Missionary Work (BfH Poena)
Jan 11, 2023 23:57:35 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer and Jesse Jamester like this
Post by ulvendagoth on Jan 11, 2023 23:57:35 GMT -5
Poena stands at the pulpit of his church, gripping the edges as he leans over it. His face is deified as he looks around the nave of his church, preaching to his congregation.
We all feel pain, and through that common thread, we can all pull together. And thus, only through pain can we come together as one. He wants to heal us. He wants to bring the foolish and self-destructive human race into a new age of peace and wonder.
The congregation, the spirits of those whom Poena has broken and/or sacrificed, look up at him with faces of horror and bliss—the look of someone who’s seen the face of God and found out that it was far too much for their mind to handle.
However, there are those who do not believe, who are self-centered and arrogant... They keep us from His side! They keep us from His blessings! Through their refusal to embrace the pain, the suffering, and the sacrifice necessary to make progress, they keep us all back. Tell me! What do they deserve?!
The congregation shivers, their forms wavering as their mouths open far wider than they should as they scream out in ghastly, spectral voices.
PUNISHMENT! JUDGEMENT! DESTRUCTION!
Poena raises his arms out to his sides with his palms up as they scream, closing his eyes in rapture. As their voices fade, he lowers his arms and laughs, grinning sadistically.
Yes! He is sending me out from the desert of broken glass to bring His wrath down upon four such unbelievers! They are a foolish clown, an arrogant relic, a tin man, and one that clings to "honor." They will bleed, and I will make them see His truth!
Poena looks over toward the camera and grins like a cheshire cat, winking at it as he walks from the pulpit.
If you don't believe me, ask Jack about my knife work.
He whips back around to look at the congregation again, laughing maniacally as he gets more manic and whips himself into a frenzy.
They will look upon me and think I am like all the other foolish worshippers of false gods. They will fool themselves. BUT YOU ALL KNOW THE TRUTH! I am an angel of PAIN! I have been chosen by Him! I am no mere prophet! I AM HIS CHOSEN!
Poena’s hands grip the pulpit in a white-knuckled grip before he yells out, rips it from the floor, and throws it across the nave of the church before glaring into the camera.
I can hear all of you now! That I am simply cultist #428, like all the other misguided sheep you have had to deal with! I will show you the truth of His words when I peel the skin from your face and deep fry your heart! Look over the congregation! You will see the broken remains of those who thought the same as you! They are now His forever! Erin, Dakota, Austin... so many have underestimated His Chosen.
Poena twitches, the movement going from his fingers and up his arms to jerk his head to the side for a moment. When he focuses back on the camera, his glowing, multicolored eye is brighter.
Dylan, how will you handle losing again? Misha put you through it and ended your reign with the X*Crown with a stubborn sadism that I even respect in a way. How will you deal with someone who not only tolerates but actively enjoys the pain you inflict on them? Crush me, beat me... It’s all just a blessing from Him on high. Glory be. You, the Godslayer, will fail once more.
He pulls a knife from his frayed finery, drawing the blade over his arm as he laughs his soul-tainting laugh.
Your sheer arrogance when you faced down Misha was as entertaining as it was misguided! You think you are better than everyone else, and you then fail to prove it. Is it because you remember when you first started, Dylan? The nights of being nothing but a jobber till a fluke saw you rise? Are you trying to prove yourself to others… or to yourself? Nothing you have can keep me down, Dylan. Try what you will, but I will get back up, laugh at you, and tell you to do it again. I will revel in your attempts to break me.
Poena grins and tosses the bloodied knife away, humming to himself as he does. As he looks into the distance at something he can only see, he continues.
Cooopycaaaat… It is strange to see someone so naive put into the position you are in. Someone really doesn’t like you that much. They want to see you bleed and suffer. Perhaps the pain I bless you with will open your eyes to the truth. He will bless you with reality, and in that moment you will suffer. It will be worse than how Terry treated you. You remember Terry, don’t you, Copycat? You remember how he’d beat you and break you, calling you names, slapping you, telling you not to question him, and doing so much worse. Even being the laughing stock of AWF and the personal bitch of Terry will pale in comparison to what I will do to you. Yes, even the time he got you to sing the national anthem and set your American flag shirt on fire. The marines' treatment of you after you stomped it out will seem like a gentle rain.
Poena tilts his head, grinning again as he looks back into the camera—a flicker of something other in his multicolored eye.
