Post by Thespian on Sept 23, 2021 4:16:54 GMT -5
Darkness. A voice chimes in.
“Hello, friends of NLW. I am the Interpreter for the Thespian, and I would like to tell you all a story today. I’m sure many of you know the story of Lazarus from the Book of John.”
The scene begins to slowly brighten up, but it’s blurry...
“But I want to tell you a different story today. A story not on the Death of Lazarus and his Resurrection, but of the LIFE of Lazarus… and his Murder.”
As the picture clears up, only one thing comes into view. A man is seen walking up a steep hill with a massive cross being dragged from over his left shoulder. The front of the cross faces towards him, out of sight from the rest of the onlookers. The man himself is a mixed shade of white and tan with long, yet matted, black hair going down to the square of his back, and covering a good portion of his face. For what wasn’t covered, is a mask. A mask of the Thespian; one half of the mask is laughing, while the other half weeps.
Beyond that, the rest of his body was on full display; and what an ugly body it was. His torso and legs were littered in various scars, be them from cuts, punctures, or burns. The most egregious wounds could be found across his back as it tells the story of a myriad of abuses and bumps… his throat, where an ugly gash drapes itself across his windpipe… and his right ankle, which had the cleanest of scars going directly up the tendon. Preserving what little modesty there was left for the poor actor was a small rag that does it’s job of covering his privates… just barely.
Much like the man the Thespian is emulating, the actor wears a crown made of thorns. Blood and sweat trickle down his head and neck as he continues to walk… as the Interpreter tells his story:
“Lazarus was a man who’s prowess in combat is matched by the silver of his tongue and the gold of his belt. But such a depraved deviant was not what the good people of the Crescent City wanted to see on top. So they clamored for a new challenger to rise up and face him.
‘Our lord is sick in the head,’ they of the Southern States cried out.
‘Worry not,’ A passing traveler told them, ‘for this sickness will end in his death, and I shall be glorified in his passing.’
And so, the stranger marched on to Crescent City.
To all those who despised, or claimed to revel in, the ‘glory’ of Lazarus, they are merely told; ‘Lazarus will not rise again.’
The stranger eventually came to the house of Lazarus and, in an act of vigilante justice, in-front of patrons and Killjoys alike, struck him down.
‘Give him a decent burial and lay him to rest,’ the stranger said.”
As the Interpreter wraps up his brief story, Theo arrives at his final destination at the top of the hill. At the apex is just a dug out square hole. As Theo approaches the hole, he begins to raise it up...
“To speak on the behalf of Theo himself now: you may think me just another weak opponent to abuse and tack onto your reign. I am here to tell you that I am so much more, Lazarus. I am the Antichrist, to you and your reign. And I have a challenge for you.”
Theo takes the cross he had been carrying and places it into the hole that was dug for it. With the cross upright and turned around, the front of it was now visible.
And what was on the cross might make a lesser man’s stomach turn. A protrusion of metal adorns each of the horizontal wings of the cross where the nails should go. Under those spikes, blood has dried.
Once the cross was steady, Theo turns his back to it and begins to step backward close to it. The mask moves once more as the Interpreter continues to translate the lips of his employer:
“I want you in a Hardcore Match. Falls Count Anywhere. The Heavyweight Championship gets No DQ, so why can’t we?”
He pauses, just to let that challenge sink in for a moment.
“You stabbed Finn Whelan in the skull for your victory last Ascension. Personally, I don’t think anyone would really bat an eye at that. You are both equally hated. However, I don’t want you pulling cheap tricks with me, Lazarus. No. I don’t want to hamper your style; I want to EMBRACE IT! You want to brutalize someone, I’ll let you! I want you to bring your absolute worst. I want you to bring that screwdriver back out…
… And I want you to hurt me.”
Once the words slip from the Interpreter’s mouth, the Thespian raises his left hand up in-front of him… and swings it back against one of the spikes! His hand splays out in agony for a brief moment. The spike does not pierce all the way through… however, it does not take long for the blood to trickle down his left forearm. Theo’s chest shakes… he’s laughing… quietly as his mask moves again.
“I want you to crucify me, Arjen.”
His right arm mirrors the left. A sickening puncture of flesh echoes out as Theo laughs properly… a hoarse, ugly laugh… With his hands both stuck on the spikes, he looks up towards the sky with his eyes wide under the mask and begins to ‘scream’ up at it with a maniac posture that the Interpreter matches in his voice:
“I want you to brutalize me, Lazarus! I want you to break me down! Because everything that you do to me, I will give you back two-fold! I want to paint the ring crimson to the hue of BOTH our bloods! Armageddon is coming for your championship! Welcome to the New Testament of Next Level Wrestling! Repent, for your time is coming to an end! Repent in the face of the Hell that’s coming for you!”
