Post by bad guy™ on Mar 2, 2015 21:49:44 GMT -5
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Paradigm RP: The Stoned Messiah
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2-16-2015: Seattle, WA
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Ante Whitner: You know why Donnie wants out there? Can’t Tugarin just take care of any nonsense?
Samael Ahriman: We’re about to see a midget step into the ring with the crowned, ‘best fighter’ in the world. This entire match is nonsense.
Ante Whitner: Agreed, but it is Donnie. Still though, why not just Zmey?
Samael Ahriman: Cold feet, champ?
Ante Whitner: Hell no. I’ve just got other things I could be doing.
Small Man…(?) Voice: It’s all about the glory, Ante.
From around the corner comes an incredibly short man in what looks like a bathrobe. Surrounding him is his entourage…a bunch of midgets, a beer swigging rainbow pig loving lunatic and a giant, with a title in his hand.
DMK: I’m going go out there tonight and humiliate Drakz, the WFWF Chumpion.
MusclesGlasses: Clever.
DMK: Right? And after I take that fool out, the WFWF…nay, the world is going to see who the supreme beings of the universe are. We ARE the KKK. We ARE the best. This will NOT get
ed up. We WILL show them.DMK starts throwing lefts and rights at the air, his robe flying loosely around his shoulders and at the tail.
Ante Whitner: You ARE wearing something under that, right?
DMK: What are you trying to say?
Samael Ahriman: Ante’s just asking what we’re all thinking. And it isn’t pleasant.
DMK: I’m going to ignore that. It’s time to get this sh*t. When I win, you’re all getting crack or whores.
Samael Ahriman: Or?
DMK: Yes. Or. You guys ain’t doing sh*t. I’m the one putting the KKK on my f*cking back.
"Meanwhile…who’s the one with the title belt in this conversation?"
DMK: Oh, and Sam?
Samael Ahriman: Wassup?
DMK: Leave the katana, Butch.
"F*cking bunghole."
Samael Ahriman: Why?
DMK: The only weapons this group needs to teach that poor Welsh bastard a lesson are my dukes. I don’t want him to bitch that he was threatened that someone had a f*cking sword at their side.
Samael Ahriman: Yeah….I guess that’s the last thing we need right now.
Hesitantly, Samael pulls the scabbard from his sash and tucks it behind a production case in the hallway, shoving the case back against the sword and the wall.
DMK: Good. Now hop on my back, gentlemen. Tonight, we ride!
Production Guy: DMK, you’re up.
DMK: Strike, we ride NOW!
Some garbage music is playing on the overhead. The giant cluster of the group makes its way through the curtain onto the stage. It’s all dark, minus the faint cell phone lights from the fans.
"It feels weird coming out here for a match that isn’t my own."
The lights kick back on and the Midget Death Squad takes off down the ramp and some over the barricade, harassing the fans. Ante starts chuckling.
"I’ll give him that. It’s funny."
The bright, white LED lights start going nuts above the group as Donnie raises his tiny little arms into the tiny little air above his tiny little head. Zmey remains completely unphased under his mask. Ante winces a little bit under the glare. Sam shouts over the massive amount of boos.
Samael Ahriman: Welcome to the main event, Gangsta.
Tugarin, Muscles, Sam, Ante and the Midget of the Hour start making their way down the ramp with purpose behind their movement. Making sure not to walk faster than The Fearless Leader’s little legs can carry him, the group takes a little…heh…bit of time to get to the ring. DMK climbs the steps and pulls himself under the second rope. Tugarin simply lifts a boot and he is onto the apron and in. Ante slides under the bottom and Sam hops up and over. MusclesGlasses tries twice to get onto the apron from the floor but misses wildly, drunk as hell.
Samael Ahriman: Use the stairs, fool.
As the drunk gets into the ring, tripping over a member of the MDS while he’s at it, Donnie has already shown the world how ready he is for a fight, raising his arms into the air, a look of immense determination on his face. Ante steps over to Sam.
Ante Whitner: You think he’s going to go through with it?
Samael Ahriman: Little sh*t’s determined, I’ll give him that. You can do a lot when you’re determined.
Ante Whitner: Like beat the WFWF Champion?
"F*ck no."
Samael Ahriman: Guess we’ll see.
The KKK’s garbage music stops playing and a new kind of garbage music starts playing. Strobe lights that are putting Donnie’s to shame start acting out like they’re having an epileptic seizure. Donnie turns around, shouting against the reaction.
DMK: Alright you bunch of f*cking nobodies. Out of my ring.
Samael Ahriman: You gonna be ok until the bell?
DMK: Did I f*cking stutter? I said f*cking OUT!
Samael stares down DMK for a second, then over at Zmey, Muscles and Whitner.
Samael Ahriman: You heard him, men. March.
Sam hooks his arms under the top rope and flips backwards to the floor below. The rest of the KKK follows suit. By the time Drakz hits the ring, the large portion of the KKK has surrounded the top right corner on the outside. As Zmey begins to stray from the corner to the middle middle, and Christa starts speaking obscenities from a cue card, Sam leans against the top of the corner on the apron, Ante at the right. Sam has an incredibly concerned look on his face.
Ante Whitner: What’s on your mind?
Samael Ahriman: My sword.
Ante Whitner: Ain’t no one gonna jack your piece, man. You’re the tag team champion **Ante points under the rope to Sam’s waist** and no one’s gonna f*ck with a ninja anyways.
Samael Ahriman: I know that, you dingus. I’m just…
Ante Whitner: What?
"I’m naked without it. It’s the only sense of real power I have."
Samael Ahriman: I’m just thinking, what if sh*t goes down…I’m a tough sumbitch, but I know Drakz’s tendencies. He’s got some Obo Hobo sh*t in his mind, and I’m not about to go into battle against some flaming barbed wire sh*t without something that can’t cut deeper.
Ante Whitner: Isn’t your sword reverse bladed?