Raiden, how is Reina faring? Should I go and take a look for you? You can ask Jack; I’m rather good at keeping tabs on people and making sure they don’t go anywhere. After all, she can’t get into any trouble if she’s in the hospital for broken legs, now can she? You were a harbinger of pain once; surely you understand His message. You cannot heal without pain, and without pain, you cannot learn and thrive. They are watching you from the other side, Raiden. Why not go to them? After all, you still wake up in pain from that clothesline Storm gave you all those years ago, don’t you? You’ve had experience with another chosen in Hyperion, and yet here you are, putting yourself in the way of another. Except this time, the God doing the choosing is real.
Poena snickers to himself, shaking his head as he grins. He sighs a moment later, frowning as he goes to the other end of the emotional spectrum.
And you, Steve... How are the kids? Does your daughter still hate you? Your wife? Didn’t the guest referee in our match try his best to kill you several times? I wonder if he will let me borrow a few of those lovely knives to use... I could make such art with them, using the three of you as canvas. You could finally pay them all back, Steve, for all the pain and suffering you put your family through... All your regrets could be laid on His altar and paid for with your sacrifice. You know you deserve it, deep down in your blackened soul. Just let me break you, Steve. Let me save you in His name.
A dry chuckle is heard from the front row, where a few people are speaking to themselves in a sort of disgruntled way. Poena cocks his head curiously as Armand von Krauss sits in the front while smoking his Egyptian cigarette. He appears unmoved by the parade of emotions going on throughout the place. Poena slides over to stand before him with a mad grin.
What is this? Are you not moved by my preaching? Are you not enlightened by His wisdom?
Armand merely smiles.
Armand von Krauss: I've seen His face in the countless faces of those who breezed through my Kharnival, losing their minds to the wondrous sights on display. I have seen His face in those upon whom I have inflicted pain. In the faces of those I've locked behind locks made of these sanity threads pulled like loose threads from a blanket until there's nothing left. I know of you and of Him. I find it amusing that you ask permission to break Steve.
Poena’s eyes narrow as he regards Armand until realization sets in. He gives that sadistic cheshire grin as he lets out a hissing laugh.
You want to break him. He attracted so much attention from your wife, who tried to seduce him quite a few times. You want revenge…
Armand von Krauss: No. I think we should find his family and bring them down to ringside. Surely several of your priests could be on hand to enlighten Steve’s family during the match? Steve will become so much more interesting in the ring while his daughter and ex bleed on the outside of it. I will have the Twins and Sticky get them and bring them to the show. They’ll be on hand to make sure they do not escape or that Steve does not interfere with their enlightenment.
Poena laughs and shakes his head at Armand’s words and goes to retort before the door to the church swings open, and into it sweeps the suit-clad form of the one and only Malcolm Xavier Graves, his cane tapping on the floor as he glances around. Then he paused, reaching up to pull off his designer shades. He shrugged and absently tucked them inside his jacket. A nod to Poena, and he glanced at Armand.
“Poena, how’s Vegas? Mr. Von Krauss, I am a huge fan of your work."
"Where’s the Sheik?" asked Armand. Graves shrugged as he leaned against a pew.
"The Sheik is outside; he doesn’t want to enter the house of this God. You know how he is.” Graves motioned to Poena, who shrugged. The Sheik was a hard man to understand sometimes.
Graves tugged at his silk tie, loosening it before he spoke.
"I heard what you were saying on my way inside, and the thing is? My client, the Sheik doesn’t give two fu–” There was a pause, and he looked to Poena before giving a snort of faint laughter before continuing. "The Sheik doesn’t care about Steve, Steve’s family, or his kids. He doesn’t care what or who Copycat is. And he could care less about Raiden and his flash in the pan. The Sheik doesn’t care about those soft men, and their whatever.”
Armand arched a brow, shrugging. “And what does he care about?’
“Dylan Black. The Sheik is not happy over his loss to the Tin Man, and it is eating him up inside. He wants to rip Black apart, and he says he will tear the heart out of anyone who gets in his way. Poena knows how he is when he is upset.”
Graves shrugged, and he glanced around the church.
“Yeah, and everyone else involved would like to rip apart Dylan.”
A voice came from the shadows, and stepping out from there was James Raymond. "As someone who has faced Dylan for years, I know what it's like to face him and how he fights. One thing has remained constant about our time in the ring. He’s always gotten the better of me. I’m not going to let him do it again on the cusp of becoming X*Crown Champion, or even to main event an XHF pay-per-view.”
“But this isn’t just about you; it’s about all of us together.”
