Post by Deleted on Mar 16, 2013 4:10:13 GMT -6
What is a man willing to do…in order to get what he wants? It is a universal question that challenges our morals, our beliefs, and the very DNA that makes us a human being. The temptation of power along with the unjust hand of religion has tainted Father Nathan forever. It causes a seven foot man to do a moonsault just because it reminds him of the taste of victory even though a man of those genetics shouldn’t be compatible with such a maneuver. It caused former best friends like Johnny Stylez and Hunter Valentyne to beat the piss out of one another.
Hell, it even caused me to take a leap of faith…just to take out two men that are deemed close to my ‘kin’ to get closer to what I want.
But the end result was far from the desired one because I ended up getting the damned dirty needle by that god damned infidel Inkt and his team got the desired result despite me choking the life out of one Johnny Stylez. Hell, that entire trio has been known individually for selling out so many things in order to pursue the goals they want. Hell, one of them sold out part of their heart one could say…considering he’s got issues with it for the rest of his life.
Johnny, though…he’s a special case in terms of what he’s willing to do. The appalling way he’s treated women like Molly Mayhem, Vanessa, and Jill Matthews among others has reached damn near mythic proportions. From afar I’ve also seen him go through the rounds with Nocturnal for years. About a year ago they fought…and I know Johnny was just itching to get after the Sadistic Bastard again especially in light with his blatant disrespect toward Molly. He’s trying to sacrifice whatever he can in order to cross paths with him.
Then…the man retired without any regrets left…and a different type of road block has emerged for him.
The Don of Disrespect might not remember what he did to me, but I still carry a little nick on my knee cap the rest of my god damned life after the first time we met and then we parted ways before we could ever settle our issues. Now he’s in for the most painful evening of his damn life. Specter setting him on fire was one pain he felt…but it will be nothing compared to what I’m willing to do and damn well willing to sacrifice in order to annihilate this man.
Why? He’s pissed off the wrong god damned group of men this time. They, the people that have always surrounded him, have enabled Johnny to enrage my partners in my group time and time again in one facet or another. He’s wrestling’s version of the fucking Holy Roman Empire…trying to crusade others and while he masks his real objective like they did with some sort of other purpose…it is merely for his selfish desires to continue to repress those others in society and create the same god damned mess that we the people have always been in.
You can always get even for a bum knee or a screwing of a title shot…but you damn sure don’t fuck with the core of what a man is…and this disgraceful being that even kin slayers would deem an unholy pariah of the Devil’s flesh and bone is about to pay the ultimate price because I’m willing to sacrifice damn near everything to get the job done. He’s insulted this entire lifestyle in a way no other man has before and I’ll make his damn lungs pop while he drowns in the dreaded sea of sin.
This is the ultimate capper for me because not even Roger Wright has occupied this much space in my brain in terms of who the hell I want to annihilate. I want to hear Johnny’s bones crush one…by one and when those that enable him begin to vomit from the disgust of the sounds…that is when I’ll slice his forehead wide open so the true feast can begin. It will be the ultimate feast of conquest…to please not only myself but all those who he’s repressed in his entire god damned career.
…and he’ll be like Jesus was for the Jewish people in terms of a victim…an odd symbol of freedom for those who don’t live a normal lifestyle.
An UnStable lifestyle.
And if this ends up being my last match because of the volume of violence I inflict on him…I accept that because that’s how much I’m willing to sacrifice in order to finish this deed once and for all.
The gutters of Cincinnati, Ohio have a stench similar to that of my hometown. The unemployment has caused the streets to flood with the pestilence and disease that crippled the Roman Empire in the ancient days. The pavement of the roads has even begun to erode to show the old bricks from when they used to travel by horse and buggy. The buildings are tagged with graffiti in the rough end of town of various gangs that the police wouldn’t dare touch.
The wind picks up slightly on this overcast evening which causes my black hair to sway along with the wind. I just tighten the heavy overcoat while glancing around at the various streets. A couple of people on the opposite side are bickering about sports while wearing a Cincinnati and Xavier University shirts respectively while I just sneer at their plight. The other side of the street however has a couple of residential drug addicts giving me some glares just because of my scarred face.
