Post by The Gangsta on Dec 16, 2015 23:52:19 GMT -5
Ante Whitner RP
Chapter 3 of 3: Rage
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-----------------------
Fealty. Loyalty. Fidelity.
They all share the same definition: allegiance to another person. It is the subject’s sole purpose to defend their allied partner. They take a vow, a sworn oath. It is their duty to keep that oath.
Oathkeeper. Loyalist. Knight.
As an oathkeeper, it is the duty of protecting their oath, putting their life before the life of another’s. As a knight sworn to another man, the oathkeeper himself must relinquish all that he has accomplished. Any title, any vow, becomes null and void.
B*tch. Slave. Whore.
From relinquishing the titles, the oathkeeper is no longer a knight, but rather a more degrading and sinful part of human nature, depending on whom the oath is sworn to. The oathkeeper becomes a slave, a b*tch, or even a whore, of course with a fancy sword to play with.
Is the oathkeeper truly keeping their promise then? Or are they just slaves to the larger and darker cause?
There is no truth to any of it. It is only a cause the gods and kings know. No mortal man shall live to see the day this cause is unraveled, nor officially kept under secrecy. The cause has an uncertain future ahead of it.
By swearing the oath, it is your duty to defend its uncertainty, Lucas. You are not a champion anymore. You are a knight of this cause. Although you are one of the few who know of it, you are not the prophesied man who beholds it. Justin Tyme is that man.
In your journey to this knighthood, you befriended a man not unfamiliar with the terms of this cause. He was the champion of a different cause that I personally seek. He knows what this cause, but he thinks you don’t. You’re the one who holds the reins, not him.
You are not the oathkeeper. You are only mimicking it. You believe you are nothing but an accessory to a broken, disheveled man. He is not immortal, but you are and so am I. You know the cause, he doesn’t. Take the reins and become the king you sought to be.
The throne is yours.
-------------
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
--------------
Homecoming: Part Two
10/6/15
Miami, Florida
The moving truck rolled in early Tuesday morning. The new home was modest, simple, and not too over-the-top like the other one. I liked it much better. On the way there, Ben and I passed by the bar and the old house, which was still up for sale. Ben let out a heavy sigh when he saw that sign.
We slowly creeped up the stairs of the new apartment. From what I heard from the landlord, a lot of old folks live here, mainly because of its low price. I chose to go all the way to the top; the largest apartment. The stairs creaked loudly, letting out a screeching, echoing sound. I chuckled as we moved boxes up and down the stairs.
Four hours and over two hundred items later, I was officially settled in. Ben crashed on the bed after everything was in order and I soon began to unpack. The first thing I unpacked was the box of goodies. The weed, the coke, and my old pipe, Twisty. If Kyzer left any positive impact on my life, he knows the good sh*t to choose.
I unzipped one of the weed packs and loaded into ol’ Twisty. I stared out the window of the rising Miami sun. Pink, blue, red, and orange, all fused into one beautiful image. The weed made it that much better too. This was a new day, a fresh start.
I sat down on the couch I bought in Seattle. There were still some cum stains from Kyzer and his multiple nights of “slaying” Thai chicks. The days where he wasn’t such an assh*le. There was also some change, coke particles, and loose weed leaves. As I moved to the right side of the couch, I noticed a huge lump in the cushion.
I lifted the cushion up to see a pack of coke. It had a distinct reddish-pinkish color and had a note attached to it.
I picked it up and examined it. Yup, the good sh*t he always talked about. This was the pack of cocaine he had revered so preciously. But why the f*ck was it in my couch?
I remember the story of the “cherry blossom” quite well actually. Years ago, when he was in Japan, he bought a sh*t ton of coke packs that had this reddish color. The dealer called it “Sakura”, which roughly translates to “cherry blossom” in English. Mike told me he almost blew out the entire inventory he bought, whether it was late nights with a bunch of hookers or snorting it by himself or with Donnie.