Grave’s voice responded to James, who just glared back at him. The Englishman sighed, shaking his head from side to side, before taking a seat in the front pew, one leg crossed over the other, just falling silent as he continued to think.
“Yeah, sure. That’s what you might think.”
He began to tut to himself. “We’re all fighting our own personal battles when it comes to trying to get into Supremacy, we’ve all got our own wars to win when it comes to trying to make it to the next step forward, and what does sitting here accomplish other than allowing us to try and get on the same page? We’re not going to be on the same page once that bell rings to end that match and we – somehow – come out on top of the Xtraction.”
“Somehow,” muttered Armand. “Is that what you think of us? We’re people who are doomed to fail?”
“If you take a look at the team that they have compared to ours, then yeah.” James paused for a moment, once again shaking his head and sighing. “We do have a bit of a disadvantage on our hands, and it might not be our fault, but it’s how the luck of the draw is. And instead of trying to find our strongest points, we’re sitting here in the middle of this church and doing fuck all to help ourselves.”
Graves turned to face Raymond directly, as did Armand and Poena.
“Steve Awesome has been claiming legend status for the longest time, and he’s been doing the most to make sure he’s got the X*Crown back in his possession ever since losing the damn thing—and Raiden Ishimori? He's been in this scene for so long that he's bound to get back into the swing of things, much like when he was first vying for the championship. Dylan Black? The man who has become more associated with the championship in the last year or so than anyone else in the previous six years? That’s three big names who are just as hungry as we are, but they’ve shown it. They’ve been successful.”
James glared at all three men. “What have we done? Seriously, tell me what we’ve done to show that same level of dedication as they have to being big names. I’ve not been a ‘big name’ since 2018 and I’ve never bounced back onto that same platform. I haven’t. I’ve not shown anything to prove myself in recent years much like they have.”
There's also Copycat...
Poena said this from the altar, his voice tinged with sadistic mirth.
“And you can stop there because he’s nothing more than a joke. He’s the only one we’ve got more star power than. And even then, it’s not fucking hard to accomplish that. It really isn't, so that’s one person we’ve got no way of worrying about.”
Poena shakes his head, laughing his soul-burning laugh... the sound even enough to make Armand twitch.
You say that we haven’t made names for ourselves, comparing us to heathens and heretics. I am likely the one here with the shortest tenure, but I have brought TAPOUT to a place of enlightenment. I have shown the world my altar in the desert of broken glass at more main events than any other.
Poena snaps his fingers as the Child crawls from the darkness of the choir loft to stand next to him. She’s even more scarred than before, thanks to Jack’s treatment. The diamond he left on her forehead has had more swirls added to it, corrupting the simple shape into a horror.
I have driven Jack to the limits of his sanity and beyond. I was, even now, weaving webs and playing mind games as is my strength. Armand has his Karnival, which it sounds like I need to visit, and I know firsthand how brutal Sheik is. So, Raymond, maybe you just need some education.
Poena looks to the Child, his 20 year old second in command, and motions toward the camera. She quickly lopes over to get it, giggling to herself.
So I shall show you His blessings! Be thankful that I am going to show you others and not use your own body.
Poena shakes his head as he says it, clearly meaning only the unenlightened would be thankful for it. He grins as the camera is picked up, the jostling distorting his body in the feed as he continues, his words the last thing the camera catches before going black.
It’s time to go hunting for new sacrifices...
We all feel pain, and through that common thread, we can all pull together. And thus, only through pain can we come together as one. He wants to heal us. He wants to bring the foolish and self-destructive human race into a new age of peace and wonder.
The congregation, the spirits of those whom Poena has broken and/or sacrificed, look up at him with faces of horror and bliss—the look of someone who’s seen the face of God and found out that it was far too much for their mind to handle.
However, there are those who do not believe, who are self-centered and arrogant... They keep us from His side! They keep us from His blessings! Through their refusal to embrace the pain, the suffering, and the sacrifice necessary to make progress, they keep us all back. Tell me! What do they deserve?!
The congregation shivers, their forms wavering as their mouths open far wider than they should as they scream out in ghastly, spectral voices.
PUNISHMENT! JUDGEMENT! DESTRUCTION!
Poena raises his arms out to his sides with his palms up as they scream, closing his eyes in rapture. As their voices fade, he lowers his arms and laughs, grinning sadistically.
Yes! He is sending me out from the desert of broken glass to bring His wrath down upon four such unbelievers! They are a foolish clown, an arrogant relic, a tin man, and one that clings to "honor." They will bleed, and I will make them see His truth!
