante: As I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. And if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen.
I wipe the blood off of my nose as I stumble to my feet. I quickly grab the pew to the left to stablize my balance. Suddenly, I feel a hand grab my shoulder from behind.
Ben: Why the f*ck are you here Ante?
I turn around to the familiar voice. It’s Ben
Ben: You’ve ignored my calls for weeks. If you don’t want me around, just tell me and not ignore me like a grumpy little kid.
I remove my hand from my face.
Ben: What happened to you?!
Ante: I...fell...and-
I stumble back to the ground. I feel Ben pull me up and put me into a pew. My eyes go dark.
Suddenly, after about an hour, I wake up.
Ben: Hey, what the hell happened?
Ante: What?
Still dazed and confused, I look behind Ben. It’s Frankie.
Ante: Frankie?
Frankie: Talk Ante. What happened?
Why the f*ck was he here?
Ante: What are you doing here?!
I stand up as Ben holds me back.
Ben: Hey, take it easy. Sit back down Ante.
I sit down and lock my eyes with Frankie’s. Ben pushes me.
Ben: Hey, tell me first. What happened?
Reluctant to tell him, I proceed.
Ante: I came here to repent my sins and confess my omen.
Ben: Omen? That’s not what I was asking Ante. I don’t care about anything regarding your devotion to God. How come I haven’t seen you in weeks? Why have you blatantly ignored me?
I lean back and expel a grunt of disgust.
Ante: Why? What do you mean, why? You know exactly why.
Ben: No, I don’t.
I wipe my lips and look at Frankie again.
Ben: Ante.
Ante: What?
Ben: We’ve been worried sick about you. I’ve looked everywhere for you and I finally found you here.
I point at Frankie.
Ante: Then, why the f*ck is he here?
Frankie: Because I’m worried too.
Ante: Don’t you have a f*ckin’ kid to take care of?
Ben pushes me back more.
Ben: Easy, Ante. We’re here to help you.
Ante: No, you’re both not. You’re just part of the problem.
Frankie: Then, what the f*ck is the problem Ante?
I look down at the ground and smile.
Ante: Michael f*ckin’ Kyzer.
Ben: You see, I f*cking knew that-
Ante: You don’t know anything, haha.
Frankie moves closer in his chair.
Frankie: We know somethin’ is up Ante. And you’d better tell us or else.
Ante: Or what? You’re gonna get out of the that f*ckin’ chair and fight me?
Ben: Shut the f*ck up Ante. What is wrong with you?
Ante: I’ve been tied up on a steel post in a deep, dark, abyss for way too long. Loss after loss, I sat in my home and-
Ben: And what?
Ante: Let me finish my sentence c*nt.
Ben: Have you been taking the pills?
Ante: I said, let me finish my sentence c*nt.
Ben backs away.
Ante: I haven’t eaten nor drank anything. I’ve relied on peelin’ off scabs on my fingers and eatin’ them. I sweat in the hot Seattle sun and drink the sweat that drips down my face and arms.
Frankie: That’s f*ckin’ gross Ante.
I look up at him and laugh.
Ante: Hahaha, you know what’s gross? Seeing your f*ckin’ crippled, slimy-ass presence in front of me right now.
Ben steps forward.
Ben: Alright you need to f*ckin’ chill-
As he gets closer, I shove him into the pew. I march towards Frankie.
Ante: Now, I ask again. Why are you f*ckin’ here?
Frankie: I came to see you. I was worried-
Ante: Worried? You’ve been worryin’ all of your life sh*thead.
Frankie pulls away as Ben grabs me.
Ben: Stay still, we have to get you out of here and put you in a f*cking hospital.
I shove Ben off. As he falls to the floor, I raise my fist in the air, but Frankie interrupts.
Frankie: I was worried I would never see you again Ante.
I get back to my feet.
Ante: What? You thought I died?
Frankie: Kinda. Since you now hang with Michael Kyzer and DMK, I was worried you would get caught up in some sick drug overdose.
Ben gets to his feet.
Ben: And it’s clearly evident that he may have had one anyway.
I look back at Ben in a disgusted way.
Frankie: Point is, you can always come to me if anything is wrong. Don’t just shelter yourself away like that.
I sit back down in the pew.
Ante: F*ck, when was the last time I spoke to you Ben?
Ben: It’s been about a month. I haven’t seen you since you lost the title.
Ante: F*ck, that long?
Ben: Yep.
I look up at the ceiling.
Ante: F*CK!!
Frankie moves closer to me.
Frankie: What happened in this omen that you mentioned earlier?
Ante: I don’t want to talk about it.
I look back at the ground.
Ben: Is that what has been troubling you?
Ante: No, b*tch. Depression caught up to me. This omen sh*t happened last night.
Frankie: Tell me. What happened?
I look back at him with tears pouring down my eyes.
Ante: There was blood. My hands, specifically. I saw a face I recognized, smashed to the point of being unidentifiable.
Frankie: Was it me?
Ante: No, it was neither of you.
Frankie and Ben look at each other.
Ben: Then, who was it?
Ante: I don’t know. I did see Kyzer in this omen though. F*ckin’ bastard.
Frankie: Besides being an absolute dick, what is wrong between you two?
Ante: He created a monster inside me. And I fear that this monster will be unleashed very soon.
Ben and Frankie shrug their shoulders and look at each other. I take the song book from the shelf on the pew. I take a quick glance at the lyrics.
The first one talks about God and his immortality in Heaven. I rip the pages.
Ben: What are you doing Ante?!
I throw the shreds of paper on the floor. And look at Ben with a grin on my face.
Ante: God is dead.
I start to charge towards the altar as Ben tries to stop me. I shove him out of the way and make my way up to the altar.
I stare at the Eucharist and the blood of Jesus Christ. I flip them over and smash the chalice into the glass surrounding a wooden cross. I take the cross and hold it up.
Ante: GOD IS DEAD!!
I snap it in half. I pick up the bible and hold it up in the air.
Frankie: Don’t do it Ante.
I look at Frankie with a devilish grin on my face and shout.
Ante: THERE IS NO GOD ANYMORE!! GOD IS DEAD!!!