He still had a few left when I met him, about five. He sold three of them to buy the Thai chicks and he was down to two. A few weeks into our relationship, he pulled out that marvelous thing. I refused to snort it, but when Mike got into it, he was off the roof. He was higher than Lucy in the Sky. It was f*ckin’ nuts.
He loved those “cherry blossoms.” I remember he planned to take it to Japan when he and I would have advanced to the tag-team finals. The pay-per-view was called “Dead Bodies are Buried Under the Sakura” after all. I don’t remember him bringing this pack to my apartment in Seattle, but he must’ve kept it there for safe storage.
Well, after the falling out we had and his possible extinction from the planet, this was the sole “cherry blossom” left. I took it and put it in the box with all my goodies. I told Ben a few months back that if he were to look in that box, I would chop his testicles off, so I think it’s safe.
I chuckled and thought about the memories Mike and I once shared. We had a great friendship, but his dissent into madness changed it all. I laid down on my couch and fell asleep with a smile on my face.
Later that day, I woke up and saw Ben beginning to unpack some of the stuff. I quickly glanced at the box of goodies in case he looked in it.
Ben: Don’t worry Ante, I didn’t touch it.
Ante: How can I know for sure?
I quickly walked over to the box. I stealthily glance at Ben if he is curious to peer in.
Ben: I’m not looking Ante.
I quickly open to box. Twisty, check. Weed, check. Coke, check. Joint and blunt wrappers, check. Lighter, check. Bong, check. Cherry Blossom, check.
Ante: You’re safe, for now.
Ben: I told you many times before, I’ll never touch that thing as long as you and I live.
Ante: Good.
I take the box and move it to the my new bedroom. I placed it in the safe under my bed. No matter how much I despise Mike, I cannot let that cherry blossom go.
I made my way downtown to the bar. When I arrived, only a few customers were there, definitely a change from the last time I was here. The bar stools were cracked, almost all of the liquor was gone, and the TV’s weren’t working. It looked like a hurricane hit the place.
I had chills down my spine as I saw the floor crack beneath me. The boards were rotting and the unidentifiable, disgusting, smell plagued the entire bar. I whispered to myself:
Ante: What the hell has happened to this place?
: A lot of things Ante.
A figure stepped out from the shadow that was the backroom. Slicked-back red hair. Clean shaven. Dapper clothing. Cunning blue eyes. The guy means business.
Ante: Who are you?
: I’m James O’Malley, the owner of this establishment.
What the f*ck?
Ante: What?
James: You’re Ante Whitner, aren’t you?
Ante: Yeah. Where’s Ivy? What the f*ck happened to this place?
James moves towards me and puts his hands on my shoulders. He nods his head as he rubs his hands back and forth on my arm.
James: Sit down, let’s talk.
I shove him away. I hate when people touch me. By no means am I a germaphobe, but when people get up in my face, I get a little angry.
Ante: No “James.” I don’t wanna sit. I want to know where Ivy O’Malley is and why she isn’t here.
James sits down on the cracked barstool. He nods his head in disappointment.
James: Ivy is my sister Ante.
This was the assh*le she always talked about.
Ante: Okay, where the hell is she?
James: Aren’t you wondering what happened to the bar?
I slam my hand on the table. A crack forms underneath it.
Ante: I don’t give a sh*t about the bar. Where the f*ck is she?
James wipes his cheeks. I could’ve sworn I heard him sob.
James: Ivy is, uh...well, no one knows where she is.
Ante: What?
I sit down next to him.
James: It happened a few months ago. She was here running the place while my father was gone and she, just, left.
Ante: Where the hell did she go?
James: No one knows dipsh*t. It was my duty to protect her while father went back to Ireland. I failed.
He starts to sob. I reach over and pat his back. Suddenly, he snaps and pins my arm against the table and shoves my face onto a pile of broken glass. He starts to grit his teeth and spit at the back of my head.
James: Was that true or false? Answer.