“They live in the state of Ohio and they act like they’ve never seen a man who stands up for their beliefs…” I growl, “Maybe instead of taking a stand they’re just busy enabling the government to take care of them while they get fictitious benefits of Obama care.”
Those that heard my rumblings shoot me a couple of dirty look but the ‘burning’ stares from these simple minded puppets. If anything, the ‘burns’ from those stares just makes the slightest smile creep onto my face. The passionate hatred that these enablers have for me warms even my glacial heart…especially considering that these jackasses enable government and wrestling in different ways to take advantage of them and they still take it and enjoy it just because of an occasional false reward.
Soon enough, I duck the bright lights of the city and swoop into the seclusion of the darker streets. The smell of booze and recreational goodies just creates an anarchic vibe to the air here. A small smattering of a voice in my head lowly asking ‘how much?’ before I almost vomit in my mouth because of how bad detox was back in the day. Thankfully, before that thought sinks in further, I’m interrupted by the voice of someone else.
“You’re late Seth…” Moretti calls.
I glance down the street and see Vincent Moretti dressed immaculately in a black suit with his hair recently trimmed to reflect his age a little more accurately. He lets out a very shrill laugh that visibly gives even a couple of these drug minded nimrods goosebumps. We both glance around at the broken down buildings, the lopsided windows, and the overall grumbling within the city…as if some of them are losing some hope.
“What a welcome in terms of an atmosphere, eh?” Moretti questions half mockingly.
“Those who don’t learn from history are always…always doomed to repeat it.” I answer lowly, “Let’s just say this won’t be another Mike Park situation. Never again will that ever happen.”
Moretti just raises his eyebrows as we just walk deeper into the darkness of the corridor. The buildings are progressively degenerating as we just walk deeper down into that road and apart from an occasional stare of envy toward the flamboyant suit Moretti wears; we’re weirdly going under the radar due to the other…oppressive atmosphere that’s just been bred here. The two of us soon glance back at the various pot users before offering respective shakes of the head.
“Tch…to think that you thought that you might turn into one of these fools…lounging around with no future if you didn’t take the drastic steps of detox and joining The Family…” Moretti chuckles lowly, “Never thought you had anything to worry about in that regard though.”
“It is a damn shame that the Kliq and all their rampant drug and woman abuse won’t end up in these gutters…trying to enable instead of being enabled…” I coldly reply, matching his curious expression with one that lacks any sort of emotion.
“All good deeds…get their just rewards though,” Moretti nods as he pulls out a cigarette.
Moretti soon enough lights his cigarette and blows smoke slowly toward some of the stares he’s received. Our walking has ended and we’ve reached a particular building that’s a little smaller than the taller ones that surround it. The bricks are chipped but sturdy however the wooden door gives no alluring welcome because of the splinters and damages it has received. After I glance at Moretti’s devilish smile, I end up opening the door and the two of us enter this building.
“Let’s just say I have a small surprise for you deep inside here, Seth,” Moretti crackles as he takes another puff of that cigarette.
“Oh goody…” I roll my eyes in pure annoyance.
The building on the inside has a layer of dust on the tables and paintings that make it jarring to breathe right away. Moretti throws the cigarette out the door after taking one last satisfying puff of it before he eyeballs me just glancing around at the building. The walls are a basic indigo with decently maintained carpet and lamps on the tables providing faint illumination throughout the building. The paintings are of various Indian tribes fighting with Colonists back in the day and they damn the Native Americans for being bloodthirsty and I end up glaring at those paintings in particular.
“Stupid bastards don’t see both sides of the damned coin,” I lowly growl.
“Its…this way,” Moretti continues, still in that one track thought before walking off.
I shrug my shoulders and follow him; still keeping my eye darted back on that one painting. In essence, you could say that Johnny Stylez is very much like the Americans who pushed forth with the land or the British people who gave those smallpox blankets to wipe them out before swooping in for the kill. He is as cunning as any individual ever has been in this business but we enable history to remember that cunning in a positive light while condemning the other side for being bloodthirsty in a never-ending battle of propaganda.
“And people have the gull to condemn everything I’ve ever done. What a bunch of bullshit,” I hiss.
