Post by The Anarchist on Feb 6, 2017 7:29:44 GMT -5
“In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord, Seromine, we commend to Almighty God our brother Rick Majors; and we commit his body to the ground; earth to earth; ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Our Lord bless him and keep him, our Lord make his face to shine upon him and be gracious unto him and give him peace. Amen.”
“Amen!”
Salvation find themselves practicing a burial prayer in an isolated portion of the arena’s parking garage. The charming cadence of Lylyth’s voice setting the tone behind the words, while the rest of the group bow their heads in a show of respect. There was cause to celebrate on this chilly night. Another of Pure Class Wrestling’s names had fallen to Seromine. Rick Majors, for his turbulent past, was still a formidable opponent for the International Champion.
And like a wounded animal, he was put down for his good own. The reason for the odd place to hold such a ceremony was decided due in part to the final on-air remarks spoken by the dynamic duo at the commentary table. Seromine had no idea what car they drove. He didn’t care about the outgoing faithful who were heading home to their sinful lives. Nor did he care about the cameraman plucked randomly in the halls, anointing him the official delivery man of this recording.
He cared about sending a message, a verbal message, to the man he defeated earlier in the night. Seromine ordered everyone to place their candles in a circle. The opened portal for home only visible to their eyes. Once that had been carried out, he slowly turns his head around to the lens, giving it the same death stare that had burned through Kelli Starr. Pausing to gather his thoughts, Seromine removes his hat, passing it to Destiny, as he addresses his foe.
“You have to ask yourself, friend, what becomes of you in the throws of defeat? Take a moment to really understand the severity of your new found consequence. A win or loss in my world matters not, for our message shall resonate regardless. There is no stopping me. There is no silencing us. I know demons when I see them, and Richard, you have several.
Consider me your exorcist. Only when you understand exactly what my purpose is, can you see things with absolute clarity. Do not allow yourself to fall into the void. You can save yourself from the perils of loss. I believe in you the way God does. But in the meantime, Richard, I’m going to crucify you. Not out of spite or hatred. But out of love. The same love I felt upon resurrection! The same love I feel in saving others from themselves, from a society that does not care! The same love HE has for me and for my followers. And the same love I have for my faithful. It’s a beautiful world we live in, outsider. Need further proof of my intent?”
Seromine snaps his fingers, code for everyone to join hands in a prayer circle. A circle of which blocks motorists from driving out of the arena. Their honking has no effect on the group, however. Seromine glares at the cameraman, a look of pure unemotional hatred which forces the unwilling participant to lower his own head. Satisfied, Seromine does the same.
“Hebrews chapter seven, verse twenty-five says: Therefore he is able to save completely those who come to God through him, because he always lives to intercede for them.”
Following the passage recital, Seromine gestures for everyone to move aside, allowing the impatient drivers to depart into the night. Turning his head back to the unknown crew member, he rips the camera out of his hands and angles it just above his face.
“I hear the false tongues speak. In reply, I will cut them out one by one and slay the devil from his hosts. They shall not erode the minds of MY faithful. They need me, and so do you. Praise God, Richard Majors, Praise the Lord.”
Seromine lowers the camera down and offers it back to it’s operator. Just as the exchange happens, the cameraman gets pulled forward. The intimidating preacher lowers his head, studying the anxiety felt.
“Make sure he gets that. Nod if you understand.”
He nods.
“Goood, good sinner.” Seromine hisses “I’ll know if he doesn’t. Which means you’ll know, because accidents have a way of happening. Now leave us. And remember what I said. The decision you make could be your last.”
His words were punctuated with malice. He was visibly annoyed by the hand picked intruder and was no longer under personal obligation to hide it. He watches him scurry off before turning around to face his congregation.
“This shall serve as my sermon tonight, brothers and sisters. There is new business that lies ahead and this is not our place of worship. So let’s return home.”
It felt like a tonal shift from sermon’s past. There was a lack of real excitement in his speech, replaced with sternness. The possible culprit could be the way he chose to address Rick Majors, but no one within Salvation, sans the exception of Destiny, really knew for sure. But they had their order and within a matter of seconds, departed the parking garage without so much as a confrontation with Jerry Andrews and Ace Anderson.
It was nice to be back home amongst the unhappy little trees. Their menacing presence would have given Bob Ross nightmares, god rest his soul. Whatever ailed Seromine the night before, was gone by sunrise. He had patiently sat by his bedroom window and watched it’s yellow-orange face say “good morning!” as it rose high above the treetops. He wasn’t known as an early bird, but on this day, he was one. Destiny was stirring in bed, likely to wake when she senses her other half isn’t where he normally would be. Their children were still sound asleep in their rooms, peacefully whisked in the arms of Morpheus. And the followers, well, the followers had received an order overnight to go into town for supplies at dawn. There would be a returning ritual around the Eternal Flame once Luna took her turn to survey Labyrinth Grove.