I rip the Bible in half. I tear up the remaining shreds. I smear the dried blood from my nose onto the clean white fabric overlaying the altar. I smear it and laugh.
Ante: IF GOD DID NOT SPARE ME, THERE IS NO GOD!!
I run out of the nearby exits. I hear Ben and Frankie calling out my name. I completely ignore them. I’m a free f*ckin’ bird now.
I blissfully skip around the parking lot, saying repeatedly: “God is dead.” I throw my hands up in the air as I slowly fall to my knees. I look up to the cloudy evening sky and laugh.
Ante: Haha, God is dead.
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Chapter V: 邪神
“Let me be your Messiah.” The first words of a returning Michael Kyzer to a young Ante Whitner.
We didn’t just become partners. We became father and son. Two gangsters who smoke together, f*ck together, and fight together. Darth Sidious and Darth Vader. Space pirates, soaring through the cosmos with nothing but twelve-packs and weed grinders.
They sought to conquer the Universe. With such a wide and expanding void, these two made it seem like the Universe was a f*ckin’ Lego set. Soon enough, they found themselves at war with each other. Why?
Simple. Old intentions.
Michael Kyzer was a veteran of the professional wrestling industry and a cult icon in the drug dealing business. Isaac Cray, formally known as Drakz, was a great friend of Mike. They toppled the tag-team division as the New Epoch and they have been extensive business partners since 2005. But, lust went into Kyzer’s head.
You see, Drakz is on top of the world, nearing a 365-day reign as World Heavyweight Champion. Michael Kyzer returned to the business to become champion, not partnered with some weird-ass douchebag from Yonkers. He sought to destroy every hero out there, especially Drakz.
The problem is he neglected his partner. He promised him to become tag-team champions together, but that never really happened. You see, his partner, Ante Whitner, was a strange man with a complicated disease that put everything in motion. He always had little time to react and too much time to think afterward.
And with a mission of eliminating every hero out there, Kyzer seemed to accidentally create one out of Ante Whitner. Little Ante rose from the ashes of defeat and upstaged his former partner in cold blood with a distinguished goal in mind. Kill. Murder. Burn.
But this part of the story ain’t about Ante. It’s about the f*ckin’ G himself, Michael Kyzer. A God of F*ck. He believed in some polytheistic form of worship. In fact, his “religion” revolved around the WFWF like Earth revolves around the Sun. Phillip Schneider was the God of Brutality. Shawn Malakai was the God of Ambition. Trace Demon was the God of Dread. And above all. Michael Kyzer was the God of F*ck.
And that was what drove him mad. The religion. His cult following started to realize the bullsh*t of his ways. He was nothing but a false god.
False god.
This cult following of his used to smoke crack and f*ck hot chicks. Now, they hold gut knifes to Kyzer’s throat, demanding answers. The world wants to know, Mike. They want to know the truth. What have you been hiding? Why are you here?
Are you a god or not?
If he isn’t, then he’s just a man.
If he is, then he’s just a man.
Michael Kyzer is a man. He isn’t a god. He’s a f*ckin’ bozo who whores for attention. Wake the f*ck up people.
It’s time to smell the ashes.
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Epilogue: 神は死んだ
“Generals gathered in their masses. Just like witches at black masses. Evil minds that plot destruction. Sorcerer of death’s construction. In the fields, the bodies burning. As the war machine keeps turning. Death and hatred to mankind. Poisoning their brainwashed minds.”
A rapture, unforeseen by the gods. One god dies, another one is born. A God of F*ck, at his last hour. A shot is fired in the distance. A bullet ricochets, striking the god with furious anger, igniting the flame. The flame rages on. War has begun.
Paranoid and broken, the God has nothing to do but fight. He calls out to his assassin. No response. He demands answers. No response. He confirms a historic battle. No response.
These lack of response make the God frustrated and more anxious for answers. Who is this assassin? What is his motive?
Suddenly, a cry is heard through the God’s ears. He hears the roar of a familiar bird. Nervous, he fires a shot in the dark. The bird gets closer. It’s the eagle. The eagle he helped develop. The eagle he resurrected from the ashes.
Ante. F*ckin’. Whitner.
He’s waited too long for his full resurgence to power. The God of F*ck was hogging it all up. The God made the eagle do things he never wanted to do. Rape, kill, and steal. Although this eagle was sick and twisted, he never wanted to become a psychopath.
~
But he did. I f*ckin’ did.
The whole prophetic idea behind God turned me into a raging, blood-thirsting, killing machine. F*ck Kyzer.
F*ck God.
Before you raped yourself into my life, I was on top of the world. I lost that title, but still felt I had a lingering presence over the company. I was still on top, yet the title couldn’t prove it. If I was on top, I had to bring the food to the plate. Daddy’s gotta work hard to get that food. He has to win and bring home the dinner.
But I never won. I never got the food for the younglings. I sank lower and lower into the deep abyss everyone calls depression. I was desperate and worried. The crazy, historic position I was in when I had the National Title slowly faded away from existence.
I was back at square one. I was back at the spot I was at exactly a f*ckin’ year ago. In one year, I quickly rose to the top and slowly fell back to the bottom. Not ideal for a guy like me.
I crave attention. I want power. Without it, I go mad. Hence why I rip up Bibles and scream for a living now.
Point is Mike. You lied. You promised to bring me back to the top again. You swore to rule this place like the Sith Empire. You told me to become more like you.
And yet, you still find a way to tell me I was wrong.
I was never wrong, Mike. And you were never right. We’re on the same page, but you’re completing skipping the text and going straight for the pictures. Read the f*ckin’ story, Mike.
Read every single word. Every single detail. Anything seem off to you?
That’s right. You’re a f*ckin’ c*nt. Can you finally see it now? You swore to kill any hero in your way and you somehow managed to create one out of me. I applaud you for that one sh*thead, you really f*cked yourself, big time. And that’s to make it even more evident that you are a liar.
And who can trust a liar? Your cult followers? The people who believe in your bullsh*t ways of life? That’s what we call a false god.
A “god” who promises to do everything, but never does. Instead, he does what he likes. Eating hash brownies, smoking dope, f*cking any woman he sees. He’s the epitome of worthless. No god here.