“Repent, Lazarus, repent!”
“Hello, friends of NLW. I am the Interpreter for the Thespian, and I would like to tell you all a story today. I’m sure many of you know the story of Lazarus from the Book of John.”
The scene begins to slowly brighten up, but it’s blurry...
“But I want to tell you a different story today. A story not on the Death of Lazarus and his Resurrection, but of the LIFE of Lazarus… and his Murder.”
As the picture clears up, only one thing comes into view. A man is seen walking up a steep hill with a massive cross being dragged from over his left shoulder. The front of the cross faces towards him, out of sight from the rest of the onlookers. The man himself is a mixed shade of white and tan with long, yet matted, black hair going down to the square of his back, and covering a good portion of his face. For what wasn’t covered, is a mask. A mask of the Thespian; one half of the mask is laughing, while the other half weeps.
Beyond that, the rest of his body was on full display; and what an ugly body it was. His torso and legs were littered in various scars, be them from cuts, punctures, or burns. The most egregious wounds could be found across his back as it tells the story of a myriad of abuses and bumps… his throat, where an ugly gash drapes itself across his windpipe… and his right ankle, which had the cleanest of scars going directly up the tendon. Preserving what little modesty there was left for the poor actor was a small rag that does it’s job of covering his privates… just barely.
Much like the man the Thespian is emulating, the actor wears a crown made of thorns. Blood and sweat trickle down his head and neck as he continues to walk… as the Interpreter tells his story:
“Lazarus was a man who’s prowess in combat is matched by the silver of his tongue and the gold of his belt. But such a depraved deviant was not what the good people of the Crescent City wanted to see on top. So they clamored for a new challenger to rise up and face him.
‘Our lord is sick in the head,’ they of the Southern States cried out.
‘Worry not,’ A passing traveler told them, ‘for this sickness will end in his death, and I shall be glorified in his passing.’
And so, the stranger marched on to Crescent City.
To all those who despised, or claimed to revel in, the ‘glory’ of Lazarus, they are merely told; ‘Lazarus will not rise again.’
The stranger eventually came to the house of Lazarus and, in an act of vigilante justice, in-front of patrons and Killjoys alike, struck him down.
‘Give him a decent burial and lay him to rest,’ the stranger said.”
As the Interpreter wraps up his brief story, Theo arrives at his final destination at the top of the hill. At the apex is just a dug out square hole. As Theo approaches the hole, he begins to raise it up...
“To speak on the behalf of Theo himself now: you may think me just another weak opponent to abuse and tack onto your reign. I am here to tell you that I am so much more, Lazarus. I am the Antichrist, to you and your reign. And I have a challenge for you.”
Theo takes the cross he had been carrying and places it into the hole that was dug for it. With the cross upright and turned around, the front of it was now visible.
And what was on the cross might make a lesser man’s stomach turn. A protrusion of metal adorns each of the horizontal wings of the cross where the nails should go. Under those spikes, blood has dried.
Once the cross was steady, Theo turns his back to it and begins to step backward close to it. The mask moves once more as the Interpreter continues to translate the lips of his employer:
“I want you in a Hardcore Match. Falls Count Anywhere. The Heavyweight Championship gets No DQ, so why can’t we?”
He pauses, just to let that challenge sink in for a moment.
“You stabbed Finn Whelan in the skull for your victory last Ascension. Personally, I don’t think anyone would really bat an eye at that. You are both equally hated. However, I don’t want you pulling cheap tricks with me, Lazarus. No. I don’t want to hamper your style; I want to EMBRACE IT! You want to brutalize someone, I’ll let you! I want you to bring your absolute worst. I want you to bring that screwdriver back out…
… And I want you to hurt me.”
Once the words slip from the Interpreter’s mouth, the Thespian raises his left hand up in-front of him… and swings it back against one of the spikes! His hand splays out in agony for a brief moment. The spike does not pierce all the way through… however, it does not take long for the blood to trickle down his left forearm. Theo’s chest shakes… he’s laughing… quietly as his mask moves again.
“I want you to crucify me, Arjen.”
His right arm mirrors the left. A sickening puncture of flesh echoes out as Theo laughs properly… a hoarse, ugly laugh… With his hands both stuck on the spikes, he looks up towards the sky with his eyes wide under the mask and begins to ‘scream’ up at it with a maniac posture that the Interpreter matches in his voice:
“I want you to brutalize me, Lazarus! I want you to break me down! Because everything that you do to me, I will give you back two-fold! I want to paint the ring crimson to the hue of BOTH our bloods! Armageddon is coming for your championship! Welcome to the New Testament of Next Level Wrestling! Repent, for your time is coming to an end! Repent in the face of the Hell that’s coming for you!”
“Repent, Lazarus, repent!”