Ahriman gives Ante a coy smile.
Samael Ahriman: Not the flip side. And Drakz don’t gotta know that.
Both men come to rest completely against the apron.
Samael Ahriman: May sound stupid, I’ve just got a bad feeling that something’s going to happen. Donnie asked us out here to revel with him. I’m glad he did, for a different reason.
The lights go out.
Ante Whitner: **shouting** TRACE FORGET THE MOTHERF*CKING LIGHT BILL AGAIN? C…
Static. Sam scratches his head when light from the tron catches the corner of his eye.
"In Memory of Isaac Cray (Drakz)
01/29/82-11/10/2012"
01/29/82-11/10/2012"
Samael Ahriman: ANTE. THE TRON.
Ante Whitner: Huh?
A young Drakz is on the screen, winning the WFWF Championship. Some garbage A7X music is playing in the background of what is clearly a Drakz c*cksucking montage. Brennan, the prized possession of Epoch, winning Survival of the Fittest is shown, Samael spitting out of the corner of his mouth, the taste in his mouth sour.
"Drakz must be trying to get into the head of The Midget. Not too shabby, even if Brennan can f*ck off."
Then an all too familiar scene shows up on the screen. One burned into the mind of the Lost Samurai. Samael, dead in the ring with his former tag team partner Raider, also left close to death. On screen, Drakz is getting slaughtered, the now WFWF Champion being thrown off of the stage to the floor below. This moment cost Drakz more than a year of action.
But this is known to anyone who listens to Drakz drone on the stick. What is more interesting is the man who took out Drakz that fateful day.
A MUCH more recognizable garbage rock sock hits the PA system. Loud. Like, the PA system has the volume up to 11/10.
"It…no…"
NOW’S THE TIME, ARE YOU THE HUNTER OR THE HUNTED?
"Oh. My. God."
Ante Whitner: WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!
Samael Ahriman: IT’S KYZER. IT’S F*CKING MICHAEL KYZER.
The God of F*ck begins to make his way to the ring.
"…at last…my chance…it’s HERE. I’ve spent the better part of a year trying to track this f*cker down, and here he is coming to ME."
Samael starts to walk to the middle of the apron and he reaches down to his side to pull out his sword…
It’s gone.
"T…the hell where is it? Oh…OH F*CKING COME ON."
Sam, remembering how moronic DMK was, has nothing to do but stare. The time has arrived and now is quickly dissipating. As Kyzer gets closer, Sam takes a stutter step but freezes in place.
"I…I can’t. I have to. I can’t. F*cking Donnie. F*ck."
Ante Whitner: SAM! Tugarin.
Sam, frozen and temporarily blinded by rage takes mental note of Ante’s comment and scans for his tag team partner. Tugarin is now in the ring, lowering his stance for a charge.
Samael Ahriman: GET THE F*CK OUT OF THERE, DONNIE. TUGS. NO.
The Dragon destroys the WFWF Champion with a fire spitting boot.
Drakz’s collapse to the mat is unusually slow for Samael. He sees the champion falling to the mat, but he has absolute tunnel vision, focusing on nothing but the calm mug on that smug bastard’s face. As he goes, Samael’s vision starts spinning.
"Everything I’ve worked for. Everything I am. Everything I have become. It’s all lead to this moment. And the first person to strike a blow to the Epoch is my f*cking intellectually- disabled giant partner? But what the hell can I do now? I’ve got no apparent surprise right now. I’m a f*cking martial arts master and here I am, frozen in place with talentless hacks standing in my way and I can’t do anything. Why?"
Michael Kyzer: I have a present for you…
Kyzer says something else that misses Samael’s ear. He tucks something into Drakz’s bottoms. The Midget stares down Kyzer.
"The time has finally come…but sh*t if I don’t need to regroup first."
2-26-2015: Seattle, WA
Samael Ahriman: What the hell were you doing, bruddah? Were you just protecting Donnie? Drakz piss in your crack rocks?
Samael is standing outside of the Midget’s Lair, his back against the wall, perched under the awning. Sam takes a drag from his Pall Mall, watching the smoke disappear from his mouth into the thick, wet air. It’s Seattle, of course it’s raining. Some of the smoke blows back towards the building, and through an open window. Sam peeks his head through the window to see Tugarin Zmey sitting on a chair, facing the door in the room he is in.
Samael Ahriman: Why aren’t you talking, Tugs? I mean, you’re normally stone silent but I thought we’ve gotten to the point where I can at least get a grunt out of you to acknowledge my existence.
Still just sitting there. Sam takes another drag.
Samael Ahriman: Oh, I get it. You must be in time out. Master sent you to your room.
Samael leans in the window, the rain now pouring down his back. It’s freezing, chills going down Sam’s back.
Samael Ahriman: If it helps, I’m about to get my ass reamed by Donnie too.
He lowers his voice, looking back to his sides to make sure no one else is around.
Samael Ahriman: Hey. You’re a sick f*ck just like me, partner. Keep your ears open. If you hear screaming, it’s him, and I probably started chopping the little f*ck to bits.
Tugarin straightens his shoulders out.
Samael Ahriman: I’m gonna take that slight movement as you’re not gonna exactly intervene…immediately, anyways. I’ll take it, man.
Sam pats the wooden sill of the window and steps back under the awning, shaking the drops of rain off of his jacket as best as he can. He fails.
"I knew there was a storm coming."
The metal door under the next awning opens and a cracked up midget appears from within the sacred hall of sluts.
Midget: Da boss’ll see ya nahw.
Sam flicks the cigarette into the rained out alley as he turns to the door.
Samael Ahriman: Remember what I said. I’ll take it.
Ahriman starts walking towards the door, having to step into the open, uncovered rainstorm just pummeling this sh*t city. Sam ducks into the door and slams it shut behind him. Walking back towards the office, the midget knocks on the oak door. His voice comes from within.
DMK: Yeah.
The midget opens the door for Sam, ushering him in.