I tried to restrain, but the man was strong as hell. Irishmen become monsters in pubs.
Ante: What the f*ck? Who the f*ck are you?
James: I’m your worst nightmare. You made a poor choice coming back here. You think you have the audacity to-
I ease enough strength to break free and pin him against the wall. All of the eyes in the bar were on us. No one tried to break it up. This was an authentic bar fight in the midst of noon.
Ante: Tell me what the f*ck you’re doing. Where the f*ck is she?
James begins to laugh. I press harder on his neck and spit at his face.
Ante: Do you know who you’re f*ckin’ with fire-crotch? I’m Ante f*ckin’ Whitner.
James: I’m James O’ f*ckin’ Malley. I own this place b*tch.
A pair of security guards pull me away from the dude. They hold me against the bar as James slowly walks towards me.
James: I know what you did in Seattle. I know what you do. I’m not letting Ivy take that path again.
Ante: What the f*ck do you mean?
I try to pull away, but they have me locked up tight. James leans down into my face and presses a pocket knife up against my cheek.
James: She was a drug addict before you met her. A total f*ckin’ trainwreck. My pop prepared a funeral for her at the age of eighteen. He was prepared to give a speech and everything. I got her the help she needed. She refused to go, but I made her.
Ante: I’ll never f*ckin’ hurt her James.
I spit at his face again. He slowly slices into the skin on my cheek. He laughs hysterically.
James: Oh, that’s the best joke I’ve heard all week, oh my god, hahaha!
He lifts the blade off my cheek. He drips the blood on the counter.
James: Eagle blood. I like it.
The gash stings. I yell in pain.
James: It stings, doesn’t it? Well, guess what, it stung me when I heard she was getting into drugs again. Daddy left us with a sh*t ton of money and a bar to run. She used all of the money for the dope while I ran this place. Get the story “Eagle?” Good.
Ante: Let me help her.
James: Let you, help her? Are you f*ckin’ mad? Oh, wait, you are. You’re a psychopath, just like me.
James backs away. He starts to twirl around his blade in laughter.
James: Ivy is gone. She’s a different person now, just like you. She’s addicted to the “good kush”, just like you. She’s borderline psychopathic, just like you.
I start to lick the dripping blood from my cheek. The guards strengthened their grip on my arms.
James: Maybe you were a perfect match. But, I’m much more smarter than you are Ante. There’s a reason why I’m in a thousand dollar suit, while you’re in an unsewn jacket, ripped jeans, and creased boots. I’m a manipulator, a f*ckin’ machine. Let him go boys.
I dropped to my knees as he picked my head up with the knife pressed to my throat.
James: Look at this ladies and gentlemen, the king bows before an Irishman. David has slain Goliath b*tch.
He kicked me in the gut and walked out of the bar. I slowly got up with my arm clutching my stomach and the few eyes staring at me. Bruised, bloodied, and broken.
As I stumble out of the door, I saw black laced boots. My eyes fade away before I can look up and see who it was.
My eyes flutter in and out of darkness as I see a red lava lamp. I was in a dark room, on a maroon king bed. I smelt the familiar scents of cocaine.
Ivy: Ante? Ante, are you up?
I pick my head up. I look to my left and there she was. Ivy O’Malley. I chuckled a little. She smiled back. Her face was paler and the bone structures of her face were visible. Her eyes were droopy and red. Her hair was more faint and withered. She was, indeed, different.
Ante: Ivy?
Ivy: Yes, yes it’s me. What did James do to you?
Ante: He cut me. He kicked me. He told me things.
Ivy: What did he tell you?
I felt tears quell in my eyes.
Ante: Nothing. He told me nothing.
Ivy: He told you I do drugs now, right?
I stuttered and hesitated, but it ultimately came out.
Ante: Yeah, but I don’t believe him. He is a douche, you were certainly right about that.
Ivy: Well Ante, you should. I do drugs, the hardcore sh*t too. He's right.