“Temper…temper,” Moretti snickers.
I end up following Vincent Moretti though the dark hall as the room itself seems to narrow. The various paintings are of the various forts and how this city seems to have grown and even regressed throughout history. From the railroads to the industry, the paintings document it yet the dust it collects makes them treated like relics because of all the ignorance our populace possesses in life. Soon enough, at the end here is a second door and we end up barging through.
Now…what I see are a set of steps with only candlelight illuminating the top before you progressively divulge into the darkness. The two of us brazenly go down the wooden steps while hearing the loud creaks it gives out from the wear. The temperature progressively dips down even further as everything soon gets near pitch black before we finally end up seeing another pair of candles further down. At last, we reach the bottom of the steps and I already sense something else here.
“So…this is where that…uneasiness was coming from,” I lowly say to myself.
“Let’s just say a ton of people lost their way here and when they couldn’t handle the horrid reality…they took a gun and ended it permanently,” Moretti replies.
“Fitting…very fitting.” I nod with a faint smile on my face, “I’d rather they do that than enable others thanks to fake promises that they’d get imaginary benefits or Special Olympic Medals.”
“Almost like what Colt did to the World belt?” Moretti raises an eyebrow.
“Don’t even get me started on that giant crock of bullshit and insult to what power is supposed to be,” I growl, “I don’t need THAT damned thought going in between what I’m going to do to Johnny and how I’m going to have fun with both Cera and Roger.”
“Agreed Seth, agreed,” Moretti crackles.
We soon walk on the hard floor, glancing at the various skeletons that have been scattered among our feet. A shrill yell is heard in the distance and as we walk deeper into the basement of this building, those yells progressively get louder. The intoxicating smells of gunpowder swoops in as well as the scattered bones continue to increase. Moretti soon freezes in his tracks for a minute just to reach into his pocket for something. I pause for a minute and glance at him before he pulls out a spike. A weapon I used to pull out of my boat back in my Japanese days and those blood filled days soon resurface.
“Strike a chord?” he snickers.
I let out a small smirk before I reach down into my right boot and end up pulling a second spike. Moretti raises his eyebrows in shock as I let out a small snicker of my own.
“You can say it does…but I still have one of those around. Now let’s go,” I sternly order.
The two of us reach the end of the building where we see a young man chained to the brick walls tightly. The hands have started to turn purple from the abuse but he glances toward us in absolute disdain. Hell, he even spits toward us in contempt but Vincent just laughs sadistically toward that sign of disrespect. He even begins trembling in his absolute hatred and anger toward him even at the face of both of us armed with a spike in our hands.
“You’re both going to end up in the ultimate damning pits of hell where you both belong!” he roars out as he starts to flail about, trying to escape.
“Senile fool…” I sigh.
Moretti soon launches up with an insulting backhand right toward his face and he soon ends up spitting toward him a second time. The further defiance just fuels Vincent to get a little more sadistic as he soon jabs that spike into the palm of his imprisoned hand. He lets out a loud, pained scream in pain as the spike soon senges deeper and the blood soon oozes out. He soon stops though once I hear the sound of that tip reaching bone but that makes the tortured man even angrier.
“Think of it this way…” I lower my eyes, “The blind eyes of society lead you into this predicament and enabled you to go through such pain. The truth…like so many of these people have found out in this building, always ends up saving you in the end even in death. Take that thought to whatever devine being you believe in.”
The man’s will weakens slightly when I take my own spike and end up jamming it into his other hand while letting out some instinctual stomps on his foot and knee strikes into his ribcage when he continues to squirm and yell for mercy. Soon enough, more blood soon oozes out and the hard brick walls are stained by a running trail of his fresh blood. I let out a small laugh as I take some of that blood that’s leaking out and run a pair of streaks down from my eyes with it…similar to how the Native Americans did in their past.
“Now…” Moretti purrs almost like a content cat with a canary in his mouth, “Prepare for the truth that your end is here.”
Moretti reaches into a second pocket of his jacket and ends up pulling a 12 millimeter pistol that gleams a nightly silver. The man’s eyes widen as soon as he sees the gun and the previous yelling about the pain of the spikes ceases. He ends up pulling back and as soon as that click is heard, a devious grin soon appears on my face. The man tilts his head down knowing what his fate will be as soon as the barrel of the gun is pointed right at his face.
