Post by Kyle on Jan 7, 2018 2:47:57 GMT
“Consecration”
Sebastian Knight stood amidst darkness, as if his shadow had grown to block out the sun. He didn’t seemed shocked or perturbed by the simple truth of this existence he found himself in. He just was. And then, from unseen clouds above, red rain poured.
“Holy ground marked by sacrifice; this is the goal sought by one Vincent Pryde. Sitting on his throne atop the stage, he watches the sheep step into the pin that would become their grave. Success. Failure. Gold tainted crimson and brown canvas splattered in the abstraction that is human life. A weekly sanctification of his blessed temple. Madison Square Garden truly doesn’t understand the Eden they allowed to spring up around them. Not until the thorns have swallowed them whole.”
Sebastian walked forward, untouched by the blood that fell around him, soaking into the black at his feet. Ahead of him, a sea of golden orbs hung glowing eye level.
“Those that persevere to the very end, surviving the hundred hundred cuts across their body, their soul, will find themselves blessed. Blessed by a display that was worth the pain that came before. Six feet will step through the stained battlefields for one culminating clash. Alex Richards, K.L Henson, and myself. A finale, if I could ever think of one. But as the story will go that whole night, only one man gets to stand tall at the end of that night. Only one gets to look back across to stare God in his eyes from his aforementioned throne.”
Knight came across the first of the orbs in the air. Red streams ran down the sides of it, a half dozen tiny rivers that formed back together in a final tributary draining to the abyss below. Reaching his hand up slowly, The Mimic moved to touch the sphere.
“I intend to show you why that man will be me.”
The tip of his index finger strikes the orb and a flash of light blinds the screen.
The suitcase was not heavy at all, but Sebastian Knight let it drop on every single step as he made his descent like it was a gong announcing the change of the hour. Besides the echo of the expansive foyer, there was no response.
Sebastian Knight reached the base of the steps, and he paused a moment to listen. No one had surfaced to watch him go. Legion, Bernie, Atticus . . . they had all been told to stay away, to really emphasize the division that had been established. And Him? Well, it wasn’t like him to give hugs and well wishes at all.
Knight pushed through the front door and made his way down to the taxi waiting for him at the edge of driveway. Once there, he spared one final glance back at the dark home looming behind him. In the highest window, a man stared down at him, barely a shadow in the dim dawn light. Only his hands could be made out resting on the windowsill. One white, one red.
With a certain haste that hadn’t been there before, Sebastian climbed into the backseat of the yellow car. He didn’t look back as it pulled away, merging back into the early morning traffic.
The scene fades
And the shadowed expanse returns.
“As quickly as that, I found myself cast out. Nothing short of perfection is allowed when the pursuit of divinity is it hand. And in my short-lived time involved in it, I fell short. More than that, I laid there and was brutally reminded that there was a finality to the fights we fought. It was not an uplifting experience to one who was so fresh in the new home he fought in. But here I stand, defiant. That home has closed its doors to me, to all, but I have every bask in my new found freedom and kick the fucking doors down of this new home I have found. Yet, at the very same time, I know to think myself totally free of restraint.
I will never be free of my shadows.
And this Monday night, in the first ever Main Event of New Blood Wrestling, I collide with one such shadow. Alex Richards may not have pinned me in my one and only appearance in Chicago, but he proved himself to be the brawn behind Bonnie’s brains. I can only imagine that our clash was still fresh in the minds of the men who slid this new match to the top of the card. We beat the hell out of each other and for what? Bragging rights for a middle of the show match? Imagine the carnage we will wreak when the curtains part for our Act Five of Romeo and Juliet. Two star-crossed, star-studded lovers whose only desire is to put our hands on one another. And then, to boot, one Mister Henson added into the fray?
Its gonna be pleasure just shy of the pornographic variety.”
Sebastian Knight chuckled, a strange sound in the silent night he found himself in.
“Last time you and I fought, Alex, I couldn’t help but harp on the superficial—your body, your mental capacity, that kind of stuff—but I realize now that that wasn’t the way to go about it. Why attack you with the very same things so many others have already thrown your way? Like a thorn, I had hoped to bury myself into your skin, but I found it to be overcrowded. You didn’t react to the thin pricks any longer. It was the only way you could remain diligent in your guardianship. It was childish of me, truly. But a child I am no longer.
Has it sunk in, Alex, that you are alone here? Sure, women like Bonnie and Verez will stand beside you, but don’t they dare cross that dotted line separating you from one another. Harkening back to patriarchal traditionalism, New Blood Wrestling has no room for the dominating duo in their temple. And that just has to sting. More than that, it just has to bring to the forefront a fear you’ve tried so hard to suppress.