I lean up right next to her.
Ante: Why? You know that sh*t is dangerous.
Ivy: I wanted to be just like you. I wanted to free myself from this cruel world you and I were brought up into, just like you wanted to. You are a misfit and so am I.
She leans over and kisses me on the lips. It becomes more and more intimate as she takes off my shirt.
Ivy: I really missed you Ante. Don’t ever let go again.
She begins to unbutton my pants, but I push her away.
Ante: I can’t let you do these drugs. It’s just, f*ckin’ wrong. All of it.
She lifts her shirt off. Despite the frailness of her face, her body was still f*ckin’ rocking.
Ivy: No matter how much you’ll hate the thought of it, you will never escape. You have to embrace it.
She leans back onto me as she licks the open wound. She pulls down my pants and strokes the beast. The rest is just a story of fiery, passionate, sex.
I never forgot what she said to me. I always hated the thought of smoking dope and snorting coke with Mike, Donnie, and Sam. I went along with it ‘cause it was the cool thing to do. Peer pressure hits you like a f*ckin’ sixty year old bong.
I’ll never forget her face either. Her visage was reminiscent of death. Her pale skin reminded me of the apparitions I dreamed of in Seattle after long nights of binge drinking and snorting Mike’s coke. Her face was almost nostalgic. I wanted to go back to the Kyzer days. I wanted to share more moments with the God of F*ck himself.
I guess that means I’ll never truly grasp the life of a god slayer.
------------------
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
--------------
This was never a war for thrones or titles.
This war was meant for finding the inner behemoths beneath us and unleashing them in penultimate combat.
This war was for your liberation.
This war was for my salvation.
Now, this war is for the gold.
It always ends up with the gold. An earth resource so valued that men tremble before other men for it. How could a shiny f*ckin’ rock make such an impact on a planet where over half of the population is brain dead?
Well, that answers the question: everyone is brain dead.
Lucas Crowe is brain dead.
Justin Tyme is brain dead.
Even Ante Whitner is brain dead.
There are few humans on this Earth that have the capability to properly hold gold. One of them is Drakz, the man who has held the World title for over a year. And another, believe it or not, was Michael Kyzer.
He knew what it did and what it was going to do to us if we ever became tag-team champions. In a sense, I thank him for his concern. I still hope he is rotting in his grave at the moment.
But, Lucas, you and I are oblivious to the opportunity ahead of us. Unification? That doesn’t even begin to explain it all.
We are pioneers of the next generation of WFWF superstars. We are the first of our kind. We are f*ckin’ legends. Do you want this moment to be taken away?
Of course not. I don’t want it to be taken away either. But, one of us will be carrying the short end of the stick home. In some complicated sense, I’m finally glad you chose to face me.
Not only will I bring out the best of your natural skills, but we will fight to the death for both of our causes. Your oath. My oath. It’s our duty to keep it, right?
If you don’t break yours, I won’t break mine. It’s a dangerous game to play, but the honor of holding two prestigious titles hangs in the balance for one of us. Take the f*ckin’ gold Lucas. Do it by yourself. Prove your worth over me and that leech Justin Tyme. You let him talk enough, now showcase what he prophesied you to be.
Do your job, I’ll do mine. The longest-reigning king has awaken. The God Slayer has risen. The Bloodied Eagle has been resurrected. It’s a tough challenge, no doubt. But, are you willing to take yourself to the next level?
I know what I will do. I know what it takes. But, I’m not sure if you know how much it will take. It’s a daunting and exhausting war. Don’t let it end in a stalemate.
But, always keep in mind, it’s not what your heart desires, it’s what your mind craves. You want the gold, but in your head, you want me. Don’t let Justin Tyme decide that for you.
--------------
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-------------
Redemption.
One hero falls, another rises.
Reality.
The fallen hero must accept his fate. The new hero must validate his stake in the throne.
Rage.
The fallen must avenge while the new must defend.