DMK: Did you search him?
Samael Ahriman: For being high as f*ck, they did a thorough job. Took my katana and found my wakizashi. I was impressed.
DMK: You check his boot?
Midget: Huh?
Sam laughs, stomping his right foot into the ground, a small knife appearing from the side of his boot. Sam catches the handle and points it at the door midget, who very carefully grabs the blade and stares.
Midget: It…it blended right in. How the f*ck…?
Samael Ahriman: I carry a f*cking katana in public. People don’t stop me because they either think I’m some otaku anime costumed freak or I’m really f*cked up.
DMK: You are.
Samael Ahriman: Which one?
DMK: You are.
Samael Ahriman: Fair point. So what makes you think I wouldn’t carry other things?
Midget: …do you have…anything….else?
Samael Ahriman: Wouldn’t you like to know?
DMK: I would.
Samael Ahriman: Fine.
Sam undoes a clip on his glove and pulls out a suntetsu, handing it over to the little guy.
DMK: Ok this is just getting ridiculous.
Samael Ahriman: And this is just my Tuesday attire.
DMK: Christ. Leave, minion.
The midget keeps a very vigilant eye on Sam as he closes the door veeeerrrrrrryyyyyyy sllllooooooowwwwwllllyyyyyy. Once there is a click, Sam walks towards the desk Donnie is sitting behind in his booster seat and takes a seat of his own across from The Midget.
DMK: You’re a walking ammo depot, you know that?
Samael Ahriman: If I didn’t already know you were going to ream me a new one for last show, I would say you almost sound impressed.
DMK: Who said I was gonna chew you out?
Samael Ahriman: What good reason do you have for calling me here?
DMK: To catch up.
Sam kicks his boots up onto The Midget’s desk, pulling his smokes out from the flap of his shirt.
Samael Ahriman: Mind if I light up?
DMK: I do, yes.
Ahriman slides his finger up the side of his lighter, snapping it back with just the power of his wrist, igniting the paper between his lips, puffing the smoke out in an O, completely encompassing the entirety of Donnie’s tiny head.
Samael Ahriman: Six five!
DMK: bunghole.
Samael Ahriman: That’s why you have me on your payroll. Now what did you really want from me?
DMK: Like I said, to talk.
Samael Ahriman: I’m a gambling man. Bluff called, shorty. I saw the solitary time out you’ve imposed on my partner. I’m not a fan of that, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you treat me or my partner that way.
DMK: Your partner? You know he’s under MY control. Right?
Samael Ahriman: Gimme a minute on YouTube. Your incessant reaction last week made TMZ, you know. Midget Gone Mad. Congrats, you’re famous.
DMK: F*ck you.
Samael Ahriman: And you’re famous off the back of Michael Kyzer. Three years after he leaves the WFWF, and some things never change, huh?
DMK sits in stone silence, staring with his beady eyes right through the soulless Ahriman.
Samael Ahriman: Did I touch a nerve?
DMK: I’m a little pissed. And don’t you make a crack about my word choice, homosexual.
Sam pulls his boots off the desk and puts his hands in his lap, sitting at attention.
Samael Ahriman: Alright, I’ll be serious then. Why?
DMK: Michael Kyzer f*cking ruined my night.
Samael Ahriman: Our night, asterisk.
DMK: It was my match, Sam. He interfered in my match.
Samael Ahriman: There’s not exactly love lost between me and ya boy Kyzer.
DMK: HE’S. NOT. MY. BOY.
Samael Ahriman: …like I said before you interrupted me, no love loss. The titles me and Tugarin hold once belonged to me and Raider till you and The New Epoch got involved in business that was of no concern to you. That derailed my career for almost two years, Donnie. Until I destroyed Kyle Matthews a few months ago, I saw the ring once in those two years.
DMK: Wadda ya want then? An apology? Because you’re not getting it.
Samael Ahriman: What I want are answers. This man, Michael Kyzer, ruined my career. He ripped my entire life to pieces by taking what I held dear, for even a short amount of time. And now, after all of this time, he’s back? Why now?
DMK: Why would I know?
Samael Ahriman: Because you’re smarter than you act.
DMK: I’m a godamn genius.
Samael Ahriman: Never said you were modest, though. SO what’s the deal with Michael Kyzer?
DMK: He’s a prick who does what he wants when he wants.
Samael Ahriman: Sounds familiar.
DMK: Don’t act like you haven’t taken advantage of your status in this group. Ryan still doesn’t trust you. In fact, I think the only person who trusts you fully is Muscles, and he’s always piss ass drunk anyways. His judgment doesn’t count.
Samael Ahriman: I have more pull within your organization than you think.
The Midget leans forward in his chair, resting his stubs on the top of the desk.
DMK: I’m not blind. I’m charismatic beyond compare, a God amongst meatbags, but I know my ability to tell sh*t like it is doesn’t always quite go over well with guys like you and Ante, men with at least half of a brain. Only half, mind you…but still. You treat me like I’m some kind of pea-brained sack of sh*t. I’m your boss, and I own you. I don’t have to deal with your insubordination if I don’t want to. But I choose to because you’re one hell of a liar who can’t be read as easy as everyone else.
Samael Ahriman: That may be the nicest thing you’ve said to me since you complimented on my pissing on virgins skills.
DMK: Sam, why exactly did you join the KKK?
Samael Ahriman: Titles. Lots and lots of titles. I could care less if I get them tainted with your name was my manager. I want my name in the record books, and to be remembered as the mother*cker who took this place by storm.
DMK: What else?
Samael Ahriman: I’m no saint. I like putting people who think themselves above me in their place.
DMK: Doesn’t that make you one of them, then?
Samael Ahriman: With me it’s just a straight up fact.
DMK: So what do you want, Sam?
Samael Ahriman: Tell me a bit about your old associate.
DMK: Why all the interest in the man who f*cked me out of a glorious win for the KKK?
Samael Ahriman: I’ve got a bone to pick with your former comrade.