Am I fit?
I know that the doubts are there because I feel them too. One night spent as the blade wielded by the Devil’s Right Hand left me questioning. I walk alone, adrift, knowing that the eyes are watching my back, not to save me from harm but to watch and see how I handle the knives that will try and find a home there. One night was all it took, Alex; how then do you think you’ll fare when you step into that ring Monday night without Blue to aid you? Can you even look past your Zimquila-muddled thoughts to really grasp the clarity of this uncertainty?”
Sebastian Knight moved onto a second of the orbs, but he didn’t reach out immediately.
“Twin shadows you and I are, Alex, separated from our source of light. I won’t dismiss your ability this time; I’d be dumb to deny the threat you offer inside that ring. I just can’t help but think, when the night is drawing to the close, and the sun begins to peak over the horizon, you’re going to hesitate. Because that light, that hope, represents a desire deep within you that things will go back to normal, that you’ll be a part of a unit again and not standing alone in this new, uncharted land. Then, when the light grows and you see no change comes with it—just another day unguarded—your resolve will waver ever so slightly. And in that breathe of a moment, I will strike you down. Not out of malice or hate, either, just pity. We’re just two men alone in the brand new world and there’s no need for us to suffer it so.
And better you than I to be the sacrifice for Lord Pryde.”
Knight taps the orb again and a second flash fills the screen.
The suitcase drops to the floor one final time. Sebastian Knight was home again.
The apartment was just like he had left it months ago. The sleek modern style sat untainted by dust or grime and not a single piece looked out of place. Snow danced past the floor to ceiling windows on the west wall overlooking Central Park. He moved to look out onto the city shrouded in white. For the first time in a long time he felt like he was on top of the world again. And in a way, he was.
It was only when he allowed himself to focus on the reflection of the window that he was reminded otherwise. Those cold brown eyes were his, sure, but they were also that of another. A shared vision.
Sebastian blinked and the moment was gone again. He resumed his original purpose of looking over the city laid out before him.
New York.
“Don’t you know its not right to build a church on an old burial ground, Henson? Really brings to life those who had lived before.
Fitting then that SyFy’s new project was founded in the place I have called home, what with the resurgence of the Sebastian Knight that dominated the squared circle that was soon to occur. And sitting at the helm, searching for calm waves, is you. Its an exciting prospect, I must admit, its an exciting prospect to bloody the nose of an executive producer and get paid to do it. Not that I doubt you won’t do the same to me if given the chance; I’ve heard of the things you can do in the ring when you’re not too busy brokering the purchases of wrestling companies for the corporate office.
As the son of a real estate guru, I can recognize a man whose primary goal is to wring out every last dime from the business ventures he’s involved in; our blood will be well spent, if you have anything to do with it. But with this business-driven mentality, Henson, I can’t help but question whether you’ll be able to balance the desire to entertain and that innate drive to win. Why break your body before you can really enjoy the fruits of your initial labors?
I don’t doubt your ability one bit, Henson; there’s a reason you have been put on last for the first ever show, despite not stepping into the ring in over a year. I won’t even say you got the spot because you’re on the administrative team, either; I certainly don’t see Pryde or Lamarche stepping into this ring even if they sit in on the same meetings you do. No, Henson, you’re a fighter through and through, despite not necessary needing to fight at all. And that distinction is where I think you’ll fall short. The success of New Blood Wrestling is not wholly dependent on your performance come Monday night. Win or lose, you will reap the rewards of the blood, sweat, tears, and blood Pryde is milking all of us of. They’ll always be next week for you. Me, though?
Do or die, as the saying goes.
Our match will not be a literal dance with one’s mortality, Henson, just the longevity of my time at the top of New Blood Wrestling. I may not get a second opportunity quite like the one I’m getting this Monday night. And in my hometown to boot? You’d be a fool to think I won’t be giving it my all. I intend to carve my name across the ceiling of this newfound temple and paint its roof in the blood of my glorifying debut. And once you realize that, truly realize it, I expect you to step out my way like the good corporate monkey that you are.
No need to consecrate the temple with your own life when there are other better men so eager to do it themselves.”
Sebastian Knight comes across a final orb, and without hesitation taps it with his finger. The scene whites out one final time.
Two children stand across from one another, little older than eight or nine years old. One wore a three piece suit and his brown hair long. The other wore a medical gown, a straight jacket, and his black hair shaved to the skull. They stared at one another, unwavering. Finally, one broke the silence.
“My name is Nathan,” the shorned child said. “What’s yours?”
A pause, before the long-haired child grinned.
“Sebastian.” He said. “Sebastian Knight.”