Seromine removed himself from his piece of solitude, quietly tip toeing over to his wife. There was news to give her. An announcement that was sure to bring elation to her heart. He turned his attention to her new mask, which was sitting on top of his own. Destiny had previously worn a Rattlesnake selection. But as it was seen on Trauma, she now sported a Barn Owl. He was slightly bemused by it, but otherwise didn’t care. Owls were the greatest birds on the planet if you asked him.
“Destiny...” he sweetly whispered in her ear “Destiny, sweetie, it’s time to wake up. We’re at Grandma’s.”
She groaned and mumbled something incoherently under her breath, but otherwise kept her eyes closed like the lid on Kelli Starr’s coffin from months ago. Seromine chuckled to himself as he picked up her hand halfway into the air. Letting go, it fell limp onto the bed. “One!” he quietly muttered. The result didn’t change on the next try. “Two!” But as he pulled her hand up for the third, he never received the chance to let go. Destiny hung on to his and tight. Her eyes began fluttering open, fixated on he who dared wake her early. “Morn---ing, babe. What time is it?”
Seromine inhaled sharply and in his best impersonation of a Game Show host, replied, “It’s time to rise and shine, because you, yes you, Destiny Willard, are the recipient of an all expenses paid by PCW trip to the next edition of Trauma! Where you’ll be participating in mixed tag team action with your loving husband Jason, professionally known as Seromine…to...”
Her eyes were wide as saucers now.
“face the team of ‘Dollface’ herself, Kelli Starr! and recently defeated, Richard ‘Rick’ Majors! That’s at the next Trauma in lovely Greenville, South Carolina!”
Seromine pipes in what is supposed to sound like applause, but comes out more like static noise from a network that is experiencing technical difficulties. Keep in mind she is still tightly holding onto one of his hands as he tells her this. The grip tightening to levels not felt since giving birth as a pained grimace develops on his face.
“Be lucky it isn’t somewhere else I’m grabbing right now, mister. How in the world did I get booked into a match? Better yet, do you remember when the last time it was I wrestled?”
Seromine does everything he can to free his hand from it’s captor, but to no avail. The problem with this attempt is now his other hand was also subjected to early morning violence. Or as they call it inside of the squared circle, a greco roman knuckle lock. Destiny was stronger than she looked. He could easily overpower her and break free, but why bother? This could be a way to get her mind ready for what awaited. That’s what he surely told himself while blocking out the pressure. Her displeasure was but a cover to suck him in. “I look forward to teaming with you. I look forward to plucking out that child’s bright pink hair, strand by strand, for the fun of it. Most of all, I look forward to breaking down those who oppose us as an offering to God. But I ask one thing.”
“What?”
Destiny releases her husband’s hands so that she can quickly pull his face towards hers for a sensual kiss. After she pulls away, her tongue swipes across his lips, retreating back into her mouth so that a devilish smile can appear.
“We show them no mercy.”
“Amen!”
Salvation find themselves practicing a burial prayer in an isolated portion of the arena’s parking garage. The charming cadence of Lylyth’s voice setting the tone behind the words, while the rest of the group bow their heads in a show of respect. There was cause to celebrate on this chilly night. Another of Pure Class Wrestling’s names had fallen to Seromine. Rick Majors, for his turbulent past, was still a formidable opponent for the International Champion.
And like a wounded animal, he was put down for his good own. The reason for the odd place to hold such a ceremony was decided due in part to the final on-air remarks spoken by the dynamic duo at the commentary table. Seromine had no idea what car they drove. He didn’t care about the outgoing faithful who were heading home to their sinful lives. Nor did he care about the cameraman plucked randomly in the halls, anointing him the official delivery man of this recording.
He cared about sending a message, a verbal message, to the man he defeated earlier in the night. Seromine ordered everyone to place their candles in a circle. The opened portal for home only visible to their eyes. Once that had been carried out, he slowly turns his head around to the lens, giving it the same death stare that had burned through Kelli Starr. Pausing to gather his thoughts, Seromine removes his hat, passing it to Destiny, as he addresses his foe.
“You have to ask yourself, friend, what becomes of you in the throws of defeat? Take a moment to really understand the severity of your new found consequence. A win or loss in my world matters not, for our message shall resonate regardless. There is no stopping me. There is no silencing us. I know demons when I see them, and Richard, you have several.
Consider me your exorcist. Only when you understand exactly what my purpose is, can you see things with absolute clarity. Do not allow yourself to fall into the void. You can save yourself from the perils of loss. I believe in you the way God does. But in the meantime, Richard, I’m going to crucify you. Not out of spite or hatred. But out of love. The same love I felt upon resurrection! The same love I feel in saving others from themselves, from a society that does not care! The same love HE has for me and for my followers. And the same love I have for my faithful. It’s a beautiful world we live in, outsider. Need further proof of my intent?”
Seromine snaps his fingers, code for everyone to join hands in a prayer circle. A circle of which blocks motorists from driving out of the arena. Their honking has no effect on the group, however. Seromine glares at the cameraman, a look of pure unemotional hatred which forces the unwilling participant to lower his own head. Satisfied, Seromine does the same.
“Hebrews chapter seven, verse twenty-five says: Therefore he is able to save completely those who come to God through him, because he always lives to intercede for them.”