DMK sits back in his chair, exhaling.
DMK: I’m not getting you out of here without a serviceable explanation, am I?
Samael Ahriman: You called ME here.
Donnie flattens his little lips on his little face and nods. Samael leans in, eager for something to go on.
DMK: What do you know about his history?
Samael Ahriman: Well his lack of professionalism precedes him. Pretty sure you can even say that.
DMK: I mean his personal life.
Samael Ahriman: Not much. Just because I was the color guy, doesn’t mean I ever bothered learning all there was to learn about guys on the roster. I know him and Drakz are tight. Or, were. Obviously you two were engaged in some kind of…illicit behavior. Other than that, I don’t know anything but what I’ve seen on TV.
DMK: Yeah. We got into some sh*t.
Donnie readjusts.
DMK: But that’s family, ain’t it?
"The hell?"
Samael Ahriman: Family? You one of those ‘I ain’t got friends, I got family’ guys or something?
DMK: Nah, man. I’m actually related to the guy.
Samael Ahriman: …how on earth could…that…be related to…this?
DMK: Relax, tiger. It wasn’t by blood. He married my sister.
Samael Ahriman: Kyzer had a midget fetish?
DMK: No you f*cking bunghole Ashley’s not a midget. It’s people like you that cause the midget community to gather and plot the downfall of normal civilization.
Samael Ahriman: Gotta be one small gathering.
At this point in time, it should be pointed out that in Sam’s imagination, Donnie pulls a Peter Dinklage from Elf and jumps up onto his desk and starts beating the living hell out of Sam. Poor Buddy never stood a chance. Sam, on the other hand powerbombed Donnie through his hard oak table, the only thing relatable to Donnie that can get hard without pills.
Now, back into reality land:
DMK: Clever.
"For some reason, I’m disappointed."
DMK: Kyzer’s got an infectious personality. What you see on the screen, the absolute scumbag? That’s only part of it. He’s damn cunning when he wants to be. He can actually solve problems without violence…he just chooses not to. Case and point him f*cking up my match against Drakz.
Samael Ahriman: So what you’re telling me is Kyzer’s related to the Jew Drakz has to fight?
DMK: He’s a man whore. He could have sired The Jew. But Schneider is just a cheap ripoff of Michael Kyzer. And Michael Kyzer is just a cheaper ripoff of Donnie Kent.
Samael Ahriman: Are you trying to tell me you’re responsible for Kyzer?
DMK: Let’s just say when Mike and Ashley got divorced, I stuck with Kyzer instead of my own sister.
Samael Ahriman: Why would you choose water over blood?
DMK: Kyzer needed my drugs. Figured might as well roll with it. I used him, but I knew he was destined for big things. Mutual benefit.
"Or he used you for your drugs and business acumen."
Samael Ahriman: So what does that all shape up to today? Why was he there last week?
DMK: Hell if I know. Wasn’t amusing, though.
"Someone’s bitter."
Samael Ahriman: He give any hint as to why he even left in the first place? Why he screwed Raider, Drakz and more important to me, myself?
DMK turns stone, his eyes piercing though Samael’s cold soul.
DMK: What’s with the third degree? The guy wanted to show the world that he was back, and he picked a piss poor time to do it. It’s just another problem I have to contend with.
Samael Ahriman: This is as much my problem as it is yours, Donnie. I’m a card carrying member of the KoKaine Konspiracy. Whether you, the suit, the drunk, the drunken midgets or the kid believe me or not, I’ve got sh*t to do that trumps your comprehension.
DMK: Your point?
Samael Ahriman: Whatever’s about to go down, this sh*tstorm you’ve either willingly or unknowingly gotten us into?
Sam gets to his feet, leaving over the desk at Donnie, blowing the last puff of smoke from his cigarette into Donnie’s face.
Samael Ahriman: I’m with you. Till the end.
Sam knocks on the desk quick, giving a quick smile as he walks out of the office before Donnie could even say anything positive, or negative, in response. Sam grabs his gear from the table on the outside of the door, sliding his knife into his boot, the sunketsu into his glove, strapping his wakizashi to his back and his scabbard to his waist.
Opening the door to the outside, the rain has gotten heavier. Sam steps onto the welcome mat, his boot sinking into the thistle, his outfit still drenched. He steps out from under the awning and looks up into the rain, thunder and lightning roaring above, the water further soaking him. He opens his mouth, allowing the rain to be drunk in. He smiles, putting his hands on his hips, pruning his fingers and seeping through his glove. A slight laugh resonates.
"Chrissake, I’m all wet."
Sam kicks the ground slightly, letting out another chuckle, as he now walks in the rain towards civilization.
I said I was going to retain my championship. I said there was no way the lunatic and his golden child would be able to beat me and Tugarin. I f*cking told all of you.
The WFWF looks at me and Tugarin and they see weakness. Forget that I’ve lost three matches in seven years. Forget that Tugarin has never lost. Forget that I am the most accomplished fighter in the history of this hell hole. Forget that Tugarin Zmey is the Grand, Powerful Dragon of the KKK and the WFWF.
F*cking gay non believers, get f*cked. We are the KKK, and we are white hot power.
Hollywood Unhinged is dead. We killed them, and the WFWF will be a better place without them. Maybe the world, if they finally throw Chase into the looney bin and Demon takes his revenge against his old foe and puts Garrett out on the unemployment line like his gilded self deserves.
So what’s next? Me, Samael Ahriman, the man who almost singlehandedly rid the WFWF of Cameron Stone from the SOS, Kyle Matthews from Final Revolution and Chase Landon and Jayson Garrett of Unhinged…the biggest obstacles in my path, and in the path of the KKK,has eliminated them all. So what do I get next?
A shot against the WFWF Champion? Nah. Midget gets that.
A shot against the International Champion? Nah. Punk ass Canadian doesn’t even have to wrestle this show, c*cksucker.