And then, darkness that was final.
Sebastian Knight stood amidst darkness, as if his shadow had grown to block out the sun. He didn’t seemed shocked or perturbed by the simple truth of this existence he found himself in. He just was. And then, from unseen clouds above, red rain poured.
“Holy ground marked by sacrifice; this is the goal sought by one Vincent Pryde. Sitting on his throne atop the stage, he watches the sheep step into the pin that would become their grave. Success. Failure. Gold tainted crimson and brown canvas splattered in the abstraction that is human life. A weekly sanctification of his blessed temple. Madison Square Garden truly doesn’t understand the Eden they allowed to spring up around them. Not until the thorns have swallowed them whole.”
Sebastian walked forward, untouched by the blood that fell around him, soaking into the black at his feet. Ahead of him, a sea of golden orbs hung glowing eye level.
“Those that persevere to the very end, surviving the hundred hundred cuts across their body, their soul, will find themselves blessed. Blessed by a display that was worth the pain that came before. Six feet will step through the stained battlefields for one culminating clash. Alex Richards, K.L Henson, and myself. A finale, if I could ever think of one. But as the story will go that whole night, only one man gets to stand tall at the end of that night. Only one gets to look back across to stare God in his eyes from his aforementioned throne.”
Knight came across the first of the orbs in the air. Red streams ran down the sides of it, a half dozen tiny rivers that formed back together in a final tributary draining to the abyss below. Reaching his hand up slowly, The Mimic moved to touch the sphere.
“I intend to show you why that man will be me.”
The tip of his index finger strikes the orb and a flash of light blinds the screen.
The suitcase was not heavy at all, but Sebastian Knight let it drop on every single step as he made his descent like it was a gong announcing the change of the hour. Besides the echo of the expansive foyer, there was no response.
Sebastian Knight reached the base of the steps, and he paused a moment to listen. No one had surfaced to watch him go. Legion, Bernie, Atticus . . . they had all been told to stay away, to really emphasize the division that had been established. And Him? Well, it wasn’t like him to give hugs and well wishes at all.
Knight pushed through the front door and made his way down to the taxi waiting for him at the edge of driveway. Once there, he spared one final glance back at the dark home looming behind him. In the highest window, a man stared down at him, barely a shadow in the dim dawn light. Only his hands could be made out resting on the windowsill. One white, one red.
With a certain haste that hadn’t been there before, Sebastian climbed into the backseat of the yellow car. He didn’t look back as it pulled away, merging back into the early morning traffic.
The scene fades
And the shadowed expanse returns.
“As quickly as that, I found myself cast out. Nothing short of perfection is allowed when the pursuit of divinity is it hand. And in my short-lived time involved in it, I fell short. More than that, I laid there and was brutally reminded that there was a finality to the fights we fought. It was not an uplifting experience to one who was so fresh in the new home he fought in. But here I stand, defiant. That home has closed its doors to me, to all, but I have every bask in my new found freedom and kick the fucking doors down of this new home I have found. Yet, at the very same time, I know to think myself totally free of restraint.
I will never be free of my shadows.
And this Monday night, in the first ever Main Event of New Blood Wrestling, I collide with one such shadow. Alex Richards may not have pinned me in my one and only appearance in Chicago, but he proved himself to be the brawn behind Bonnie’s brains. I can only imagine that our clash was still fresh in the minds of the men who slid this new match to the top of the card. We beat the hell out of each other and for what? Bragging rights for a middle of the show match? Imagine the carnage we will wreak when the curtains part for our Act Five of Romeo and Juliet. Two star-crossed, star-studded lovers whose only desire is to put our hands on one another. And then, to boot, one Mister Henson added into the fray?
Its gonna be pleasure just shy of the pornographic variety.”
Sebastian Knight chuckled, a strange sound in the silent night he found himself in.
“Last time you and I fought, Alex, I couldn’t help but harp on the superficial—your body, your mental capacity, that kind of stuff—but I realize now that that wasn’t the way to go about it. Why attack you with the very same things so many others have already thrown your way? Like a thorn, I had hoped to bury myself into your skin, but I found it to be overcrowded. You didn’t react to the thin pricks any longer. It was the only way you could remain diligent in your guardianship. It was childish of me, truly. But a child I am no longer.
Has it sunk in, Alex, that you are alone here? Sure, women like Bonnie and Verez will stand beside you, but don’t they dare cross that dotted line separating you from one another. Harkening back to patriarchal traditionalism, New Blood Wrestling has no room for the dominating duo in their temple. And that just has to sting. More than that, it just has to bring to the forefront a fear you’ve tried so hard to suppress.