---------------
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Rage Lucas, rage.
Chapter 3 of 3: Rage
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-----------------------
Fealty. Loyalty. Fidelity.
They all share the same definition: allegiance to another person. It is the subject’s sole purpose to defend their allied partner. They take a vow, a sworn oath. It is their duty to keep that oath.
Oathkeeper. Loyalist. Knight.
As an oathkeeper, it is the duty of protecting their oath, putting their life before the life of another’s. As a knight sworn to another man, the oathkeeper himself must relinquish all that he has accomplished. Any title, any vow, becomes null and void.
B*tch. Slave. Whore.
From relinquishing the titles, the oathkeeper is no longer a knight, but rather a more degrading and sinful part of human nature, depending on whom the oath is sworn to. The oathkeeper becomes a slave, a b*tch, or even a whore, of course with a fancy sword to play with.
Is the oathkeeper truly keeping their promise then? Or are they just slaves to the larger and darker cause?
There is no truth to any of it. It is only a cause the gods and kings know. No mortal man shall live to see the day this cause is unraveled, nor officially kept under secrecy. The cause has an uncertain future ahead of it.
By swearing the oath, it is your duty to defend its uncertainty, Lucas. You are not a champion anymore. You are a knight of this cause. Although you are one of the few who know of it, you are not the prophesied man who beholds it. Justin Tyme is that man.
In your journey to this knighthood, you befriended a man not unfamiliar with the terms of this cause. He was the champion of a different cause that I personally seek. He knows what this cause, but he thinks you don’t. You’re the one who holds the reins, not him.
You are not the oathkeeper. You are only mimicking it. You believe you are nothing but an accessory to a broken, disheveled man. He is not immortal, but you are and so am I. You know the cause, he doesn’t. Take the reins and become the king you sought to be.
The throne is yours.
-------------
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
--------------
Homecoming: Part Two
10/6/15
Miami, Florida
The moving truck rolled in early Tuesday morning. The new home was modest, simple, and not too over-the-top like the other one. I liked it much better. On the way there, Ben and I passed by the bar and the old house, which was still up for sale. Ben let out a heavy sigh when he saw that sign.
We slowly creeped up the stairs of the new apartment. From what I heard from the landlord, a lot of old folks live here, mainly because of its low price. I chose to go all the way to the top; the largest apartment. The stairs creaked loudly, letting out a screeching, echoing sound. I chuckled as we moved boxes up and down the stairs.
Four hours and over two hundred items later, I was officially settled in. Ben crashed on the bed after everything was in order and I soon began to unpack. The first thing I unpacked was the box of goodies. The weed, the coke, and my old pipe, Twisty. If Kyzer left any positive impact on my life, he knows the good sh*t to choose.
I unzipped one of the weed packs and loaded into ol’ Twisty. I stared out the window of the rising Miami sun. Pink, blue, red, and orange, all fused into one beautiful image. The weed made it that much better too. This was a new day, a fresh start.
I sat down on the couch I bought in Seattle. There were still some cum stains from Kyzer and his multiple nights of “slaying” Thai chicks. The days where he wasn’t such an assh*le. There was also some change, coke particles, and loose weed leaves. As I moved to the right side of the couch, I noticed a huge lump in the cushion.
I lifted the cushion up to see a pack of coke. It had a distinct reddish-pinkish color and had a note attached to it.
Ante,
Open it when the time is right. It’s the best sh*t out there.
-Mike
I picked it up and examined it. Yup, the good sh*t he always talked about. This was the pack of cocaine he had revered so preciously. But why the f*ck was it in my couch?
I remember the story of the “cherry blossom” quite well actually. Years ago, when he was in Japan, he bought a sh*t ton of coke packs that had this reddish color. The dealer called it “Sakura”, which roughly translates to “cherry blossom” in English. Mike told me he almost blew out the entire inventory he bought, whether it was late nights with a bunch of hookers or snorting it by himself or with Donnie.