A shot against the National Champion? Nah. In-fighting with the KKK would be terrible at this point; and of the few people I respect Ante is among them…but if I know him as well as I think, he’d love to have a chance at another one up on me.
But no. I don’t get to face a champion like I have earned and deserve. I get to face a champion…’s number one contender.
Wait, what?
Which contender, then? Phillip Schneider? Nah. Demon can’t let me beat the Jew and diminish the WFWF Championship match upcoming.
Joe Bishop? Nah. Demon can’t let me beat his right hand jackoff.
Nikki Dean? Nah. C*nt’s too busy getting a train run courtesy of the SOS. That’s my guess as to where she disappeared to, anyways. Someone has to help the SOS get their rocks off every week so we can hear more about how they’re ‘the greatest team of all time.’ And ‘how much good they’re doing for the WFWF.’ What a load of sh*t.
No. I have to face XWA reject ‘Diamond’ Jack Sabbath.
Two things:
1.) I’ve been manipulating Malakai since day one and that fact that he and I both despise anything with XWA stank on them…it’s telling how bad that they really are.
2.) What the hell is it with the WFWF and putting me against people with dank ass nicknames? ‘Golden Boy.’ ‘Diamond.’ Precious metal. Precious stone. Worth absolutely nothing.
There’s very little I know about Sabbath. He thinks this company is sick. He thinks we need healing. He thinks he is the master of professional wrestling, or that he’s some kind of backwards doctor or something. But the question is: Who the f*ck does he think he is?
Well, he means nothing to me. I’ll go out there. I’ll win. If he lasts long enough for me to gather any kind of info on him, I’ll relay it to Ante…because when I finally get a shot at that title, I want it to be against him so I get the title and revenge…so I’ll see what I can do. But I will not run. And I will not keep holy the Sabbath. I will desecrate him.
Besides, I’ve got more important things on my mind. Like Michael Kyzer.
I’ve spent almost a year trying to get as close to Donnie as possible in order to dig out where Kyzer was hiding. What’s better than all of the titles? Beating Kyzer.
So there was my opportunity. Kyzer. Vulnerable. Donnie, Tugarin, Ante, Muscles and the entire Midget Death Squad were all out there and outnumbering Kyzer 20-1. Odds not even God could overcome. But I couldn’t step into the ring.
I had no idea why I couldn’t take that next step.
I thought it was cowardice.
After talking to Donnie, I’ve discovered what it is.
I’ve spent all of this time trying to find ways to sabotage the KoKaine Konspiracy and to bury Michael Kyzer in the same grave Malakai’s going to wind up in…but I’ve never bothered trying to get to know Kyzer.
I’m no drug addict. I’m no alcoholic. But I do have two addictions.
I pride myself on my fighting skill and my ability to manipulate…but when you whittle it all down, I just get off on lying and hurting. Lying to myself or others, hurting myself or others…it means nothing to me but a way to make my engine going.
And I told the biggest lie possible to Donnie. Poor guy thinks I’m on his side. I showed my cards enough to get information out of him, but even I didn’t know how far out there I was until my little chat with the Midget. So I guess I owe him a thank you when I put him under.
Clearly there is an issue between Donnie and Kyzer. Therefore I cannot side with Donnie. I never thought I could have sided with Kyzer. What’s a mob to this king?
And what’s this king to a God?
I thought of myself, on this mission, as the Harbinger of Hell.
Never have I been so wrong in my life. DMK brought me to this life changing realization. I cannot fight Kyzer and look at him as an enemy for he is my kindred spirit.
I am not the TRUE Harbinger. Kyzer is.
Kyzer is the living, breathing epitome of the lack of morals and ethics that I live by. Michael Kyzer is not my key to destruction. He is my key to damnation salvation.
Michael Kyzer. The God of F*ck.
Michael Kyzer. The Second Coming.
Michael Kyzer.
My Stoned Messiah.
Ante Whitner: WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!
Samael Ahriman: IT’S KYZER. IT’S F*CKING MICHAEL KYZER.
The God of F*ck begins to make his way to the ring.
"…at last…my chance…it’s HERE. I’ve spent the better part of a year trying to track this f*cker down, and here he is coming to ME."
Samael starts to walk to the middle of the apron and he reaches down to his side to pull out his sword…
It’s gone.
"T…the hell where is it? Oh…OH F*CKING COME ON."
Sam, remembering how moronic DMK was, has nothing to do but stare. The time has arrived and now is quickly dissipating. As Kyzer gets closer, Sam takes a stutter step but freezes in place.
"I…I can’t. I have to. I can’t. F*cking Donnie. F*ck."
Ante Whitner: SAM! Tugarin.
Sam, frozen and temporarily blinded by rage takes mental note of Ante’s comment and scans for his tag team partner. Tugarin is now in the ring, lowering his stance for a charge.
Samael Ahriman: GET THE F*CK OUT OF THERE, DONNIE. TUGS. NO.
The Dragon destroys the WFWF Champion with a fire spitting boot.
Drakz’s collapse to the mat is unusually slow for Samael. He sees the champion falling to the mat, but he has absolute tunnel vision, focusing on nothing but the calm mug on that smug bastard’s face. As he goes, Samael’s vision starts spinning.
"Everything I’ve worked for. Everything I am. Everything I have become. It’s all lead to this moment. And the first person to strike a blow to the Epoch is my f*cking intellectually- disabled giant partner? But what the hell can I do now? I’ve got no apparent surprise right now. I’m a f*cking martial arts master and here I am, frozen in place with talentless hacks standing in my way and I can’t do anything. Why?"
Michael Kyzer: I have a present for you…
Kyzer says something else that misses Samael’s ear. He tucks something into Drakz’s bottoms. The Midget stares down Kyzer.
"The time has finally come…but sh*t if I don’t need to regroup first."
__
2-26-2015: Seattle, WA
__
Samael Ahriman: What the hell were you doing, bruddah? Were you just protecting Donnie? Drakz piss in your crack rocks?