What a f*ckin’ shame.
No god in Seattle. No god in Thailand. And certainly, no god in Tokyo.
The fact that I have the energy to travel to Tokyo, whoop your ass, and proclaim myself as the victor gives me a warm feeling inside my pants. It may be too hard to handle; someone call Nikki to clean up this mess.
~
The rapture is coming, Mike.
The second coming has arrived.
This. Is. It.
God of F*ck vs. Messiah of F*ck.
There’s nowhere to run. There’s nowhere to hide. I doubt we’ll meet again on the other side.
If I don’t kill you Mike, I’ll die trying.
And if history is truly written by the victor, then history is about to get face-f*cked.
I am oblivion.
I am a living nightmare.
I am the first evidence of a new breed.
You created me.
I destroy you.
The nightmare has only begun.
God is dead, Mike.
God is f*ckin’ dead.
-----------
God is Dead
-------------
Prologue: ラボラット
PSYCHOLOGICAL EVALUATION
SUMMIT BEHAVIORAL HEALTHCARE CENTER, CINCINNATI, OHIO
Ante Whitner
Case No.: 593, 182
Building No.: 46
Admission Date: 7/8/15
Dates of Evaluation: 7/17/15, 7/18/15
Date of Report: 7/20/15
PURPOSE OF EVALUATION: This is the first patient admission for Ante Francis Whitner III, a 26-year old professional wrestler from Yonkers, New York. Whitner is currently being treated for bipolar disorder, which he has been suffering with for approximately 7 years. He has been admitted due to symptoms of schizophrenia and psychosis.
The purpose for the current evaluation was to screen for evidence of schizophrenia and/or psychosis and clarify the nature of the underlying bipolar disorder.
ASSESSMENT PROCEDURES: For testing purposes, the Mental Status Exam and the Clinical Interview was administered to the patient on the dates 7/11/15 and 7/14/15, respectively. A review of previous medical records was conducted to identify any other indicators of psychotic or schizophrenic disorders.
BACKGROUND INFORMATION: Ante Whitner has experienced very traumatic events in his early life. At the age of 4, Whitner’s mother died due to complications of an automobile accident. Following his mother’s death, Whitner, along with his brother, Charles, and his father, Ante, moved to Yonkers, New York. Whitner’s father was an alcoholic, who often expressed his anger on Ante and his brother. Whitner soon moved out and experienced traumatic events under the Ghosts in downtown Yonkers.
During his time with the Ghosts in Yonkers, Whitner was introduced to several illegal drugs such as methamphetamine, benzoylmethylecgonine, and marijuana. Whitner claims he was raped on a daily basis, which cannot be denied or accepted. Whitner was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at the age of 19, around the time of death of his father. Whitner was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at Yonkers City Municipal Hospital in Yonkers, New York.
Most recently, Whitner has been reintroduced to the preceding drugs with his involvement in professional wrestling, particularly with his alignment with Michael Kyzer and Donnie Monty Kent. Whitner has also experienced painful injuries to the cranium as a result of his career, which may play a part in his psychological evaluation.
Staff in the healthcare center have described Whitner as “brooding” and “unfriendly.” Whitner has also denied any food and beverage during his tenure here, citing problems within the “wrestling business.” Staff have stated that his level of motivation is “lacking” and “non-existent.” Whitner is currently taking Ativan and Xanax to suppress bipolar symptoms.
MENTAL STATUS EXAMINATION: Results of the mental examination revealed that Ante Whitner is a self-centered, attention seeker. Results showed evidence of distractibility and responded to questions with selfish remarks. The patient looked scruffy, sleep-deprived, and rough. He expressed his desire to not be present at the examination. Patient made eye contact only a few times during the examination. He often slumped in his chair and looked at the ground, muttering incomprehensible phrases. When he rarely did converse, his vocabulary was proper and descriptive, placing his conversation skills above the average range.
The patient sheltered himself away from the conversation and refused to cooperate. His mood was determined to be an awkward form of grief, as revealed through one of his sudden outbursts, citing he has “lost everything close to him” over the past few months. Despite not taking his Xanax medication, the patient was able to recall the events of July 7th and thoroughly describe the events that transpired. His thought process was complex and more advanced than the normal average. As the examination went on, the patient began to talk about death and homicide, particularly directed to one of his co-workers. He was able to understand his current diagnosis and why he was at the center, but he harshly demanded to be discharged.
The patient told a well-thought story of a king and his crown, something he said he hasn’t talked about in months. The story revealed an indicator for his stress, along with the decreased use of his Xanax medication. In May, the patient lost his championship belt, something that he had held for approximately 200 days.
RESULTS OF EVALUATION: Passed both the Mental Status Exam and the Clinical Interview. He scored higher above any other patient in the facility.
SUMMARY/RECOMMENDATIONS: Results of the study on Mr. Whitner reveal an extended history of substance abuse and stress on his area of employment. Whitner expresses a willing desire to excel in his career, but yet feels miserable. Following the examination and evaluation processes, Whitner remains stressed and contempt on his level of the facility. Despite not conversing with any staff member, Whitner shows the capability of a sophisticated professional wrestler with great intellect, but also shows no desire to utilize that ability. He appears to cope with grief following his many losses within his field of employment.
It is recommended that Mr. Whitner should build a long-lasting relationship with those around him, excluding those who are involved with foreign substances or possess similar traits as him. Whitner can eventually learn how to construct a safer and more adaptive method of excelling in his workspace. A written recommendation was given to Whitner upon his discharge detailing the next steps, particularly a visit with a psychological associate in Seattle.
Please let me know if any additional information is needed concerning the results of this evaluation.
Phillip A. Thompson, PhD
Psychologist
-------------------Lost in the darkness, I fade from the light. Faith of my father, my brother, my Maker and Savior.
Help me make it through the night. Blood on my conscience and murder in mind.Out of the gloom I rise up from my tomb, into impending doom. Now my body is my shrine.