BANG!
One shot…and the man’s brains are splattered all against the wall. The wound causes a third dripping of blood to come down onto the floor as a new layer of gunpowder just takes over my senses. The man’s head drips down lifelessly. The smile on my face evolves into a more maniacal one at the deed and Moretti’s usual shrill laughter to go with all the gunpowder soon follows.
Another man saved from the realm of the enablers.
“I’d say the job is complete, wouldn’t you?” Moretti beams.
“Yes…one more leaves the ranks of the enablers after he can’t see sense…” I reply before the smile vanishes from my face, “Now…to do something about one that has been enabled…”
“Then we’ll do it…” Moretti nods.
The two of us begin to leave the room with the various jobs looming. Roger Wright will be busy licking his wounds after that chokeslam and I have plenty of time to do what I please with Cera in her ‘game’ which is a damn good thing…because Johnny Stylez is front and center. The disappointment of World War X weighs in along with his continued taunts and berating of so many of my UnStable brothers and sisters. The man’s in for the worst ass kicking of his life.
He’ll wish he never came back from drug rehabilitation to try to continue his reign because ask any god damned person that’s ever been in a match with me…they carry some sort of scar the rest of their damned life. Father Nathan, one of my own stablemates, has a running scar through his throat that he’ll never be rid of for the rest of his damned days after our initial encounter. Tori Notorious hasn’t been seen after I assaulted her just to qualify UnStable into that damned World War X match.
Hell, ask Ryan Pugh and Hazard about me after I damn near broke every bone in their body after a suicidal dive and in Ryan’s case…a severe case of Black Magic.
Johnny will get every bit of pain that’s ever coursed through my knee and soul and he won’t survive it. He’ll suffocate like he did after the first Injection of Poison except this time…I have no interest in wanting to let go immediately. The brain damage will force the enabled Don of Disrespect back into a different type of rehab permanently and then and only then will he understand once and for all what he has to do.
He WILL respect Nocturnal’s retirement.
The Don of Disrespect will have no choice but to respect the UnStable kingdom and its warriors in terms of every damn thing we are willing to sacrifice.
…and most importantly of all…he WILL respect the name…Seth Iser after I bludgeon him all over the city of Cincinnati.
Hell, it even caused me to take a leap of faith…just to take out two men that are deemed close to my ‘kin’ to get closer to what I want.
But the end result was far from the desired one because I ended up getting the damned dirty needle by that god damned infidel Inkt and his team got the desired result despite me choking the life out of one Johnny Stylez. Hell, that entire trio has been known individually for selling out so many things in order to pursue the goals they want. Hell, one of them sold out part of their heart one could say…considering he’s got issues with it for the rest of his life.
Johnny, though…he’s a special case in terms of what he’s willing to do. The appalling way he’s treated women like Molly Mayhem, Vanessa, and Jill Matthews among others has reached damn near mythic proportions. From afar I’ve also seen him go through the rounds with Nocturnal for years. About a year ago they fought…and I know Johnny was just itching to get after the Sadistic Bastard again especially in light with his blatant disrespect toward Molly. He’s trying to sacrifice whatever he can in order to cross paths with him.
Then…the man retired without any regrets left…and a different type of road block has emerged for him.
The Don of Disrespect might not remember what he did to me, but I still carry a little nick on my knee cap the rest of my god damned life after the first time we met and then we parted ways before we could ever settle our issues. Now he’s in for the most painful evening of his damn life. Specter setting him on fire was one pain he felt…but it will be nothing compared to what I’m willing to do and damn well willing to sacrifice in order to annihilate this man.
Why? He’s pissed off the wrong god damned group of men this time. They, the people that have always surrounded him, have enabled Johnny to enrage my partners in my group time and time again in one facet or another. He’s wrestling’s version of the fucking Holy Roman Empire…trying to crusade others and while he masks his real objective like they did with some sort of other purpose…it is merely for his selfish desires to continue to repress those others in society and create the same god damned mess that we the people have always been in.