Samael is standing outside of the Midget’s Lair, his back against the wall, perched under the awning. Sam takes a drag from his Pall Mall, watching the smoke disappear from his mouth into the thick, wet air. It’s Seattle, of course it’s raining. Some of the smoke blows back towards the building, and through an open window. Sam peeks his head through the window to see Tugarin Zmey sitting on a chair, facing the door in the room he is in.
Samael Ahriman: Why aren’t you talking, Tugs? I mean, you’re normally stone silent but I thought we’ve gotten to the point where I can at least get a grunt out of you to acknowledge my existence.
Still just sitting there. Sam takes another drag.
Samael Ahriman: Oh, I get it. You must be in time out. Master sent you to your room.
Samael leans in the window, the rain now pouring down his back. It’s freezing, chills going down Sam’s back.
Samael Ahriman: If it helps, I’m about to get my ass reamed by Donnie too.
He lowers his voice, looking back to his sides to make sure no one else is around.
Samael Ahriman: Hey. You’re a sick f*ck just like me, partner. Keep your ears open. If you hear screaming, it’s him, and I probably started chopping the little f*ck to bits.
Tugarin straightens his shoulders out.
Samael Ahriman: I’m gonna take that slight movement as you’re not gonna exactly intervene…immediately, anyways. I’ll take it, man.
Sam pats the wooden sill of the window and steps back under the awning, shaking the drops of rain off of his jacket as best as he can. He fails.
"I knew there was a storm coming."
The metal door under the next awning opens and a cracked up midget appears from within the sacred hall of sluts.
Midget: Da boss’ll see ya nahw.
Sam flicks the cigarette into the rained out alley as he turns to the door.
Samael Ahriman: Remember what I said. I’ll take it.
Ahriman starts walking towards the door, having to step into the open, uncovered rainstorm just pummeling this sh*t city. Sam ducks into the door and slams it shut behind him. Walking back towards the office, the midget knocks on the oak door. His voice comes from within.
DMK: Yeah.
The midget opens the door for Sam, ushering him in.
DMK: Did you search him?
Samael Ahriman: For being high as f*ck, they did a thorough job. Took my katana and found my wakizashi. I was impressed.
DMK: You check his boot?
Midget: Huh?
Sam laughs, stomping his right foot into the ground, a small knife appearing from the side of his boot. Sam catches the handle and points it at the door midget, who very carefully grabs the blade and stares.
Midget: It…it blended right in. How the f*ck…?
Samael Ahriman: I carry a f*cking katana in public. People don’t stop me because they either think I’m some otaku anime costumed freak or I’m really f*cked up.
DMK: You are.
Samael Ahriman: Which one?
DMK: You are.
Samael Ahriman: Fair point. So what makes you think I wouldn’t carry other things?
Midget: …do you have…anything….else?
Samael Ahriman: Wouldn’t you like to know?
DMK: I would.
Samael Ahriman: Fine.
Sam undoes a clip on his glove and pulls out a suntetsu, handing it over to the little guy.
DMK: Ok this is just getting ridiculous.
Samael Ahriman: And this is just my Tuesday attire.
DMK: Christ. Leave, minion.
The midget keeps a very vigilant eye on Sam as he closes the door veeeerrrrrrryyyyyyy sllllooooooowwwwwllllyyyyyy. Once there is a click, Sam walks towards the desk Donnie is sitting behind in his booster seat and takes a seat of his own across from The Midget.
DMK: You’re a walking ammo depot, you know that?
Samael Ahriman: If I didn’t already know you were going to ream me a new one for last show, I would say you almost sound impressed.
DMK: Who said I was gonna chew you out?
Samael Ahriman: What good reason do you have for calling me here?
DMK: To catch up.
Sam kicks his boots up onto The Midget’s desk, pulling his smokes out from the flap of his shirt.
Samael Ahriman: Mind if I light up?
DMK: I do, yes.
Ahriman slides his finger up the side of his lighter, snapping it back with just the power of his wrist, igniting the paper between his lips, puffing the smoke out in an O, completely encompassing the entirety of Donnie’s tiny head.
Samael Ahriman: Six five!
DMK: bunghole.
Samael Ahriman: That’s why you have me on your payroll. Now what did you really want from me?
DMK: Like I said, to talk.
Samael Ahriman: I’m a gambling man. Bluff called, shorty. I saw the solitary time out you’ve imposed on my partner. I’m not a fan of that, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you treat me or my partner that way.
DMK: Your partner? You know he’s under MY control. Right?
Samael Ahriman: Gimme a minute on YouTube. Your incessant reaction last week made TMZ, you know. Midget Gone Mad. Congrats, you’re famous.
DMK: F*ck you.
Samael Ahriman: And you’re famous off the back of Michael Kyzer. Three years after he leaves the WFWF, and some things never change, huh?
DMK sits in stone silence, staring with his beady eyes right through the soulless Ahriman.
Samael Ahriman: Did I touch a nerve?
DMK: I’m a little pissed. And don’t you make a crack about my word choice, homosexual.
Sam pulls his boots off the desk and puts his hands in his lap, sitting at attention.
Samael Ahriman: Alright, I’ll be serious then. Why?
DMK: Michael Kyzer f*cking ruined my night.
Samael Ahriman: Our night, asterisk.
DMK: It was my match, Sam. He interfered in my match.
Samael Ahriman: There’s not exactly love lost between me and ya boy Kyzer.
DMK: HE’S. NOT. MY. BOY.
Samael Ahriman: …like I said before you interrupted me, no love loss. The titles me and Tugarin hold once belonged to me and Raider till you and The New Epoch got involved in business that was of no concern to you. That derailed my career for almost two years, Donnie. Until I destroyed Kyle Matthews a few months ago, I saw the ring once in those two years.
DMK: Wadda ya want then? An apology? Because you’re not getting it.