-------------------
Chapter I: 解雇
Summit Behavioral Healthcare Center
Cincinnati, Ohio
7/21/15
I left my soul in Cincinnati. It discharged from my body once I laid the first chair shot on Gotch’s skull. It flew farther away after I hit Mike. The f*cker deserved it.
The annoying sound of the mops, the beeps of the answering machines behind the front desk, the obnoxious conversations between doctors and nurses, all of it. I felt like a lab rat, constricted to a maze. Where was the cheese at the end? Was it just a paper telling me to f*ck off and go back to Seattle? I wish it was both.
The dipsh*t next couldn’t stop shaking his leg. I often stared at the ground the entire day and this f*cker has been annoying the sh*t out of me the entire time I’ve been here.
Ante: Hey, piss off c*nt.
The guy started shaking his leg harder as he grinned at me. I saw the rotten teeth in his gut-wrenching smile. Only I could pull off a signature grin like that. I saw his piercing red eyes paint a picture in my head. Alcohol addict, murdered his wife in some trailer park. F*ckin’ white trash.
Ante: I said to shut up b*tch.
The clocking heels of a nearby nurse suddenly grows louder.
Nurse: Excuse me, what’s going on here gentlemen?
The asswipe looked up at her, laughed, and nudged my shoulder.
Ante: Don’t f*ckin’ do that.
Nurse: Excuse me, what did you say?
The douchebag let out an awkward grunt and continued to laugh. I got up from my seat and flipped the bird on my way out. The nurse grabbed my arm and brought me by the staircase.
Nurse: What is wrong with you? You have to learn how to cope with others, that’s why you’re here.
That’s not why I’m here c*nt.
Ante: You’re funny. Tell me, have you ever lost something in your life?
She started to look away from me and began to slowly walk away.
Ante: Excuse me, you didn’t answer my question. You’re a nurse, you’re supposed to help the patients.
She soon walked back to me. Caught the fish. Now it’s time to gut her.
Nurse: Yes.
I wiped away my longer mohawk hair from my eyes. I grinned at her as she stared me down.
Ante: Do you know how it feels?
Nurse: Yes.
Her eyes began to roll.
Ante: I’m sorry, am I boring you?
Nurse: Kind of, can I go back to my desk?
As she begins to walk away, I grab her arm and drag her back to me.
Nurse: Get your hands off me. I can get a guard to escort you out of here sir.
Ante: I was not done b*tch.
I tighten the hold on her arm.
Ante: Do you know how it TRULY feels? To know that week after week, you lose something every time. One domino falls, the others fall with it.
Nurse: Alright, that’s it-
I put my hand over her mouth.
Ante: Look at me Nurse Ratched. We are all created to experience death. We will all go somewhere else one day. Some go to Heaven. Others go to Hell.
She starts to yell for help. The gut knife is approaching the fish’s stomach.
Ante: Shhh. Everything’s fine, Miss. I’d never hurt a woman. Only a coward would do that. I just want you to know that death is waiting for all of us. Hell, even the poor d-bag on the couch over there. The devil will seep in between the huge gap in his teeth and take him at an unexpected moment.
She steps on my bare foot.
Ante: Haha, nurse you’re damned! Pain is oblivious to me, hence why the boys back home call me a leper sometimes. I’m cast aside like a piece of dirt.
She starts blinking intensely. I check around if someone is near.
Ante: And just remember this, never forget what I stand for and what you stand for. Ask yourself every day and every night, am I living to die or dying to live?
I let go of her arm and mouth. She doesn’t yell or run. I reeled in a big one.
Ante: Oh, and also remember. I’m a complicated man. I belong in an army. The war pigs can erase you at the blink of a moment. War is coming, keep safe.
She speed-walks away from me and towards her desk. For a moment, she picks up her phone. She attentively looks back at me, staring her down. She puts the phone down as I make my way back to the lounge area.
I sit down away from the c*ntbag. He still smiles at me with the red piercing look in his eye. I shake my head and return to staring at the floor. The doc then walks in.
Dr. Thompson: Hello, Mr. Whitner. Can you come with me please?
I get up and keep that one verse from Smells Like Teen Spirit in my head.
“Hello, hello, hello, how low.”
He opens the door to the entrance and brings me outside. There’s a limo parked right in front of me.
Dr. Thompson: Mr. Whitner, your psychological evaluation has been completed and handed to the Highline-West Seattle Mental Health Center for a follow-up appointment with Doctor David Harris.
Ante: Thanks, you do realize I’m going to Japan in about a week, right?
Dr. Thompson: Um, no, I didn’t.
Ante: Well, surprise!
Dr. Thompson: Alright, I’ll reschedule the appointment to when?
Ante: I have no f*ckin’ clue.
The limo driver starts to beep.
Dr. Thompson: Okay, I’ll figure it out. Just go and take this.
He hands me a prescription for more Xanax. Sure, just load me on more f*ckin’ drugs you smug assh*le. I glance at the paper and I just recall the countless nights, staring at stacked papers on my coffee table. Loss hit me like a f*ckin’ speeding truck. I’m over it. Mike is what I have to keep on my mind for the next few weeks. Then, I’ll be back on top, ready to conquer any other competition out there. It will be a mere amount of weeks before I truly forget what loss feels like and how glorious victory feels.
I walk over to the limo and enter. Before turning to the driver in the limousine, I flip off Thompson. F*ck these people. I then turn around.
DMK: Long time no see Ante.
Ante: Donnie? What the f*ck are you doing here?
DMK: Everyone’s left me Ante. What else do I have to do? No more takeover, no more war. I’m just a lone wolf you prick.
Ante: You saw what I did a few weeks ago?
DMK: Of course I did. Why did you do it?
I begin to scratch my beard. The thought of Mike reminds me of dirty, hairy, greasy filth.
Ante: He groomed me as his heir apparent. I was next in line for his f*ckin’ throne. He turned my mind into a war machine, built to kill and dispose of his enemies. He wanted to slay every “good guy” in the WFWF and he created one out of me.
Donnie starts to laugh.
Ante: I’m sorry, am I f*ckin’ amusing you?
DMK: No, haha. You’re just a dumbass for picking a fight with Kyzer.
I lean in closer to Donnie with the serious, crazed look in my eyes.