Following the passage recital, Seromine gestures for everyone to move aside, allowing the impatient drivers to depart into the night. Turning his head back to the unknown crew member, he rips the camera out of his hands and angles it just above his face.
“I hear the false tongues speak. In reply, I will cut them out one by one and slay the devil from his hosts. They shall not erode the minds of MY faithful. They need me, and so do you. Praise God, Richard Majors, Praise the Lord.”
Seromine lowers the camera down and offers it back to it’s operator. Just as the exchange happens, the cameraman gets pulled forward. The intimidating preacher lowers his head, studying the anxiety felt.
“Make sure he gets that. Nod if you understand.”
He nods.
“Goood, good sinner.” Seromine hisses “I’ll know if he doesn’t. Which means you’ll know, because accidents have a way of happening. Now leave us. And remember what I said. The decision you make could be your last.”
His words were punctuated with malice. He was visibly annoyed by the hand picked intruder and was no longer under personal obligation to hide it. He watches him scurry off before turning around to face his congregation.
“This shall serve as my sermon tonight, brothers and sisters. There is new business that lies ahead and this is not our place of worship. So let’s return home.”
It felt like a tonal shift from sermon’s past. There was a lack of real excitement in his speech, replaced with sternness. The possible culprit could be the way he chose to address Rick Majors, but no one within Salvation, sans the exception of Destiny, really knew for sure. But they had their order and within a matter of seconds, departed the parking garage without so much as a confrontation with Jerry Andrews and Ace Anderson.
It was nice to be back home amongst the unhappy little trees. Their menacing presence would have given Bob Ross nightmares, god rest his soul. Whatever ailed Seromine the night before, was gone by sunrise. He had patiently sat by his bedroom window and watched it’s yellow-orange face say “good morning!” as it rose high above the treetops. He wasn’t known as an early bird, but on this day, he was one. Destiny was stirring in bed, likely to wake when she senses her other half isn’t where he normally would be. Their children were still sound asleep in their rooms, peacefully whisked in the arms of Morpheus. And the followers, well, the followers had received an order overnight to go into town for supplies at dawn. There would be a returning ritual around the Eternal Flame once Luna took her turn to survey Labyrinth Grove.
Seromine removed himself from his piece of solitude, quietly tip toeing over to his wife. There was news to give her. An announcement that was sure to bring elation to her heart. He turned his attention to her new mask, which was sitting on top of his own. Destiny had previously worn a Rattlesnake selection. But as it was seen on Trauma, she now sported a Barn Owl. He was slightly bemused by it, but otherwise didn’t care. Owls were the greatest birds on the planet if you asked him.
“Destiny...” he sweetly whispered in her ear “Destiny, sweetie, it’s time to wake up. We’re at Grandma’s.”
She groaned and mumbled something incoherently under her breath, but otherwise kept her eyes closed like the lid on Kelli Starr’s coffin from months ago. Seromine chuckled to himself as he picked up her hand halfway into the air. Letting go, it fell limp onto the bed. “One!” he quietly muttered. The result didn’t change on the next try. “Two!” But as he pulled her hand up for the third, he never received the chance to let go. Destiny hung on to his and tight. Her eyes began fluttering open, fixated on he who dared wake her early. “Morn---ing, babe. What time is it?”
Seromine inhaled sharply and in his best impersonation of a Game Show host, replied, “It’s time to rise and shine, because you, yes you, Destiny Willard, are the recipient of an all expenses paid by PCW trip to the next edition of Trauma! Where you’ll be participating in mixed tag team action with your loving husband Jason, professionally known as Seromine…to...”
Her eyes were wide as saucers now.
“face the team of ‘Dollface’ herself, Kelli Starr! and recently defeated, Richard ‘Rick’ Majors! That’s at the next Trauma in lovely Greenville, South Carolina!”
Seromine pipes in what is supposed to sound like applause, but comes out more like static noise from a network that is experiencing technical difficulties. Keep in mind she is still tightly holding onto one of his hands as he tells her this. The grip tightening to levels not felt since giving birth as a pained grimace develops on his face.
“Be lucky it isn’t somewhere else I’m grabbing right now, mister. How in the world did I get booked into a match? Better yet, do you remember when the last time it was I wrestled?”
Seromine does everything he can to free his hand from it’s captor, but to no avail. The problem with this attempt is now his other hand was also subjected to early morning violence. Or as they call it inside of the squared circle, a greco roman knuckle lock. Destiny was stronger than she looked. He could easily overpower her and break free, but why bother? This could be a way to get her mind ready for what awaited. That’s what he surely told himself while blocking out the pressure. Her displeasure was but a cover to suck him in. “I look forward to teaming with you. I look forward to plucking out that child’s bright pink hair, strand by strand, for the fun of it. Most of all, I look forward to breaking down those who oppose us as an offering to God. But I ask one thing.”
“What?”
Destiny releases her husband’s hands so that she can quickly pull his face towards hers for a sensual kiss. After she pulls away, her tongue swipes across his lips, retreating back into her mouth so that a devilish smile can appear.
“We show them no mercy.”