Samael Ahriman: What I want are answers. This man, Michael Kyzer, ruined my career. He ripped my entire life to pieces by taking what I held dear, for even a short amount of time. And now, after all of this time, he’s back? Why now?
DMK: Why would I know?
Samael Ahriman: Because you’re smarter than you act.
DMK: I’m a godamn genius.
Samael Ahriman: Never said you were modest, though. SO what’s the deal with Michael Kyzer?
DMK: He’s a prick who does what he wants when he wants.
Samael Ahriman: Sounds familiar.
DMK: Don’t act like you haven’t taken advantage of your status in this group. Ryan still doesn’t trust you. In fact, I think the only person who trusts you fully is Muscles, and he’s always piss ass drunk anyways. His judgment doesn’t count.
Samael Ahriman: I have more pull within your organization than you think.
The Midget leans forward in his chair, resting his stubs on the top of the desk.
DMK: I’m not blind. I’m charismatic beyond compare, a God amongst meatbags, but I know my ability to tell sh*t like it is doesn’t always quite go over well with guys like you and Ante, men with at least half of a brain. Only half, mind you…but still. You treat me like I’m some kind of pea-brained sack of sh*t. I’m your boss, and I own you. I don’t have to deal with your insubordination if I don’t want to. But I choose to because you’re one hell of a liar who can’t be read as easy as everyone else.
Samael Ahriman: That may be the nicest thing you’ve said to me since you complimented on my pissing on virgins skills.
DMK: Sam, why exactly did you join the KKK?
Samael Ahriman: Titles. Lots and lots of titles. I could care less if I get them tainted with your name was my manager. I want my name in the record books, and to be remembered as the mother*cker who took this place by storm.
DMK: What else?
Samael Ahriman: I’m no saint. I like putting people who think themselves above me in their place.
DMK: Doesn’t that make you one of them, then?
Samael Ahriman: With me it’s just a straight up fact.
DMK: So what do you want, Sam?
Samael Ahriman: Tell me a bit about your old associate.
DMK: Why all the interest in the man who f*cked me out of a glorious win for the KKK?
Samael Ahriman: I’ve got a bone to pick with your former comrade.
DMK sits back in his chair, exhaling.
DMK: I’m not getting you out of here without a serviceable explanation, am I?
Samael Ahriman: You called ME here.
Donnie flattens his little lips on his little face and nods. Samael leans in, eager for something to go on.
DMK: What do you know about his history?
Samael Ahriman: Well his lack of professionalism precedes him. Pretty sure you can even say that.
DMK: I mean his personal life.
Samael Ahriman: Not much. Just because I was the color guy, doesn’t mean I ever bothered learning all there was to learn about guys on the roster. I know him and Drakz are tight. Or, were. Obviously you two were engaged in some kind of…illicit behavior. Other than that, I don’t know anything but what I’ve seen on TV.
DMK: Yeah. We got into some sh*t.
Donnie readjusts.
DMK: But that’s family, ain’t it?
"The hell?"
Samael Ahriman: Family? You one of those ‘I ain’t got friends, I got family’ guys or something?
DMK: Nah, man. I’m actually related to the guy.
Samael Ahriman: …how on earth could…that…be related to…this?
DMK: Relax, tiger. It wasn’t by blood. He married my sister.
Samael Ahriman: Kyzer had a midget fetish?
DMK: No you f*cking bunghole Ashley’s not a midget. It’s people like you that cause the midget community to gather and plot the downfall of normal civilization.
Samael Ahriman: Gotta be one small gathering.
At this point in time, it should be pointed out that in Sam’s imagination, Donnie pulls a Peter Dinklage from Elf and jumps up onto his desk and starts beating the living hell out of Sam. Poor Buddy never stood a chance. Sam, on the other hand powerbombed Donnie through his hard oak table, the only thing relatable to Donnie that can get hard without pills.
Now, back into reality land:
DMK: Clever.
"For some reason, I’m disappointed."
DMK: Kyzer’s got an infectious personality. What you see on the screen, the absolute scumbag? That’s only part of it. He’s damn cunning when he wants to be. He can actually solve problems without violence…he just chooses not to. Case and point him f*cking up my match against Drakz.
Samael Ahriman: So what you’re telling me is Kyzer’s related to the Jew Drakz has to fight?
DMK: He’s a man whore. He could have sired The Jew. But Schneider is just a cheap ripoff of Michael Kyzer. And Michael Kyzer is just a cheaper ripoff of Donnie Kent.
Samael Ahriman: Are you trying to tell me you’re responsible for Kyzer?
DMK: Let’s just say when Mike and Ashley got divorced, I stuck with Kyzer instead of my own sister.
Samael Ahriman: Why would you choose water over blood?
DMK: Kyzer needed my drugs. Figured might as well roll with it. I used him, but I knew he was destined for big things. Mutual benefit.
"Or he used you for your drugs and business acumen."
Samael Ahriman: So what does that all shape up to today? Why was he there last week?
DMK: Hell if I know. Wasn’t amusing, though.
"Someone’s bitter."
Samael Ahriman: He give any hint as to why he even left in the first place? Why he screwed Raider, Drakz and more important to me, myself?
DMK turns stone, his eyes piercing though Samael’s cold soul.
DMK: What’s with the third degree? The guy wanted to show the world that he was back, and he picked a piss poor time to do it. It’s just another problem I have to contend with.
Samael Ahriman: This is as much my problem as it is yours, Donnie. I’m a card carrying member of the KoKaine Konspiracy. Whether you, the suit, the drunk, the drunken midgets or the kid believe me or not, I’ve got sh*t to do that trumps your comprehension.
DMK: Your point?
Samael Ahriman: Whatever’s about to go down, this sh*tstorm you’ve either willingly or unknowingly gotten us into?
Sam gets to his feet, leaving over the desk at Donnie, blowing the last puff of smoke from his cigarette into Donnie’s face.
Samael Ahriman: I’m with you. Till the end.
