Post by LuthorCarbrey on Mar 4, 2022 14:43:08 GMT -5
Luthor Carbrey stopped in the parking lot, his luggage dragged behind him such as it was. And he frowned, looking around the parking lot before he started forward again. He knew his rental was somewhere nearby. He didn't remove his leather jacket in the desert heat as he glanced up at the merciless sun overhead, and he frowned once more as he squinted his eyes. He was used to the cold and dreary weather, of rain and fog. But he had spent the last several years in the heat.
First, Mexico. Then the desolate reaches of Albania. And now this.
He glanced down at the tag on the keys in his hand, and scanned the row of cars. Then he saw the car waiting for him, it was of course a good car. His employers, his masters were not ones to shy away from appearances. And of course it was black, they always were. He snorted, lip curling into a smile as he opened the trunk to throw the suitcase inside before he walked around to the door. He slid inside, pulling out his phone to check the address of the arena before he gripped the wheel in his hands. And he shook his head, and rembered.
--Somewhere in Mexico, the Past--
The prison had no name that he knew of, according to the whispers he heard from the other inmates it was a place where the wealthy and powerful put people they wanted to forget. And so he had lingered here for years in the hot cramped darkness, every day a struggle to not fall into the pit of despair. His days were filled with violence, fighting against those who thought to test themselves against a man with his repuation. But the nights were worse.
He would lay in his cell, and remember. At nights the whispers of oblivion were strong, they were loud. They called him down into the dark, and he would be forced to do something anything to ignore them.
His crime had been to fall in love. He had fallen in love with the wrong woman, and her family had destroyed him. Some planted evidence, a few bribes, and he was thrown into this place to linger forgotten. A ghost in a cell. His career over, his loves stolen from him, and he was alone in the dark.
He glanced up as he heard the other prisoners start to whistle and call out, and the rattle of the block door at the end of the row of cells opening. There was a clang of metal, and he knew that the guards had struck one of the barred doors as the voices fell silent again. Then they started again louder, ignoring the orders of the guards as the fall of footsteps grew louder. He looked up and found a woman staring at him, two guards standing behind her with their SWAT gear on. They held their clubs at the ready, staring at him from behind the visors of their helmets.
Luthor Carbrey slowly sat up, a brow lifting in confusion. The guard started to say something, but the woman lifted a hand without even glancing at him. He fell silent at once, and he blinked again. The guards were not normally so quick to obey. The woman herself was pretty with reddish hair tied back from her face, she stared at him as she absently smoothed the long coat she wore. The heat didn't seem to bother her at all. But it was her eyes that disturbed him, on the surface they seemed calm and collected.
But in their depths, he could see madness. A slow crawling chaos, and he shivered.
The guard started to speak again, and she turned to look at him. 'You may go, I will call if I need you.'
The guards looked at each other, and they started to protest before the woman turned to look at them each in turn. She frowned, and a hand lifted slowly as she inspected her nails before speaking in a low voice. 'My employer will not be at all pleased if you disobey me.'
The guards bowed their heads quickly, and started down the hall with a few smacks of their batons against the cell doors. And then it was silent once more, save for a few whistles as the woman stepped closer. Luthor rose from the bed, crossing the room to grip the bars of the door. He swallowed, throat dry before he forced himself to speak with a shake of his head. 'Who are you? What do you want?'
'I am Sinclair Godfrey, and I am here to make you an offer.' she answered, her head lifted as he stared at her. Her accent was English, well educated, probably an aristocrat if he were to be fair. He grunted, shrugging as he looked around the cell.
'An offer? I am not sure what I can do for you from inside of this cell, Miss Godfrey.'
Her eyes flashed, and she clenched her jaw before she hissed. 'Lady Godfrey.'
'My apologies, but the point remains.'
'My employer will have you released.' she answered, lifting her hand to study her fingernails again. Luthor snorted, and shook his head as he stepped back from the bars.
'Sure, your employer will just snap his fingers and they will get me out of here, right?'
Her eyes narrowed again. 'Yes. No one in Mexico will defy the Scourge, lest they draw his ire.'
Luthor blinked, and he stared at her as she smiled slightly. 'Is this a joke? The Scourge is a myth, an urban legend to wrestlers.'
'I promise you that Donzig is no myth, and that the Scourge walks across these deserts as a god.'
Luthor said nothing, looking around the cell before he turned back to her. 'But I could be guilty.'
'He doesn't care if you are guilty or innocent. The Void has whispered your name, Oblivion commands him to bring you into the fold.' Sinclair shrugged, and she looked around the hallway before turning back to him. A sneer as a few catcalls rang out, and she murmured. 'Would you rather stay here and rot, Luthor? Come with me, and we will rule this dead world as Gods. We are the Chosen of the Empty Dark, the hands of the Scourge, the Children of the Fall, Luthor.'
He frowned, and his hand curled into a fist as he walked back to the cell door. She looked down at his fist, and smiled slowly like a well-fed cat. Her eyes met his, and she stepped closer to the cell door. 'We will be in touch, even now his lawyers are getting you free. We will take you to Albania, and you will reborn.'
'What does he want?' he asked, head bowed against the bars of the cell.
'Chaos.'
--Now, Las Vegas--
And so he had been, with what he had gained in prison, and what Donzig trained in him? Luthor Carbrey had became a weapon, a tool of war, a servant of the Empty Dark. When he climbed into the ring, he felt it take over. He felt himself becoming like the Scourge, an agent of death, a thing of Chaos. And he was without mercy, without pity, all he cared for was inflicting pain and suffering. He would make the world pay for what it did to him, make it suffer like he had suffered in that cell, and he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
Donzig had sent him to UP Wrestling to bring it to heel, to spread chaos and fear in the name of Donzig-gun.