He still had a few left when I met him, about five. He sold three of them to buy the Thai chicks and he was down to two. A few weeks into our relationship, he pulled out that marvelous thing. I refused to snort it, but when Mike got into it, he was off the roof. He was higher than Lucy in the Sky. It was f*ckin’ nuts.
He loved those “cherry blossoms.” I remember he planned to take it to Japan when he and I would have advanced to the tag-team finals. The pay-per-view was called “Dead Bodies are Buried Under the Sakura” after all. I don’t remember him bringing this pack to my apartment in Seattle, but he must’ve kept it there for safe storage.
Well, after the falling out we had and his possible extinction from the planet, this was the sole “cherry blossom” left. I took it and put it in the box with all my goodies. I told Ben a few months back that if he were to look in that box, I would chop his testicles off, so I think it’s safe.
I chuckled and thought about the memories Mike and I once shared. We had a great friendship, but his dissent into madness changed it all. I laid down on my couch and fell asleep with a smile on my face.
Later that day, I woke up and saw Ben beginning to unpack some of the stuff. I quickly glanced at the box of goodies in case he looked in it.
Ben: Don’t worry Ante, I didn’t touch it.
Ante: How can I know for sure?
I quickly walked over to the box. I stealthily glance at Ben if he is curious to peer in.
Ben: I’m not looking Ante.
I quickly open to box. Twisty, check. Weed, check. Coke, check. Joint and blunt wrappers, check. Lighter, check. Bong, check. Cherry Blossom, check.
Ante: You’re safe, for now.
Ben: I told you many times before, I’ll never touch that thing as long as you and I live.
Ante: Good.
I take the box and move it to the my new bedroom. I placed it in the safe under my bed. No matter how much I despise Mike, I cannot let that cherry blossom go.
I made my way downtown to the bar. When I arrived, only a few customers were there, definitely a change from the last time I was here. The bar stools were cracked, almost all of the liquor was gone, and the TV’s weren’t working. It looked like a hurricane hit the place.
I had chills down my spine as I saw the floor crack beneath me. The boards were rotting and the unidentifiable, disgusting, smell plagued the entire bar. I whispered to myself:
Ante: What the hell has happened to this place?
: A lot of things Ante.
A figure stepped out from the shadow that was the backroom. Slicked-back red hair. Clean shaven. Dapper clothing. Cunning blue eyes. The guy means business.
Ante: Who are you?
: I’m James O’Malley, the owner of this establishment.
What the f*ck?
Ante: What?
James: You’re Ante Whitner, aren’t you?
Ante: Yeah. Where’s Ivy? What the f*ck happened to this place?
James moves towards me and puts his hands on my shoulders. He nods his head as he rubs his hands back and forth on my arm.
James: Sit down, let’s talk.
I shove him away. I hate when people touch me. By no means am I a germaphobe, but when people get up in my face, I get a little angry.
Ante: No “James.” I don’t wanna sit. I want to know where Ivy O’Malley is and why she isn’t here.
James sits down on the cracked barstool. He nods his head in disappointment.
James: Ivy is my sister Ante.
This was the assh*le she always talked about.
Ante: Okay, where the hell is she?
James: Aren’t you wondering what happened to the bar?
I slam my hand on the table. A crack forms underneath it.
Ante: I don’t give a sh*t about the bar. Where the f*ck is she?
James wipes his cheeks. I could’ve sworn I heard him sob.
James: Ivy is, uh...well, no one knows where she is.
Ante: What?
I sit down next to him.
James: It happened a few months ago. She was here running the place while my father was gone and she, just, left.
Ante: Where the hell did she go?
James: No one knows dipsh*t. It was my duty to protect her while father went back to Ireland. I failed.
He starts to sob. I reach over and pat his back. Suddenly, he snaps and pins my arm against the table and shoves my face onto a pile of broken glass. He starts to grit his teeth and spit at the back of my head.
James: Was that true or false? Answer.