Ante: I know what I’m in for. If I don’t kill Mike, I’ll die trying. It’s simple as that.
DMK: Haha, okay Ante. Whatever you say.
Ante: I’m sorry Donnie, where’s Samael and Tugarin now? They’re chasing down titles without you. They did it all without your help.
Donnie ceases to laugh.
DMK: I built them, I created-
Ante: They were built to dominate before you popped into their lives. Tugarin’s a f*ckin’ dragon and Samael’s an asskicker. I don’t understand how you created them.
The little red fumes are plunging out of Donnie’s head now.
DMK: I have the audacity to come to this dump and drive you to the airport for your flight to Japan and you treat me like this? You’ve changed, there’s something about you that seems different.
Ante: I embrace the light and the dark now Donnie. I’m the master of it all. And you have just faded away. You crave attention, just like I do. Now I embrace the attention because at least I have it.
DMK: Do you want me to kick your ass out of this f*cking limo and make you walk your bipolar ass to the airport, huh?
I laugh and take the doobie on the car seat next to me. I unroll it and pour all of the sh*t inside it into my mouth.
DMK: What the f*ck are you doing?
Ante: I’m on my own now Donnie. Nothing holds me back, not even the wrap to this doobie.
I swallow all of the sh*t in the doobie and throw the wrapper at Donnie. Donnie shrugs it off with the fumes still pouring out of his head.
Ante: I lived in a Gangster’s Paradise once, Donnie. Now I f*ckin’ own it.
------------------------
Rivers of evil, run through dying land. Swimming in sorrow, they kill, steal, and borrow. There is no tomorrow, for the sinners will be damned. Ashes to ashes, you cannot exhume a soul. Who do you trust when corruption and lust, creed of all the unjust, leaves you empty and unwhole?
-----------------------
Chapter II: 敗北
I own the paradise I once called home. Billboards are everywhere across the city with “ANTE WHITNER: LONG LIVE THE KING”. And to think that everyone in the world once hated me.
Ever since that moment at Choke Hold, I’ve felt a different vibe from the crowd. The sudden eruptions of cheer and joy filled my weakened soul with peaceful bliss. It was so overwhelming that I almost completely forgot the reason I was in this position.
Who would’ve known that a man with a piling list of losses, spanning months, could create such a storm of controversy in one night?
Who would’ve known that a man that everyone once hated would become a cult icon to many back home and around the world?
Who would’ve known that a man with a mental disability could overcome his fear of slaying a god?
The spirits of the crowd lifted me from the deep, dark, depression that came with defeat. After months and months of suffering, the abyss has finally sunken and the eagle has risen once again.
But only the eagle would know what this abyss felt like.
Ever since I defeated Devilkiller and sent him running home in February, I had that sense of domination in my head. The whole king persona consumed me.
And that was the last time I won a match.
First it was Josh Dean and the absent Chase Landon. Dean whoops my ass and I lay a beating in redemption. A king always has to get the last word. He challenges me to an unsanctioned fight in Los Angeles, where the KKK and the SoS showed up, leading into a full-on war.
Nikki Dean shows up, claiming that my prized title was a fake. She challenges me to a ladder match and I’m sent flying through tables and sh*t. The crown is lost and I really couldn’t cope with that idea. I couldn’t let go of that king persona.
Then Kyzer showed up into my life. We were randomly drawn together to face Nikki Dean and Trace Demon. The f*ckers beat us. Kyzer blames me for the whole ride home. I saw our partnership as some sort of divine intervention with the God embracing the king and helping him accomplish great feats.
And this is where it gets good. The tag-team eliminator. Kyzer was dead set on winning this thing. He pictured our opponents as fools who stepped up to the wrong duo. He was wrong and he blamed me. He tells me to spare no mercy on Jon Gotch’s head and I do. But I follow through with a coordinated strike on Kyzer’s head as well. The God turned corrupt, taking the corrupt heart of the king with him.
It all seemed as if only hours had passed by, when in reality, it was f*ckin’ six months.
Six months that I will never get back. Six months where I could’ve proven to everyone that I was king. Six months where I could’ve avoided Kyzer’s wrath. Six months that I could’ve utilized to plan the KKK takeover.
Defeat makes you sore. It takes away your body and mind, making hours feel like months and days feel like years. I couldn’t let go of what had happened to me. I was on the top of the world and just like that, I became a slave to a greater being. I guess defeat makes you a slave. You must owe your debts to the world through hard labor that takes a heavy toll on your physical and mental health. And you still don’t get what you want.
Defeat made me feel like I was serving a life sentence. A life sentence for all of the sins I’ve committed. A life sentence for all of the people I hurt. A life sentence for being me.
And at Choke Hold, I was finally motivated to break the chains that held me back. I was not gonna spend the rest of my life, running and hiding from my weaknesses. A man faces their weaknesses with a heavy heart and a positive outlook on either outcome.
Kyzer locked me up in chains and I broke those chains.
--------------------------
To safeguard my philosophy, until my dying breath. I transfer from reality, into a living death.
I empathize with enemies, until the timing’s right. With God and Satan at my side, from darkness will come light.
------------------------
Chapter III: 異なります
I recall being in that sh*tty hospital for a couple of reasons. One being that I almost murdered two men in front of tens of thousands of people. And the other reason being that I’m not particularly sane to be competing in the WFWF.
I never was sane to begin with. Bipolar disorder held me back from many professional wrestling companies, but Lila Sleater and Trace Demon saw something else. They saw potential, raw and untapped. The best of its kind.
I kept my bipolar disorder under control as best as I could. Letting a little loose could prove fatal for some of my opponents. However, some matches, like my match with Samael and the one with Devilkiller, I didn’t let the drugs stop me. In fact, I threw my pills out in the trash before those matches and as you can see months later, I f*ckin’ won.
In that time period where I slumped into a bitter depression, I completely forgot about my pills. I didn’t give a f*ck about food, drink, and most importantly, drugs. And when it came to Michael Kyzer calling me out back onto the field, I couldn’t function. I had to rely on every single call he made. That’s how Pete Carroll and the f*ckin’ Seahawks lost the Super Bowl. Carroll said to throw, Wilson threw, and cost the team the entire game.
