Post by Corey Bull on Jan 12, 2018 1:41:50 GMT
Death pays all debts.
— William Shakespeare
— William Shakespeare
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A swirling vortex. Suddenly, planted in that hallway from grade school. You know the one, black and white tile, old oak doors with that glass you can't see through, pea green, peeling walls. The doors have faded labels, years mostly. 1999, 2003, and 2005 are the ones that are still pretty legible, if you want to call it that. And then, a door, that leads you out into a plateau. Upon it you stand, gazing out upon a world that never was and never should be, yet exists inside one mind. A world that makes the hell of reality seem like a Sunday picnic with your loved one.
A large swamp covers one area to the left of you. Trees larger then the redwoods of California, but crooked and creepy, raise up out of the swampland. Snakes as long as half a football field are hanging in some trees, twisting around trunks to disappear into the murky waters. The canopy rustles and two large black wings, wings that seem to be torn and decayed, rise into the air. In one swish of the wings, a large black dragon rises into the air, curling a few circles before it lands on the plateau. Large, rotting horns curl from its head as it moves forward. Its enormous wings rest at it sides and it's eyes seem blind, but it sees all. This is Vengeance.
Though you are being eyed by a large black dragon, your eyes go to the river that flows across from you. It is more tar then water, bubbling and dripping along, rather then flowing. Across a river of black tar, in a city that resembles the decaying skeleton of a gigantic beast, two winged creatures approach. One is made of living fire, black fire wings surrounding a monster with red eyes. His opposite, an alabaster creature with black feathered wings and matching red eyes. Strapped across both their backs are swords, swords that seem to be twins and opposites as these creatures seem to be. The brothers, Hatebringer and Lifetaker.
A chuckle makes you turn around. The door you walked through is no longer present. In its place, upon a throne made of soda cans and XXX magazines sits a boy of about seven. But don't let that fool you. His eyes speak of a knowledge far greater then his body, far greater then Bull's body, seems to insist. Surrounded by topless women in wrestling tights, most of them stars in the industry both current and past (especially a certain crazy woman in NBW) he is the libido and deviousness of the group. This is Bully.
A motorcycle with a side car comes roaring from the far side, riding right over the river as if it is not there. The two upon it seem to be the same, yet different. In fact, aside from the dragon, you can see that all these individuals seem to be the same person, but different in their own ways. The one that steps off the bike is Pittbull, the rebellious nature. The other is B, the military aspect of this monster. Things are going faster now, the world that you are in has become more violent. Thunder cracks in the air and lightning strikes. From that blast, casually walking towards the group, is a ten foot tall werewolf, a large battle axe over his shoulder. A part from deep within the instinctual and predatory part of the mind. Sirius.
The group stands before you, your back to the river. You can hear it bubbling and brewing, but you are stuck in place. No sound can seem to shake you, no motion seems to break this deer in the headlights stare you have. And then, you snap out of it as you see all heads look behind you. And from the black tar river comes a warrior. A large black helm sits upon his head, an elephant killer axe in his hand. Black chain mail sits upon his body and a large and terrifying warhorse at his side. A sinister smile sits behind the mask, eyes as cold as the Arctic stare out. The Dark Hero.
This contingency of multiple personalities resides in one twisted mind.
They do not share power...they are power.
Together....chaos is their tool and they wield it with deadly proficiency.
Together...they destroy any and all that step before them. Physically...mentally...emotionally.
Welcome to the mind of the monster...The hope for NBW. The Cure for the Cancer that resides here. The Death that shall end it all.
Don't be afraid.
Be terrified.
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**The crisp January Northwoods morning lets ones breath be seen as it fades into the sharp sunlight that spreads over this place. The road is worn, having never truly seen any use since the building that sits at the end of it became condemned. The once immaculate lawn is now a small field of wild flowers and scrub brush with hints of snow, or more like a lack of it here. The trees that once sat trimmed and kept in check are now wild once again, spreading their limbs out like giants. The sign that tells you where you are is now falling to pieces, kids having marked it with graffiti and bullet holes. The boots of the large man in front of the camera can be heard crushing broken glass bottles and tin cans as he walks the teenager made trail that leads to the door. Bull stops and looks over the fading building. This is what remains of the Northwoods Mental Facility. This old brown building, this house of pain, chained and barred and waiting here for the wrecking ball that may never come.