I tried to restrain, but the man was strong as hell. Irishmen become monsters in pubs.
Ante: What the f*ck? Who the f*ck are you?
James: I’m your worst nightmare. You made a poor choice coming back here. You think you have the audacity to-
I ease enough strength to break free and pin him against the wall. All of the eyes in the bar were on us. No one tried to break it up. This was an authentic bar fight in the midst of noon.
Ante: Tell me what the f*ck you’re doing. Where the f*ck is she?
James begins to laugh. I press harder on his neck and spit at his face.
Ante: Do you know who you’re f*ckin’ with fire-crotch? I’m Ante f*ckin’ Whitner.
James: I’m James O’ f*ckin’ Malley. I own this place b*tch.
A pair of security guards pull me away from the dude. They hold me against the bar as James slowly walks towards me.
James: I know what you did in Seattle. I know what you do. I’m not letting Ivy take that path again.
Ante: What the f*ck do you mean?
I try to pull away, but they have me locked up tight. James leans down into my face and presses a pocket knife up against my cheek.
James: She was a drug addict before you met her. A total f*ckin’ trainwreck. My pop prepared a funeral for her at the age of eighteen. He was prepared to give a speech and everything. I got her the help she needed. She refused to go, but I made her.
Ante: I’ll never f*ckin’ hurt her James.
I spit at his face again. He slowly slices into the skin on my cheek. He laughs hysterically.
James: Oh, that’s the best joke I’ve heard all week, oh my god, hahaha!
He lifts the blade off my cheek. He drips the blood on the counter.
James: Eagle blood. I like it.
The gash stings. I yell in pain.
James: It stings, doesn’t it? Well, guess what, it stung me when I heard she was getting into drugs again. Daddy left us with a sh*t ton of money and a bar to run. She used all of the money for the dope while I ran this place. Get the story “Eagle?” Good.
Ante: Let me help her.
James: Let you, help her? Are you f*ckin’ mad? Oh, wait, you are. You’re a psychopath, just like me.
James backs away. He starts to twirl around his blade in laughter.
James: Ivy is gone. She’s a different person now, just like you. She’s addicted to the “good kush”, just like you. She’s borderline psychopathic, just like you.
I start to lick the dripping blood from my cheek. The guards strengthened their grip on my arms.
James: Maybe you were a perfect match. But, I’m much more smarter than you are Ante. There’s a reason why I’m in a thousand dollar suit, while you’re in an unsewn jacket, ripped jeans, and creased boots. I’m a manipulator, a f*ckin’ machine. Let him go boys.
I dropped to my knees as he picked my head up with the knife pressed to my throat.
James: Look at this ladies and gentlemen, the king bows before an Irishman. David has slain Goliath b*tch.
He kicked me in the gut and walked out of the bar. I slowly got up with my arm clutching my stomach and the few eyes staring at me. Bruised, bloodied, and broken.
As I stumble out of the door, I saw black laced boots. My eyes fade away before I can look up and see who it was.
My eyes flutter in and out of darkness as I see a red lava lamp. I was in a dark room, on a maroon king bed. I smelt the familiar scents of cocaine.
Ivy: Ante? Ante, are you up?
I pick my head up. I look to my left and there she was. Ivy O’Malley. I chuckled a little. She smiled back. Her face was paler and the bone structures of her face were visible. Her eyes were droopy and red. Her hair was more faint and withered. She was, indeed, different.
Ante: Ivy?
Ivy: Yes, yes it’s me. What did James do to you?
Ante: He cut me. He kicked me. He told me things.
Ivy: What did he tell you?
I felt tears quell in my eyes.
Ante: Nothing. He told me nothing.
Ivy: He told you I do drugs now, right?
I stuttered and hesitated, but it ultimately came out.
Ante: Yeah, but I don’t believe him. He is a douche, you were certainly right about that.
Ivy: Well Ante, you should. I do drugs, the hardcore sh*t too. He's right.