And so he would, after all was he not the Knife of the Scourge?
First, Mexico. Then the desolate reaches of Albania. And now this.
He glanced down at the tag on the keys in his hand, and scanned the row of cars. Then he saw the car waiting for him, it was of course a good car. His employers, his masters were not ones to shy away from appearances. And of course it was black, they always were. He snorted, lip curling into a smile as he opened the trunk to throw the suitcase inside before he walked around to the door. He slid inside, pulling out his phone to check the address of the arena before he gripped the wheel in his hands. And he shook his head, and rembered.
--Somewhere in Mexico, the Past--
The prison had no name that he knew of, according to the whispers he heard from the other inmates it was a place where the wealthy and powerful put people they wanted to forget. And so he had lingered here for years in the hot cramped darkness, every day a struggle to not fall into the pit of despair. His days were filled with violence, fighting against those who thought to test themselves against a man with his repuation. But the nights were worse.
He would lay in his cell, and remember. At nights the whispers of oblivion were strong, they were loud. They called him down into the dark, and he would be forced to do something anything to ignore them.
His crime had been to fall in love. He had fallen in love with the wrong woman, and her family had destroyed him. Some planted evidence, a few bribes, and he was thrown into this place to linger forgotten. A ghost in a cell. His career over, his loves stolen from him, and he was alone in the dark.
He glanced up as he heard the other prisoners start to whistle and call out, and the rattle of the block door at the end of the row of cells opening. There was a clang of metal, and he knew that the guards had struck one of the barred doors as the voices fell silent again. Then they started again louder, ignoring the orders of the guards as the fall of footsteps grew louder. He looked up and found a woman staring at him, two guards standing behind her with their SWAT gear on. They held their clubs at the ready, staring at him from behind the visors of their helmets.
Luthor Carbrey slowly sat up, a brow lifting in confusion. The guard started to say something, but the woman lifted a hand without even glancing at him. He fell silent at once, and he blinked again. The guards were not normally so quick to obey. The woman herself was pretty with reddish hair tied back from her face, she stared at him as she absently smoothed the long coat she wore. The heat didn't seem to bother her at all. But it was her eyes that disturbed him, on the surface they seemed calm and collected.
But in their depths, he could see madness. A slow crawling chaos, and he shivered.
The guard started to speak again, and she turned to look at him. 'You may go, I will call if I need you.'
The guards looked at each other, and they started to protest before the woman turned to look at them each in turn. She frowned, and a hand lifted slowly as she inspected her nails before speaking in a low voice. 'My employer will not be at all pleased if you disobey me.'
The guards bowed their heads quickly, and started down the hall with a few smacks of their batons against the cell doors. And then it was silent once more, save for a few whistles as the woman stepped closer. Luthor rose from the bed, crossing the room to grip the bars of the door. He swallowed, throat dry before he forced himself to speak with a shake of his head. 'Who are you? What do you want?'
'I am Sinclair Godfrey, and I am here to make you an offer.' she answered, her head lifted as he stared at her. Her accent was English, well educated, probably an aristocrat if he were to be fair. He grunted, shrugging as he looked around the cell.
'An offer? I am not sure what I can do for you from inside of this cell, Miss Godfrey.'
Her eyes flashed, and she clenched her jaw before she hissed. 'Lady Godfrey.'
'My apologies, but the point remains.'
'My employer will have you released.' she answered, lifting her hand to study her fingernails again. Luthor snorted, and shook his head as he stepped back from the bars.
'Sure, your employer will just snap his fingers and they will get me out of here, right?'
Her eyes narrowed again. 'Yes. No one in Mexico will defy the Scourge, lest they draw his ire.'
Luthor blinked, and he stared at her as she smiled slightly. 'Is this a joke? The Scourge is a myth, an urban legend to wrestlers.'
'I promise you that Donzig is no myth, and that the Scourge walks across these deserts as a god.'
Luthor said nothing, looking around the cell before he turned back to her. 'But I could be guilty.'
'He doesn't care if you are guilty or innocent. The Void has whispered your name, Oblivion commands him to bring you into the fold.' Sinclair shrugged, and she looked around the hallway before turning back to him. A sneer as a few catcalls rang out, and she murmured. 'Would you rather stay here and rot, Luthor? Come with me, and we will rule this dead world as Gods. We are the Chosen of the Empty Dark, the hands of the Scourge, the Children of the Fall, Luthor.'
He frowned, and his hand curled into a fist as he walked back to the cell door. She looked down at his fist, and smiled slowly like a well-fed cat. Her eyes met his, and she stepped closer to the cell door. 'We will be in touch, even now his lawyers are getting you free. We will take you to Albania, and you will reborn.'
'What does he want?' he asked, head bowed against the bars of the cell.
'Chaos.'
--Now, Las Vegas--
And so he had been, with what he had gained in prison, and what Donzig trained in him? Luthor Carbrey had became a weapon, a tool of war, a servant of the Empty Dark. When he climbed into the ring, he felt it take over. He felt himself becoming like the Scourge, an agent of death, a thing of Chaos. And he was without mercy, without pity, all he cared for was inflicting pain and suffering. He would make the world pay for what it did to him, make it suffer like he had suffered in that cell, and he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
Donzig had sent him to UP Wrestling to bring it to heel, to spread chaos and fear in the name of Donzig-gun.
And so he would, after all was he not the Knife of the Scourge?