If you believe you are beyond harm, would you enter this place that is so prominent in blood and gore? Bull pushes open the door that no longer has a knob or lock, and we enter a foyer that is pitch black, webs of the eight legged occupants crossing the threshold. Bull walks through as if they are not even there, and we can see little bodies running for breaks in the wood to hide. Inside is almost as frightening as the outside, not for how decayed it is, but how much of this place still exists on the inside. Graffiti is here too, a large six foot tall phallus and balls sits on the wall behind the nurses station, as someone named Eli claims Mary rode it like a stallion. There is no shortage of numbers to call for a good time, all of them claiming complete satisfaction.
But beyond the graffiti is the essence of the place, the pure debauchery that happened behind these walls. In its heyday, this institute ran in the time of experimentation. Drugs not tested anywhere else were fed to patients as if this was a feed mill filled with cows. Some deaths have still to be explained. Other forms of "remodification" were instituted: electroshock therapy, even blood letting. The horrors from centuries earlier, what one man called torture another called science.
Bull continued beyond all this graffiti, passing old instruments of medical use and climbs the stairs. The wood creaks from the weight, begging to break, but holds as the monster climbs. He does not stop on the second floor, spinning the corner and continuing up the stairs. It is the third floor where he slows, looking at everything as if it will leap out at him. Bull cracks his neck and moves forward, walking past a large section that has burned, the fire that originally shut the place down. No one really knows how it started. Rumors of course have run rampant, blaming Bull or someone close to him, but no one really knows. It is here that he stops, just beyond the burnt borders, at a room with the number eighteen on the front. Bull runs his large hand across the fading paint, and pushes the door open. Inside sits a room like many other rooms. But this one contains remnants of the occupant. Drawings on the wall, of a dragon, a demon, of something else. Words such as "We are stronger as one" and We will never fall." are scribbled in crayon. This room, number eighteen on the third floor, once housed the monster in front of us as a child.
Bull enters the room, looking over everything with an unreadable expression in his eyes, and an unknown face under the mask. Its silver glints in the traces of sunlight that sneak in through a hole. He sits on the decaying structure that was a bed and lets out a deep sigh**
"It's amazing that people these days know so much about us....or should we say, more about us then we do. In fact, Farcry wasn't shy about stating his own vision of how reality is working for us. Silly....silly mortal."
**Bull stands and looks around the room, then turns back to the camera**
"Are you so blind that you can not see how that entire situation turned out exactly the way we wanted it to? That we are doing exactly the right thing....following the path we have forged for ourselves."
**Bull stops himself and shakes his head slowly, a dark chuckle from under his mask**
"We almost gave you too much credit. Of course you could not foresee that this is the path we have chosen for ourselves. You are so blinded by self pity and self loathing....that you attempt to make yourself feel better by implying fictions upon your future opponents. So let us make it perfectly clear for you."
**Bulls eyes show a cold stare that seems to start simmering with each proclamation**
"We are here for violence...."
"...for championship gold..."
"..and for whatever other reason we deem worthy of our time."
**The camera closes in on Bulls silver death mask**
"But one of those isn't money you buffoon. We work here for free. It was a part of our contract. We fight because it is what we are....who we are....and what we were made to do. So do not....DO....NOT....begin to think you understand the mindset of us. Do not think you understand what motivates us. Because....you have NO clue. You can't even begin to scratch the surface. The fact that you deny what is within you is a blatant example of your lack of conviction. You do not embrace yourself fully....you deny it. You wish it wasn't you. But Farcry....you are what you are. And you can never be fully who you are when you deny even a part of it."
**Bull stands to his full height, no longer leaning into the camera. His stare though...seems unbreakable. It not only seems to intensify, but rather his eyes become something unrecognizable**
"And while you can believe you are capable of great things...the truth is you will never reach your full potential being only half cocked. Your like a pistol with blanks...a lot of noise but no real action. And come this Monday...we will beat you and anyone else we feel like beating on that night. Whether it is a bunch of fresh talent in the back....or that useless champion that holds the title we are coming for. And we are talking to all of you....Rattlesnake and Viper, KiD DeKay and especially that paper champion Cassidy Kaine. You are nothing more then victims to us. No wait...that's not right. Not even for you Farcry. Victim suggests that what happened to you was a slight against you, and undeserving individual. You deserve everything we will do to you. No....your a cancer. And we.....we are D.E.A.T.H."
**The mask has a grin that is part laugh....part sneer. Bull's eyes have become dead, but fierce**
"And D.E.A.T.H. has the answer to all that ails you."
**Bull chuckles his dark chuckle**
"See you Monday Farcry....and the rest of you....see you sooner then you are going to like"
**The asylum and Bull fade to black and the word DEATH on the screen, which then shifts**
Destroy
Everything
And
Take
Honor
Everything
And
Take
Honor
**The word slowly fades into the black**