That’s what happened with us. And it’s ironic to think that about five months earlier, Kyzer’s hometown of Seattle foreshadowed it all along.
Anyways, no drugs equal no Ante Whitner. No Ante Whitner equals no tag-team titles. It’s simple.
But, here is where it gets complicated. In the first match with Dean and Demon, I was too sleep-deprived and too weak to even compete in the match. Losing was actually my fault. In the second match, I felt different.
I felt a sudden urge to murder everyone in sight. The blood poured through my eyes as all I can see was red. Unfiltered, pure, red. I saw all of these people, taunting me and telling me violent and horrific things. Each person represented a different breed and different severity of violence. They mentioned all of these mass murders in history and something I could do to top all of it. A huge f*ckin’ holocaust with the smell of burning bodies fueling the flames.
The sight of a decapitated head pleased me. I grinned at the thought of hundreds of bullets penetrating a body with great force. Anything dealing with gruesome acts of violence gave me overwhelming orgasms.
All of these people told me what to do next. First step, Gotch. Next step, Kyzer. Last step, everyone else. The fact that I probably murdered Gotch gives my dick satisfactory pleasure to this very day.
But, the longer I kept hitting Jon Gotch, the more thoughts these people put in my head. They told me all about Kyzer’s sins and how he must repent for them. How he must confess his wickedness and pray to the lord. Kyzer’s ego didn’t make him a ploy to God. He was God. And as the time went on, I felt his divine presence suddenly urging me for mass murder.
I thought for once he was on my side. I thought he finally stopped b*tching and complaining about every single thing I did. But, that wasn’t f*ckin’ true, was it?
Instead, he just wanted me to stop the repeated chair shots. A c*nt who can’t fathom the image of a fractured skull and a pool of blood. God was cuffing me to the one-way train to hell. I had to fight back.
Oh, and I didn’t just fight back. I fired the first shot of a historic war. I could picture all of Kyzer’s soldiers, dead, lined up in rows for mass burial or cremation. Ah, the smell of burning flesh. Ah, the sight of a ditch, silencing the souls of hundreds.
I hit Kyzer with a vicious chair shot. B*tch got absolutely nothing. And I know exactly why. You see, I have a knack for ancient Chinese sh*t. F*ck the Japs, Chinese death penalties are beautiful. In Japan, I plan to tie all of Kyzer’s limbs to each ringpost. All at once, I’ll have Donnie, Samael, and Tugarin pull down those posts and rip every single limb off of his body. I can just hear the screeching sound of his flesh and bone tearing as he screams in agony. Fun!
Chicks in Japan dig this sh*t, even though it’s from a country they’ve hated for centuries. I can picture all of the voices in my head grabbing a limb and holding them up in victory. Victory will finally be mine. Damn, the pay-per-view can’t come soon enough.
Ah, the thought of it all. The blood, the red lights, the fire, all of it, god. Mike would be sitting in a pile of diarrhea right now if he knew my plan.
Hahaha, f*ck God.
---------------------
The blood runs free, the rain turns red. Give me the wine, you keep the bread. The voices echo in my head, is God alive or is God dead?
---------------------
Chapter IV: 拒否
Crossroads Church
Cincinnati, Ohio
7/6/15
I thought I would never find myself in a church again. Since my father’s death, almost everything since then has been positive in my life. I became a professional wrestler, joined the WFWF, and became a historic National Champion. Why the f*ck would I find myself here again?
Because of Michael f*ckin’ Kyzer.
I’ve come to a crossroads in my life. One path to uncertain eternity and the other path to bonafide glory. One path belonging to fate and the other path belonging to Michael Kyzer.
I opened the large wooden doors to the church. The lights, the glass, and the crucifixion of Christ gave me a welcoming greeting. No one was here. No priest, no deacon. No one.
I knelt right before the altar. The place where Damien could’ve been slayed.
Ante: God, what have I done?
Reconciliation was at my finger tips. I had to let all of it out to God. The true God.
Ante: I have all of these horrible thoughts in my head.
I felt an unearthly presence next to me. It was as if God has personally come down from Heaven to talk with me.
Ante: I had an omen last night. I was told to do horrible things in front of thousands of people. I have to prevent it God. I have to.
But I knew, in my head, that nothing was going to be fixed. It was an omen, nothing can change it.
Ante: God, my future is uncertain because of this omen. I don’t know what to do.
I looked at the cross with Jesus Christ on it. The blood pouring down his head gave me vivid images of the omen I had last night. I clenched my head and yelled in pain. I leaned my head on the step leading to the altar.
Ante: Spare me Lord, please.
It was too late. Satan was on his way to finally slay me.
Ante: I beg you. I have committed many sins, but I repent them all.
The images returned. A smashed head plagued my entire living nightmare. It was vaguely familiar, but the popping images of a chair and Michael Kyzer blocked it from full view. I grabbed my head and slammed it a few times on the altar.
Ante: GOD, HELP ME!
As my eyes started to fade from daylight, I fell backwards. I layed on the floor, with blood rushing from my nose, contemplating if I should continue with my confession to God. Weary and uncertain, I end the reconciliation with a closing prayer.
Ante: As I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. And if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen.
I wipe the blood off of my nose as I stumble to my feet. I quickly grab the pew to the left to stablize my balance. Suddenly, I feel a hand grab my shoulder from behind.
Ben: Why the f*ck are you here Ante?
I turn around to the familiar voice. It’s Ben
Ben: You’ve ignored my calls for weeks. If you don’t want me around, just tell me and not ignore me like a grumpy little kid.
I remove my hand from my face.
Ben: What happened to you?!
Ante: I...fell...and-
I stumble back to the ground. I feel Ben pull me up and put me into a pew. My eyes go dark.
Suddenly, after about an hour, I wake up.
Ben: Hey, what the hell happened?
Ante: What?
Still dazed and confused, I look behind Ben. It’s Frankie.
Ante: Frankie?
Frankie: Talk Ante. What happened?
Why the f*ck was he here?
Ante: What are you doing here?!
I stand up as Ben holds me back.