I lean up right next to her.
Ante: Why? You know that sh*t is dangerous.
Ivy: I wanted to be just like you. I wanted to free myself from this cruel world you and I were brought up into, just like you wanted to. You are a misfit and so am I.
She leans over and kisses me on the lips. It becomes more and more intimate as she takes off my shirt.
Ivy: I really missed you Ante. Don’t ever let go again.
She begins to unbutton my pants, but I push her away.
Ante: I can’t let you do these drugs. It’s just, f*ckin’ wrong. All of it.
She lifts her shirt off. Despite the frailness of her face, her body was still f*ckin’ rocking.
Ivy: No matter how much you’ll hate the thought of it, you will never escape. You have to embrace it.
She leans back onto me as she licks the open wound. She pulls down my pants and strokes the beast. The rest is just a story of fiery, passionate, sex.
I never forgot what she said to me. I always hated the thought of smoking dope and snorting coke with Mike, Donnie, and Sam. I went along with it ‘cause it was the cool thing to do. Peer pressure hits you like a f*ckin’ sixty year old bong.
I’ll never forget her face either. Her visage was reminiscent of death. Her pale skin reminded me of the apparitions I dreamed of in Seattle after long nights of binge drinking and snorting Mike’s coke. Her face was almost nostalgic. I wanted to go back to the Kyzer days. I wanted to share more moments with the God of F*ck himself.
I guess that means I’ll never truly grasp the life of a god slayer.
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Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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This was never a war for thrones or titles.
This war was meant for finding the inner behemoths beneath us and unleashing them in penultimate combat.
This war was for your liberation.
This war was for my salvation.
Now, this war is for the gold.
It always ends up with the gold. An earth resource so valued that men tremble before other men for it. How could a shiny f*ckin’ rock make such an impact on a planet where over half of the population is brain dead?
Well, that answers the question: everyone is brain dead.
Lucas Crowe is brain dead.
Justin Tyme is brain dead.
Even Ante Whitner is brain dead.
There are few humans on this Earth that have the capability to properly hold gold. One of them is Drakz, the man who has held the World title for over a year. And another, believe it or not, was Michael Kyzer.
He knew what it did and what it was going to do to us if we ever became tag-team champions. In a sense, I thank him for his concern. I still hope he is rotting in his grave at the moment.
But, Lucas, you and I are oblivious to the opportunity ahead of us. Unification? That doesn’t even begin to explain it all.
We are pioneers of the next generation of WFWF superstars. We are the first of our kind. We are f*ckin’ legends. Do you want this moment to be taken away?
Of course not. I don’t want it to be taken away either. But, one of us will be carrying the short end of the stick home. In some complicated sense, I’m finally glad you chose to face me.
Not only will I bring out the best of your natural skills, but we will fight to the death for both of our causes. Your oath. My oath. It’s our duty to keep it, right?
If you don’t break yours, I won’t break mine. It’s a dangerous game to play, but the honor of holding two prestigious titles hangs in the balance for one of us. Take the f*ckin’ gold Lucas. Do it by yourself. Prove your worth over me and that leech Justin Tyme. You let him talk enough, now showcase what he prophesied you to be.
Do your job, I’ll do mine. The longest-reigning king has awaken. The God Slayer has risen. The Bloodied Eagle has been resurrected. It’s a tough challenge, no doubt. But, are you willing to take yourself to the next level?
I know what I will do. I know what it takes. But, I’m not sure if you know how much it will take. It’s a daunting and exhausting war. Don’t let it end in a stalemate.
But, always keep in mind, it’s not what your heart desires, it’s what your mind craves. You want the gold, but in your head, you want me. Don’t let Justin Tyme decide that for you.
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Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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Redemption.
One hero falls, another rises.
Reality.
The fallen hero must accept his fate. The new hero must validate his stake in the throne.
Rage.
The fallen must avenge while the new must defend.
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And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Rage Lucas, rage.