You can always get even for a bum knee or a screwing of a title shot…but you damn sure don’t fuck with the core of what a man is…and this disgraceful being that even kin slayers would deem an unholy pariah of the Devil’s flesh and bone is about to pay the ultimate price because I’m willing to sacrifice damn near everything to get the job done. He’s insulted this entire lifestyle in a way no other man has before and I’ll make his damn lungs pop while he drowns in the dreaded sea of sin.
This is the ultimate capper for me because not even Roger Wright has occupied this much space in my brain in terms of who the hell I want to annihilate. I want to hear Johnny’s bones crush one…by one and when those that enable him begin to vomit from the disgust of the sounds…that is when I’ll slice his forehead wide open so the true feast can begin. It will be the ultimate feast of conquest…to please not only myself but all those who he’s repressed in his entire god damned career.
…and he’ll be like Jesus was for the Jewish people in terms of a victim…an odd symbol of freedom for those who don’t live a normal lifestyle.
An UnStable lifestyle.
And if this ends up being my last match because of the volume of violence I inflict on him…I accept that because that’s how much I’m willing to sacrifice in order to finish this deed once and for all.
The gutters of Cincinnati, Ohio have a stench similar to that of my hometown. The unemployment has caused the streets to flood with the pestilence and disease that crippled the Roman Empire in the ancient days. The pavement of the roads has even begun to erode to show the old bricks from when they used to travel by horse and buggy. The buildings are tagged with graffiti in the rough end of town of various gangs that the police wouldn’t dare touch.
The wind picks up slightly on this overcast evening which causes my black hair to sway along with the wind. I just tighten the heavy overcoat while glancing around at the various streets. A couple of people on the opposite side are bickering about sports while wearing a Cincinnati and Xavier University shirts respectively while I just sneer at their plight. The other side of the street however has a couple of residential drug addicts giving me some glares just because of my scarred face.
“They live in the state of Ohio and they act like they’ve never seen a man who stands up for their beliefs…” I growl, “Maybe instead of taking a stand they’re just busy enabling the government to take care of them while they get fictitious benefits of Obama care.”
Those that heard my rumblings shoot me a couple of dirty look but the ‘burning’ stares from these simple minded puppets. If anything, the ‘burns’ from those stares just makes the slightest smile creep onto my face. The passionate hatred that these enablers have for me warms even my glacial heart…especially considering that these jackasses enable government and wrestling in different ways to take advantage of them and they still take it and enjoy it just because of an occasional false reward.
Soon enough, I duck the bright lights of the city and swoop into the seclusion of the darker streets. The smell of booze and recreational goodies just creates an anarchic vibe to the air here. A small smattering of a voice in my head lowly asking ‘how much?’ before I almost vomit in my mouth because of how bad detox was back in the day. Thankfully, before that thought sinks in further, I’m interrupted by the voice of someone else.
“You’re late Seth…” Moretti calls.
I glance down the street and see Vincent Moretti dressed immaculately in a black suit with his hair recently trimmed to reflect his age a little more accurately. He lets out a very shrill laugh that visibly gives even a couple of these drug minded nimrods goosebumps. We both glance around at the broken down buildings, the lopsided windows, and the overall grumbling within the city…as if some of them are losing some hope.
“What a welcome in terms of an atmosphere, eh?” Moretti questions half mockingly.
“Those who don’t learn from history are always…always doomed to repeat it.” I answer lowly, “Let’s just say this won’t be another Mike Park situation. Never again will that ever happen.”
Moretti just raises his eyebrows as we just walk deeper into the darkness of the corridor. The buildings are progressively degenerating as we just walk deeper down into that road and apart from an occasional stare of envy toward the flamboyant suit Moretti wears; we’re weirdly going under the radar due to the other…oppressive atmosphere that’s just been bred here. The two of us soon glance back at the various pot users before offering respective shakes of the head.
“Tch…to think that you thought that you might turn into one of these fools…lounging around with no future if you didn’t take the drastic steps of detox and joining The Family…” Moretti chuckles lowly, “Never thought you had anything to worry about in that regard though.”
“It is a damn shame that the Kliq and all their rampant drug and woman abuse won’t end up in these gutters…trying to enable instead of being enabled…” I coldly reply, matching his curious expression with one that lacks any sort of emotion.