Am I fit?
I know that the doubts are there because I feel them too. One night spent as the blade wielded by the Devil’s Right Hand left me questioning. I walk alone, adrift, knowing that the eyes are watching my back, not to save me from harm but to watch and see how I handle the knives that will try and find a home there. One night was all it took, Alex; how then do you think you’ll fare when you step into that ring Monday night without Blue to aid you? Can you even look past your Zimquila-muddled thoughts to really grasp the clarity of this uncertainty?”
Sebastian Knight moved onto a second of the orbs, but he didn’t reach out immediately.
“Twin shadows you and I are, Alex, separated from our source of light. I won’t dismiss your ability this time; I’d be dumb to deny the threat you offer inside that ring. I just can’t help but think, when the night is drawing to the close, and the sun begins to peak over the horizon, you’re going to hesitate. Because that light, that hope, represents a desire deep within you that things will go back to normal, that you’ll be a part of a unit again and not standing alone in this new, uncharted land. Then, when the light grows and you see no change comes with it—just another day unguarded—your resolve will waver ever so slightly. And in that breathe of a moment, I will strike you down. Not out of malice or hate, either, just pity. We’re just two men alone in the brand new world and there’s no need for us to suffer it so.
And better you than I to be the sacrifice for Lord Pryde.”
Knight taps the orb again and a second flash fills the screen.
The suitcase drops to the floor one final time. Sebastian Knight was home again.
The apartment was just like he had left it months ago. The sleek modern style sat untainted by dust or grime and not a single piece looked out of place. Snow danced past the floor to ceiling windows on the west wall overlooking Central Park. He moved to look out onto the city shrouded in white. For the first time in a long time he felt like he was on top of the world again. And in a way, he was.
It was only when he allowed himself to focus on the reflection of the window that he was reminded otherwise. Those cold brown eyes were his, sure, but they were also that of another. A shared vision.
Sebastian blinked and the moment was gone again. He resumed his original purpose of looking over the city laid out before him.
New York.
“Don’t you know its not right to build a church on an old burial ground, Henson? Really brings to life those who had lived before.
Fitting then that SyFy’s new project was founded in the place I have called home, what with the resurgence of the Sebastian Knight that dominated the squared circle that was soon to occur. And sitting at the helm, searching for calm waves, is you. Its an exciting prospect, I must admit, its an exciting prospect to bloody the nose of an executive producer and get paid to do it. Not that I doubt you won’t do the same to me if given the chance; I’ve heard of the things you can do in the ring when you’re not too busy brokering the purchases of wrestling companies for the corporate office.
As the son of a real estate guru, I can recognize a man whose primary goal is to wring out every last dime from the business ventures he’s involved in; our blood will be well spent, if you have anything to do with it. But with this business-driven mentality, Henson, I can’t help but question whether you’ll be able to balance the desire to entertain and that innate drive to win. Why break your body before you can really enjoy the fruits of your initial labors?
I don’t doubt your ability one bit, Henson; there’s a reason you have been put on last for the first ever show, despite not stepping into the ring in over a year. I won’t even say you got the spot because you’re on the administrative team, either; I certainly don’t see Pryde or Lamarche stepping into this ring even if they sit in on the same meetings you do. No, Henson, you’re a fighter through and through, despite not necessary needing to fight at all. And that distinction is where I think you’ll fall short. The success of New Blood Wrestling is not wholly dependent on your performance come Monday night. Win or lose, you will reap the rewards of the blood, sweat, tears, and blood Pryde is milking all of us of. They’ll always be next week for you. Me, though?
Do or die, as the saying goes.
Our match will not be a literal dance with one’s mortality, Henson, just the longevity of my time at the top of New Blood Wrestling. I may not get a second opportunity quite like the one I’m getting this Monday night. And in my hometown to boot? You’d be a fool to think I won’t be giving it my all. I intend to carve my name across the ceiling of this newfound temple and paint its roof in the blood of my glorifying debut. And once you realize that, truly realize it, I expect you to step out my way like the good corporate monkey that you are.
No need to consecrate the temple with your own life when there are other better men so eager to do it themselves.”
Sebastian Knight comes across a final orb, and without hesitation taps it with his finger. The scene whites out one final time.
Two children stand across from one another, little older than eight or nine years old. One wore a three piece suit and his brown hair long. The other wore a medical gown, a straight jacket, and his black hair shaved to the skull. They stared at one another, unwavering. Finally, one broke the silence.
“My name is Nathan,” the shorned child said. “What’s yours?”
A pause, before the long-haired child grinned.
“Sebastian.” He said. “Sebastian Knight.”
And then, darkness that was final.