Ben: Hey, take it easy. Sit back down Ante.
I sit down and lock my eyes with Frankie’s. Ben pushes me.
Ben: Hey, tell me first. What happened?
Reluctant to tell him, I proceed.
Ante: I came here to repent my sins and confess my omen.
Ben: Omen? That’s not what I was asking Ante. I don’t care about anything regarding your devotion to God. How come I haven’t seen you in weeks? Why have you blatantly ignored me?
I lean back and expel a grunt of disgust.
Ante: Why? What do you mean, why? You know exactly why.
Ben: No, I don’t.
I wipe my lips and look at Frankie again.
Ben: Ante.
Ante: What?
Ben: We’ve been worried sick about you. I’ve looked everywhere for you and I finally found you here.
I point at Frankie.
Ante: Then, why the f*ck is he here?
Frankie: Because I’m worried too.
Ante: Don’t you have a f*ckin’ kid to take care of?
Ben pushes me back more.
Ben: Easy, Ante. We’re here to help you.
Ante: No, you’re both not. You’re just part of the problem.
Frankie: Then, what the f*ck is the problem Ante?
I look down at the ground and smile.
Ante: Michael f*ckin’ Kyzer.
Ben: You see, I f*cking knew that-
Ante: You don’t know anything, haha.
Frankie moves closer in his chair.
Frankie: We know somethin’ is up Ante. And you’d better tell us or else.
Ante: Or what? You’re gonna get out of the that f*ckin’ chair and fight me?
Ben: Shut the f*ck up Ante. What is wrong with you?
Ante: I’ve been tied up on a steel post in a deep, dark, abyss for way too long. Loss after loss, I sat in my home and-
Ben: And what?
Ante: Let me finish my sentence c*nt.
Ben: Have you been taking the pills?
Ante: I said, let me finish my sentence c*nt.
Ben backs away.
Ante: I haven’t eaten nor drank anything. I’ve relied on peelin’ off scabs on my fingers and eatin’ them. I sweat in the hot Seattle sun and drink the sweat that drips down my face and arms.
Frankie: That’s f*ckin’ gross Ante.
I look up at him and laugh.
Ante: Hahaha, you know what’s gross? Seeing your f*ckin’ crippled, slimy-ass presence in front of me right now.
Ben steps forward.
Ben: Alright you need to f*ckin’ chill-
As he gets closer, I shove him into the pew. I march towards Frankie.
Ante: Now, I ask again. Why are you f*ckin’ here?
Frankie: I came to see you. I was worried-
Ante: Worried? You’ve been worryin’ all of your life sh*thead.
Frankie pulls away as Ben grabs me.
Ben: Stay still, we have to get you out of here and put you in a f*cking hospital.
I shove Ben off. As he falls to the floor, I raise my fist in the air, but Frankie interrupts.
Frankie: I was worried I would never see you again Ante.
I get back to my feet.
Ante: What? You thought I died?
Frankie: Kinda. Since you now hang with Michael Kyzer and DMK, I was worried you would get caught up in some sick drug overdose.
Ben gets to his feet.
Ben: And it’s clearly evident that he may have had one anyway.
I look back at Ben in a disgusted way.
Frankie: Point is, you can always come to me if anything is wrong. Don’t just shelter yourself away like that.
I sit back down in the pew.
Ante: F*ck, when was the last time I spoke to you Ben?
Ben: It’s been about a month. I haven’t seen you since you lost the title.
Ante: F*ck, that long?
Ben: Yep.
I look up at the ceiling.
Ante: F*CK!!
Frankie moves closer to me.
Frankie: What happened in this omen that you mentioned earlier?
Ante: I don’t want to talk about it.
I look back at the ground.
Ben: Is that what has been troubling you?
Ante: No, b*tch. Depression caught up to me. This omen sh*t happened last night.
Frankie: Tell me. What happened?
I look back at him with tears pouring down my eyes.
Ante: There was blood. My hands, specifically. I saw a face I recognized, smashed to the point of being unidentifiable.
Frankie: Was it me?
Ante: No, it was neither of you.
Frankie and Ben look at each other.
Ben: Then, who was it?
Ante: I don’t know. I did see Kyzer in this omen though. F*ckin’ bastard.
Frankie: Besides being an absolute dick, what is wrong between you two?
Ante: He created a monster inside me. And I fear that this monster will be unleashed very soon.
Ben and Frankie shrug their shoulders and look at each other. I take the song book from the shelf on the pew. I take a quick glance at the lyrics.
The first one talks about God and his immortality in Heaven. I rip the pages.
Ben: What are you doing Ante?!
I throw the shreds of paper on the floor. And look at Ben with a grin on my face.
Ante: God is dead.
I start to charge towards the altar as Ben tries to stop me. I shove him out of the way and make my way up to the altar.
I stare at the Eucharist and the blood of Jesus Christ. I flip them over and smash the chalice into the glass surrounding a wooden cross. I take the cross and hold it up.
Ante: GOD IS DEAD!!
I snap it in half. I pick up the bible and hold it up in the air.
Frankie: Don’t do it Ante.
I look at Frankie with a devilish grin on my face and shout.
Ante: THERE IS NO GOD ANYMORE!! GOD IS DEAD!!!
I rip the Bible in half. I tear up the remaining shreds. I smear the dried blood from my nose onto the clean white fabric overlaying the altar. I smear it and laugh.
Ante: IF GOD DID NOT SPARE ME, THERE IS NO GOD!!
I run out of the nearby exits. I hear Ben and Frankie calling out my name. I completely ignore them. I’m a free f*ckin’ bird now.
I blissfully skip around the parking lot, saying repeatedly: “God is dead.” I throw my hands up in the air as I slowly fall to my knees. I look up to the cloudy evening sky and laugh.
Ante: Haha, God is dead.
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Chapter V: 邪神
“Let me be your Messiah.” The first words of a returning Michael Kyzer to a young Ante Whitner.
We didn’t just become partners. We became father and son. Two gangsters who smoke together, f*ck together, and fight together. Darth Sidious and Darth Vader. Space pirates, soaring through the cosmos with nothing but twelve-packs and weed grinders.