“All good deeds…get their just rewards though,” Moretti nods as he pulls out a cigarette.
Moretti soon enough lights his cigarette and blows smoke slowly toward some of the stares he’s received. Our walking has ended and we’ve reached a particular building that’s a little smaller than the taller ones that surround it. The bricks are chipped but sturdy however the wooden door gives no alluring welcome because of the splinters and damages it has received. After I glance at Moretti’s devilish smile, I end up opening the door and the two of us enter this building.
“Let’s just say I have a small surprise for you deep inside here, Seth,” Moretti crackles as he takes another puff of that cigarette.
“Oh goody…” I roll my eyes in pure annoyance.
The building on the inside has a layer of dust on the tables and paintings that make it jarring to breathe right away. Moretti throws the cigarette out the door after taking one last satisfying puff of it before he eyeballs me just glancing around at the building. The walls are a basic indigo with decently maintained carpet and lamps on the tables providing faint illumination throughout the building. The paintings are of various Indian tribes fighting with Colonists back in the day and they damn the Native Americans for being bloodthirsty and I end up glaring at those paintings in particular.
“Stupid bastards don’t see both sides of the damned coin,” I lowly growl.
“Its…this way,” Moretti continues, still in that one track thought before walking off.
I shrug my shoulders and follow him; still keeping my eye darted back on that one painting. In essence, you could say that Johnny Stylez is very much like the Americans who pushed forth with the land or the British people who gave those smallpox blankets to wipe them out before swooping in for the kill. He is as cunning as any individual ever has been in this business but we enable history to remember that cunning in a positive light while condemning the other side for being bloodthirsty in a never-ending battle of propaganda.
“And people have the gull to condemn everything I’ve ever done. What a bunch of bullshit,” I hiss.
“Temper…temper,” Moretti snickers.
I end up following Vincent Moretti though the dark hall as the room itself seems to narrow. The various paintings are of the various forts and how this city seems to have grown and even regressed throughout history. From the railroads to the industry, the paintings document it yet the dust it collects makes them treated like relics because of all the ignorance our populace possesses in life. Soon enough, at the end here is a second door and we end up barging through.
Now…what I see are a set of steps with only candlelight illuminating the top before you progressively divulge into the darkness. The two of us brazenly go down the wooden steps while hearing the loud creaks it gives out from the wear. The temperature progressively dips down even further as everything soon gets near pitch black before we finally end up seeing another pair of candles further down. At last, we reach the bottom of the steps and I already sense something else here.
“So…this is where that…uneasiness was coming from,” I lowly say to myself.
“Let’s just say a ton of people lost their way here and when they couldn’t handle the horrid reality…they took a gun and ended it permanently,” Moretti replies.
“Fitting…very fitting.” I nod with a faint smile on my face, “I’d rather they do that than enable others thanks to fake promises that they’d get imaginary benefits or Special Olympic Medals.”
“Almost like what Colt did to the World belt?” Moretti raises an eyebrow.
“Don’t even get me started on that giant crock of bullshit and insult to what power is supposed to be,” I growl, “I don’t need THAT damned thought going in between what I’m going to do to Johnny and how I’m going to have fun with both Cera and Roger.”
“Agreed Seth, agreed,” Moretti crackles.
We soon walk on the hard floor, glancing at the various skeletons that have been scattered among our feet. A shrill yell is heard in the distance and as we walk deeper into the basement of this building, those yells progressively get louder. The intoxicating smells of gunpowder swoops in as well as the scattered bones continue to increase. Moretti soon freezes in his tracks for a minute just to reach into his pocket for something. I pause for a minute and glance at him before he pulls out a spike. A weapon I used to pull out of my boat back in my Japanese days and those blood filled days soon resurface.
“Strike a chord?” he snickers.
I let out a small smirk before I reach down into my right boot and end up pulling a second spike. Moretti raises his eyebrows in shock as I let out a small snicker of my own.
“You can say it does…but I still have one of those around. Now let’s go,” I sternly order.