Poena looks over toward the camera and grins like a cheshire cat, winking at it as he walks from the pulpit.
If you don't believe me, ask Jack about my knife work.
He whips back around to look at the congregation again, laughing maniacally as he gets more manic and whips himself into a frenzy.
They will look upon me and think I am like all the other foolish worshippers of false gods. They will fool themselves. BUT YOU ALL KNOW THE TRUTH! I am an angel of PAIN! I have been chosen by Him! I am no mere prophet! I AM HIS CHOSEN!
Poena’s hands grip the pulpit in a white-knuckled grip before he yells out, rips it from the floor, and throws it across the nave of the church before glaring into the camera.
I can hear all of you now! That I am simply cultist #428, like all the other misguided sheep you have had to deal with! I will show you the truth of His words when I peel the skin from your face and deep fry your heart! Look over the congregation! You will see the broken remains of those who thought the same as you! They are now His forever! Erin, Dakota, Austin... so many have underestimated His Chosen.
Poena twitches, the movement going from his fingers and up his arms to jerk his head to the side for a moment. When he focuses back on the camera, his glowing, multicolored eye is brighter.
Dylan, how will you handle losing again? Misha put you through it and ended your reign with the X*Crown with a stubborn sadism that I even respect in a way. How will you deal with someone who not only tolerates but actively enjoys the pain you inflict on them? Crush me, beat me... It’s all just a blessing from Him on high. Glory be. You, the Godslayer, will fail once more.
He pulls a knife from his frayed finery, drawing the blade over his arm as he laughs his soul-tainting laugh.
Your sheer arrogance when you faced down Misha was as entertaining as it was misguided! You think you are better than everyone else, and you then fail to prove it. Is it because you remember when you first started, Dylan? The nights of being nothing but a jobber till a fluke saw you rise? Are you trying to prove yourself to others… or to yourself? Nothing you have can keep me down, Dylan. Try what you will, but I will get back up, laugh at you, and tell you to do it again. I will revel in your attempts to break me.
Poena grins and tosses the bloodied knife away, humming to himself as he does. As he looks into the distance at something he can only see, he continues.
Cooopycaaaat… It is strange to see someone so naive put into the position you are in. Someone really doesn’t like you that much. They want to see you bleed and suffer. Perhaps the pain I bless you with will open your eyes to the truth. He will bless you with reality, and in that moment you will suffer. It will be worse than how Terry treated you. You remember Terry, don’t you, Copycat? You remember how he’d beat you and break you, calling you names, slapping you, telling you not to question him, and doing so much worse. Even being the laughing stock of AWF and the personal bitch of Terry will pale in comparison to what I will do to you. Yes, even the time he got you to sing the national anthem and set your American flag shirt on fire. The marines' treatment of you after you stomped it out will seem like a gentle rain.
Poena tilts his head, grinning again as he looks back into the camera—a flicker of something other in his multicolored eye.
Raiden, how is Reina faring? Should I go and take a look for you? You can ask Jack; I’m rather good at keeping tabs on people and making sure they don’t go anywhere. After all, she can’t get into any trouble if she’s in the hospital for broken legs, now can she? You were a harbinger of pain once; surely you understand His message. You cannot heal without pain, and without pain, you cannot learn and thrive. They are watching you from the other side, Raiden. Why not go to them? After all, you still wake up in pain from that clothesline Storm gave you all those years ago, don’t you? You’ve had experience with another chosen in Hyperion, and yet here you are, putting yourself in the way of another. Except this time, the God doing the choosing is real.
Poena snickers to himself, shaking his head as he grins. He sighs a moment later, frowning as he goes to the other end of the emotional spectrum.
And you, Steve... How are the kids? Does your daughter still hate you? Your wife? Didn’t the guest referee in our match try his best to kill you several times? I wonder if he will let me borrow a few of those lovely knives to use... I could make such art with them, using the three of you as canvas. You could finally pay them all back, Steve, for all the pain and suffering you put your family through... All your regrets could be laid on His altar and paid for with your sacrifice. You know you deserve it, deep down in your blackened soul. Just let me break you, Steve. Let me save you in His name.
A dry chuckle is heard from the front row, where a few people are speaking to themselves in a sort of disgruntled way. Poena cocks his head curiously as Armand von Krauss sits in the front while smoking his Egyptian cigarette. He appears unmoved by the parade of emotions going on throughout the place. Poena slides over to stand before him with a mad grin.
What is this? Are you not moved by my preaching? Are you not enlightened by His wisdom?
Armand merely smiles.