They sought to conquer the Universe. With such a wide and expanding void, these two made it seem like the Universe was a f*ckin’ Lego set. Soon enough, they found themselves at war with each other. Why?
Simple. Old intentions.
Michael Kyzer was a veteran of the professional wrestling industry and a cult icon in the drug dealing business. Isaac Cray, formally known as Drakz, was a great friend of Mike. They toppled the tag-team division as the New Epoch and they have been extensive business partners since 2005. But, lust went into Kyzer’s head.
You see, Drakz is on top of the world, nearing a 365-day reign as World Heavyweight Champion. Michael Kyzer returned to the business to become champion, not partnered with some weird-ass douchebag from Yonkers. He sought to destroy every hero out there, especially Drakz.
The problem is he neglected his partner. He promised him to become tag-team champions together, but that never really happened. You see, his partner, Ante Whitner, was a strange man with a complicated disease that put everything in motion. He always had little time to react and too much time to think afterward.
And with a mission of eliminating every hero out there, Kyzer seemed to accidentally create one out of Ante Whitner. Little Ante rose from the ashes of defeat and upstaged his former partner in cold blood with a distinguished goal in mind. Kill. Murder. Burn.
But this part of the story ain’t about Ante. It’s about the f*ckin’ G himself, Michael Kyzer. A God of F*ck. He believed in some polytheistic form of worship. In fact, his “religion” revolved around the WFWF like Earth revolves around the Sun. Phillip Schneider was the God of Brutality. Shawn Malakai was the God of Ambition. Trace Demon was the God of Dread. And above all. Michael Kyzer was the God of F*ck.
And that was what drove him mad. The religion. His cult following started to realize the bullsh*t of his ways. He was nothing but a false god.
False god.
This cult following of his used to smoke crack and f*ck hot chicks. Now, they hold gut knifes to Kyzer’s throat, demanding answers. The world wants to know, Mike. They want to know the truth. What have you been hiding? Why are you here?
Are you a god or not?
If he isn’t, then he’s just a man.
If he is, then he’s just a man.
Michael Kyzer is a man. He isn’t a god. He’s a f*ckin’ bozo who whores for attention. Wake the f*ck up people.
It’s time to smell the ashes.
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Epilogue: 神は死んだ
“Generals gathered in their masses. Just like witches at black masses. Evil minds that plot destruction. Sorcerer of death’s construction. In the fields, the bodies burning. As the war machine keeps turning. Death and hatred to mankind. Poisoning their brainwashed minds.”
A rapture, unforeseen by the gods. One god dies, another one is born. A God of F*ck, at his last hour. A shot is fired in the distance. A bullet ricochets, striking the god with furious anger, igniting the flame. The flame rages on. War has begun.
Paranoid and broken, the God has nothing to do but fight. He calls out to his assassin. No response. He demands answers. No response. He confirms a historic battle. No response.
These lack of response make the God frustrated and more anxious for answers. Who is this assassin? What is his motive?
Suddenly, a cry is heard through the God’s ears. He hears the roar of a familiar bird. Nervous, he fires a shot in the dark. The bird gets closer. It’s the eagle. The eagle he helped develop. The eagle he resurrected from the ashes.
Ante. F*ckin’. Whitner.
He’s waited too long for his full resurgence to power. The God of F*ck was hogging it all up. The God made the eagle do things he never wanted to do. Rape, kill, and steal. Although this eagle was sick and twisted, he never wanted to become a psychopath.
~
But he did. I f*ckin’ did.
The whole prophetic idea behind God turned me into a raging, blood-thirsting, killing machine. F*ck Kyzer.
F*ck God.
Before you raped yourself into my life, I was on top of the world. I lost that title, but still felt I had a lingering presence over the company. I was still on top, yet the title couldn’t prove it. If I was on top, I had to bring the food to the plate. Daddy’s gotta work hard to get that food. He has to win and bring home the dinner.
But I never won. I never got the food for the younglings. I sank lower and lower into the deep abyss everyone calls depression. I was desperate and worried. The crazy, historic position I was in when I had the National Title slowly faded away from existence.
I was back at square one. I was back at the spot I was at exactly a f*ckin’ year ago. In one year, I quickly rose to the top and slowly fell back to the bottom. Not ideal for a guy like me.
I crave attention. I want power. Without it, I go mad. Hence why I rip up Bibles and scream for a living now.
Point is Mike. You lied. You promised to bring me back to the top again. You swore to rule this place like the Sith Empire. You told me to become more like you.
And yet, you still find a way to tell me I was wrong.
I was never wrong, Mike. And you were never right. We’re on the same page, but you’re completing skipping the text and going straight for the pictures. Read the f*ckin’ story, Mike.
Read every single word. Every single detail. Anything seem off to you?
That’s right. You’re a f*ckin’ c*nt. Can you finally see it now? You swore to kill any hero in your way and you somehow managed to create one out of me. I applaud you for that one sh*thead, you really f*cked yourself, big time. And that’s to make it even more evident that you are a liar.
And who can trust a liar? Your cult followers? The people who believe in your bullsh*t ways of life? That’s what we call a false god.
A “god” who promises to do everything, but never does. Instead, he does what he likes. Eating hash brownies, smoking dope, f*cking any woman he sees. He’s the epitome of worthless. No god here.
What a f*ckin’ shame.
No god in Seattle. No god in Thailand. And certainly, no god in Tokyo.
The fact that I have the energy to travel to Tokyo, whoop your ass, and proclaim myself as the victor gives me a warm feeling inside my pants. It may be too hard to handle; someone call Nikki to clean up this mess.
~
The rapture is coming, Mike.
The second coming has arrived.
This. Is. It.
God of F*ck vs. Messiah of F*ck.
There’s nowhere to run. There’s nowhere to hide. I doubt we’ll meet again on the other side.
If I don’t kill you Mike, I’ll die trying.
And if history is truly written by the victor, then history is about to get face-f*cked.
I am oblivion.
I am a living nightmare.
I am the first evidence of a new breed.
You created me.
I destroy you.
The nightmare has only begun.
God is dead, Mike.
God is f*ckin’ dead.
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