Sam knocks on the desk quick, giving a quick smile as he walks out of the office before Donnie could even say anything positive, or negative, in response. Sam grabs his gear from the table on the outside of the door, sliding his knife into his boot, the sunketsu into his glove, strapping his wakizashi to his back and his scabbard to his waist.
Opening the door to the outside, the rain has gotten heavier. Sam steps onto the welcome mat, his boot sinking into the thistle, his outfit still drenched. He steps out from under the awning and looks up into the rain, thunder and lightning roaring above, the water further soaking him. He opens his mouth, allowing the rain to be drunk in. He smiles, putting his hands on his hips, pruning his fingers and seeping through his glove. A slight laugh resonates.
"Chrissake, I’m all wet."
Sam kicks the ground slightly, letting out another chuckle, as he now walks in the rain towards civilization.
__
I said I was going to retain my championship. I said there was no way the lunatic and his golden child would be able to beat me and Tugarin. I f*cking told all of you.
The WFWF looks at me and Tugarin and they see weakness. Forget that I’ve lost three matches in seven years. Forget that Tugarin has never lost. Forget that I am the most accomplished fighter in the history of this hell hole. Forget that Tugarin Zmey is the Grand, Powerful Dragon of the KKK and the WFWF.
F*cking gay non believers, get f*cked. We are the KKK, and we are white hot power.
Hollywood Unhinged is dead. We killed them, and the WFWF will be a better place without them. Maybe the world, if they finally throw Chase into the looney bin and Demon takes his revenge against his old foe and puts Garrett out on the unemployment line like his gilded self deserves.
So what’s next? Me, Samael Ahriman, the man who almost singlehandedly rid the WFWF of Cameron Stone from the SOS, Kyle Matthews from Final Revolution and Chase Landon and Jayson Garrett of Unhinged…the biggest obstacles in my path, and in the path of the KKK,has eliminated them all. So what do I get next?
A shot against the WFWF Champion? Nah. Midget gets that.
A shot against the International Champion? Nah. Punk ass Canadian doesn’t even have to wrestle this show, c*cksucker.
A shot against the National Champion? Nah. In-fighting with the KKK would be terrible at this point; and of the few people I respect Ante is among them…but if I know him as well as I think, he’d love to have a chance at another one up on me.
But no. I don’t get to face a champion like I have earned and deserve. I get to face a champion…’s number one contender.
Wait, what?
Which contender, then? Phillip Schneider? Nah. Demon can’t let me beat the Jew and diminish the WFWF Championship match upcoming.
Joe Bishop? Nah. Demon can’t let me beat his right hand jackoff.
Nikki Dean? Nah. C*nt’s too busy getting a train run courtesy of the SOS. That’s my guess as to where she disappeared to, anyways. Someone has to help the SOS get their rocks off every week so we can hear more about how they’re ‘the greatest team of all time.’ And ‘how much good they’re doing for the WFWF.’ What a load of sh*t.
No. I have to face XWA reject ‘Diamond’ Jack Sabbath.
Two things:
1.) I’ve been manipulating Malakai since day one and that fact that he and I both despise anything with XWA stank on them…it’s telling how bad that they really are.
2.) What the hell is it with the WFWF and putting me against people with dank ass nicknames? ‘Golden Boy.’ ‘Diamond.’ Precious metal. Precious stone. Worth absolutely nothing.
There’s very little I know about Sabbath. He thinks this company is sick. He thinks we need healing. He thinks he is the master of professional wrestling, or that he’s some kind of backwards doctor or something. But the question is: Who the f*ck does he think he is?
Well, he means nothing to me. I’ll go out there. I’ll win. If he lasts long enough for me to gather any kind of info on him, I’ll relay it to Ante…because when I finally get a shot at that title, I want it to be against him so I get the title and revenge…so I’ll see what I can do. But I will not run. And I will not keep holy the Sabbath. I will desecrate him.
Besides, I’ve got more important things on my mind. Like Michael Kyzer.
I’ve spent almost a year trying to get as close to Donnie as possible in order to dig out where Kyzer was hiding. What’s better than all of the titles? Beating Kyzer.
So there was my opportunity. Kyzer. Vulnerable. Donnie, Tugarin, Ante, Muscles and the entire Midget Death Squad were all out there and outnumbering Kyzer 20-1. Odds not even God could overcome. But I couldn’t step into the ring.
I had no idea why I couldn’t take that next step.
I thought it was cowardice.
After talking to Donnie, I’ve discovered what it is.
I’ve spent all of this time trying to find ways to sabotage the KoKaine Konspiracy and to bury Michael Kyzer in the same grave Malakai’s going to wind up in…but I’ve never bothered trying to get to know Kyzer.
I’m no drug addict. I’m no alcoholic. But I do have two addictions.
I pride myself on my fighting skill and my ability to manipulate…but when you whittle it all down, I just get off on lying and hurting. Lying to myself or others, hurting myself or others…it means nothing to me but a way to make my engine going.
And I told the biggest lie possible to Donnie. Poor guy thinks I’m on his side. I showed my cards enough to get information out of him, but even I didn’t know how far out there I was until my little chat with the Midget. So I guess I owe him a thank you when I put him under.
Clearly there is an issue between Donnie and Kyzer. Therefore I cannot side with Donnie. I never thought I could have sided with Kyzer. What’s a mob to this king?
And what’s this king to a God?
I thought of myself, on this mission, as the Harbinger of Hell.
Never have I been so wrong in my life. DMK brought me to this life changing realization. I cannot fight Kyzer and look at him as an enemy for he is my kindred spirit.
I am not the TRUE Harbinger. Kyzer is.
Kyzer is the living, breathing epitome of the lack of morals and ethics that I live by. Michael Kyzer is not my key to destruction. He is my key to damnation salvation.
Michael Kyzer. The God of F*ck.
Michael Kyzer. The Second Coming.
Michael Kyzer.
My Stoned Messiah.
__