The two of us reach the end of the building where we see a young man chained to the brick walls tightly. The hands have started to turn purple from the abuse but he glances toward us in absolute disdain. Hell, he even spits toward us in contempt but Vincent just laughs sadistically toward that sign of disrespect. He even begins trembling in his absolute hatred and anger toward him even at the face of both of us armed with a spike in our hands.
“You’re both going to end up in the ultimate damning pits of hell where you both belong!” he roars out as he starts to flail about, trying to escape.
“Senile fool…” I sigh.
Moretti soon launches up with an insulting backhand right toward his face and he soon ends up spitting toward him a second time. The further defiance just fuels Vincent to get a little more sadistic as he soon jabs that spike into the palm of his imprisoned hand. He lets out a loud, pained scream in pain as the spike soon senges deeper and the blood soon oozes out. He soon stops though once I hear the sound of that tip reaching bone but that makes the tortured man even angrier.
“Think of it this way…” I lower my eyes, “The blind eyes of society lead you into this predicament and enabled you to go through such pain. The truth…like so many of these people have found out in this building, always ends up saving you in the end even in death. Take that thought to whatever devine being you believe in.”
The man’s will weakens slightly when I take my own spike and end up jamming it into his other hand while letting out some instinctual stomps on his foot and knee strikes into his ribcage when he continues to squirm and yell for mercy. Soon enough, more blood soon oozes out and the hard brick walls are stained by a running trail of his fresh blood. I let out a small laugh as I take some of that blood that’s leaking out and run a pair of streaks down from my eyes with it…similar to how the Native Americans did in their past.
“Now…” Moretti purrs almost like a content cat with a canary in his mouth, “Prepare for the truth that your end is here.”
Moretti reaches into a second pocket of his jacket and ends up pulling a 12 millimeter pistol that gleams a nightly silver. The man’s eyes widen as soon as he sees the gun and the previous yelling about the pain of the spikes ceases. He ends up pulling back and as soon as that click is heard, a devious grin soon appears on my face. The man tilts his head down knowing what his fate will be as soon as the barrel of the gun is pointed right at his face.
BANG!
One shot…and the man’s brains are splattered all against the wall. The wound causes a third dripping of blood to come down onto the floor as a new layer of gunpowder just takes over my senses. The man’s head drips down lifelessly. The smile on my face evolves into a more maniacal one at the deed and Moretti’s usual shrill laughter to go with all the gunpowder soon follows.
Another man saved from the realm of the enablers.
“I’d say the job is complete, wouldn’t you?” Moretti beams.
“Yes…one more leaves the ranks of the enablers after he can’t see sense…” I reply before the smile vanishes from my face, “Now…to do something about one that has been enabled…”
“Then we’ll do it…” Moretti nods.
The two of us begin to leave the room with the various jobs looming. Roger Wright will be busy licking his wounds after that chokeslam and I have plenty of time to do what I please with Cera in her ‘game’ which is a damn good thing…because Johnny Stylez is front and center. The disappointment of World War X weighs in along with his continued taunts and berating of so many of my UnStable brothers and sisters. The man’s in for the worst ass kicking of his life.
He’ll wish he never came back from drug rehabilitation to try to continue his reign because ask any god damned person that’s ever been in a match with me…they carry some sort of scar the rest of their damned life. Father Nathan, one of my own stablemates, has a running scar through his throat that he’ll never be rid of for the rest of his damned days after our initial encounter. Tori Notorious hasn’t been seen after I assaulted her just to qualify UnStable into that damned World War X match.
Hell, ask Ryan Pugh and Hazard about me after I damn near broke every bone in their body after a suicidal dive and in Ryan’s case…a severe case of Black Magic.
Johnny will get every bit of pain that’s ever coursed through my knee and soul and he won’t survive it. He’ll suffocate like he did after the first Injection of Poison except this time…I have no interest in wanting to let go immediately. The brain damage will force the enabled Don of Disrespect back into a different type of rehab permanently and then and only then will he understand once and for all what he has to do.
He WILL respect Nocturnal’s retirement.
The Don of Disrespect will have no choice but to respect the UnStable kingdom and its warriors in terms of every damn thing we are willing to sacrifice.
…and most importantly of all…he WILL respect the name…Seth Iser after I bludgeon him all over the city of Cincinnati.