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| I Am Hell [Erik Holland in C#]; -=Haunted=- | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 12 2015, 05:20 AM (57 Views) | |
| Willie | Mar 12 2015, 05:20 AM Post #1 |
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-=Badd Breed=-
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We have blackness here. It's heavy blackness. Until one red spotlight dimly lits up far away from us. It looks like it's backlighting something. Another spotlight, white this time, lights up when we get closer, and then another red one...until we are gazing upon the hellish image of our new Fighting Spirit Champion, Erik Holland, who is sitting crouched and hulking on a wooden bench. Bits of glass in his shoulders and arms, doubtless shrapnel from delivering the Toxic Avenger into the sharp mirror shards. Dried blood absolutely COVERS the Haunted. But in his trembling hands, sinewy, torn to shreds.. There lies ten pounds of leather and gold. What makes it all worth it. Scott....Knight..... Erik basically chokes the words out. His voice has got to be raw from screaming. Last night came a night of monsters. It was an attack. Full on, from the left...and they wanted in. They found a soft spot...a weaknessss...in the armor.. What the hell is he talking about? Nonetheless, the maddened and bloody Maniac's gaze at the championship belt has not broken. A snarling, screaming, neurotic hunger has lead you to me. Teeth and jaw...what I saw..But that jaw, those teeth...will not tear my throat..NOR my title from me...you desire painnnn, Scott Knight...and you've come to the right place at the wrong time.. The smile on his face is hard to describe. I don't know how anyone could even manage a smile after what he's gone through. Maybe it's more like a snarl, like what we saw when he was originally handed the belt. When I was leavin' the ringside area, Scott..bleeding, covered in glass shards..in more pain than I ever thought imaginable, I...I sat my ass down just outside the locker room area and...this is important. This girl comes up to me. Crying. Shaking. She thinks I'm dying. I probably was. Can't tell the difference anymore...Anyway, she tells me, Knight, she tells me...she THANKS me for winning. Because she told me now what I'm doin'..is keeping her going. Keeping her brother going. You don't know anything about it, I know you don't, but this..right here.. He holds the championship belt up to the camera now. It has Mark Cannon's name on the faceplate still, and we can see scratch-marks and where the plate has been distressed in a couple places. Erik appears to have tried to remove the nameplate through sheer brute force. Like how he does everything else. ..Is proof I am building an underground army. An army where each person is their own regiment and I promise you, Scott...It will get out of control. I don't know how many more pieces of glass I have left in me, Scott. Probably too many to count. I lost...count...as a matter of fact. You know how it feels to get cut by glass, Scott? Is he asking because he wants to know if Scott wants to find out? I get all tingly. Numb. The nerve endings, they're...trying to rebuild themselves. My body...after walking through Hell with Mark Cannon...is rebuilding. Again. As it has done one million times before, after I have suffered and suffered and suffered and suffered again. My body's been the one and only thing I can trust through my entire life. An' see, that's poignant to me, Scott.. Why's that? Erik lolls his head to the right, his eyes bright against the lights, his title belt now dangling from nearly nerveless fingers. It's poignant to me because when your body tells you, Scott, that you can handle what I am going to do to you in Oklahoma City...you shouldn't trust it. I know I'm facing a Blackguard, I know...I'm facing a Beast. I know I'm facing a man who might just be as sick and depraved as I am...but...you know what I just did, Scott...right? You pay attention, don't you? I just showed the entire wrestling world and those who doubted my ability to win that match..and there were many, like there always are....I showed 'em all even a God can BLEEEED.. Erik chuckles darkly to himself as he slings the Fighting Spirit Championship over his sizable shoulder. So maybe the next thing to do is...I pin the Beast down and tear its fuckin' eyes out. What do you think? Hahahaha....It's time I show God and Beast alike that you strip away all the fancy bullshit, all the nicknames, all the fluff and pomp and circumstance...strip it down to the fleshy core and you'll find you're just like me. Difference is...I survive. I adapt. And you perish.. Erik now rises to his feet, apparently crunching glass under his boots as we can hear it, and slowly walks out of the shot, cradling the FSC in his hands. Maybe he kinda' wants to...y'know, get that looked at. Just spitballing here. |
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