Armand von Krauss: I've seen His face in the countless faces of those who breezed through my Kharnival, losing their minds to the wondrous sights on display. I have seen His face in those upon whom I have inflicted pain. In the faces of those I've locked behind locks made of these sanity threads pulled like loose threads from a blanket until there's nothing left. I know of you and of Him. I find it amusing that you ask permission to break Steve.
Poena’s eyes narrow as he regards Armand until realization sets in. He gives that sadistic cheshire grin as he lets out a hissing laugh.
You want to break him. He attracted so much attention from your wife, who tried to seduce him quite a few times. You want revenge…
Armand von Krauss: No. I think we should find his family and bring them down to ringside. Surely several of your priests could be on hand to enlighten Steve’s family during the match? Steve will become so much more interesting in the ring while his daughter and ex bleed on the outside of it. I will have the Twins and Sticky get them and bring them to the show. They’ll be on hand to make sure they do not escape or that Steve does not interfere with their enlightenment.
Poena laughs and shakes his head at Armand’s words and goes to retort before the door to the church swings open, and into it sweeps the suit-clad form of the one and only Malcolm Xavier Graves, his cane tapping on the floor as he glances around. Then he paused, reaching up to pull off his designer shades. He shrugged and absently tucked them inside his jacket. A nod to Poena, and he glanced at Armand.
“Poena, how’s Vegas? Mr. Von Krauss, I am a huge fan of your work."
"Where’s the Sheik?" asked Armand. Graves shrugged as he leaned against a pew.
"The Sheik is outside; he doesn’t want to enter the house of this God. You know how he is.” Graves motioned to Poena, who shrugged. The Sheik was a hard man to understand sometimes.
Graves tugged at his silk tie, loosening it before he spoke.
"I heard what you were saying on my way inside, and the thing is? My client, the Sheik doesn’t give two fu–” There was a pause, and he looked to Poena before giving a snort of faint laughter before continuing. "The Sheik doesn’t care about Steve, Steve’s family, or his kids. He doesn’t care what or who Copycat is. And he could care less about Raiden and his flash in the pan. The Sheik doesn’t care about those soft men, and their whatever.”
Armand arched a brow, shrugging. “And what does he care about?’
“Dylan Black. The Sheik is not happy over his loss to the Tin Man, and it is eating him up inside. He wants to rip Black apart, and he says he will tear the heart out of anyone who gets in his way. Poena knows how he is when he is upset.”
Graves shrugged, and he glanced around the church.
“Yeah, and everyone else involved would like to rip apart Dylan.”
A voice came from the shadows, and stepping out from there was James Raymond. "As someone who has faced Dylan for years, I know what it's like to face him and how he fights. One thing has remained constant about our time in the ring. He’s always gotten the better of me. I’m not going to let him do it again on the cusp of becoming X*Crown Champion, or even to main event an XHF pay-per-view.”
“But this isn’t just about you; it’s about all of us together.”
Grave’s voice responded to James, who just glared back at him. The Englishman sighed, shaking his head from side to side, before taking a seat in the front pew, one leg crossed over the other, just falling silent as he continued to think.
“Yeah, sure. That’s what you might think.”
He began to tut to himself. “We’re all fighting our own personal battles when it comes to trying to get into Supremacy, we’ve all got our own wars to win when it comes to trying to make it to the next step forward, and what does sitting here accomplish other than allowing us to try and get on the same page? We’re not going to be on the same page once that bell rings to end that match and we – somehow – come out on top of the Xtraction.”
“Somehow,” muttered Armand. “Is that what you think of us? We’re people who are doomed to fail?”
“If you take a look at the team that they have compared to ours, then yeah.” James paused for a moment, once again shaking his head and sighing. “We do have a bit of a disadvantage on our hands, and it might not be our fault, but it’s how the luck of the draw is. And instead of trying to find our strongest points, we’re sitting here in the middle of this church and doing fuck all to help ourselves.”
Graves turned to face Raymond directly, as did Armand and Poena.
“Steve Awesome has been claiming legend status for the longest time, and he’s been doing the most to make sure he’s got the X*Crown back in his possession ever since losing the damn thing—and Raiden Ishimori? He's been in this scene for so long that he's bound to get back into the swing of things, much like when he was first vying for the championship. Dylan Black? The man who has become more associated with the championship in the last year or so than anyone else in the previous six years? That’s three big names who are just as hungry as we are, but they’ve shown it. They’ve been successful.”
James glared at all three men. “What have we done? Seriously, tell me what we’ve done to show that same level of dedication as they have to being big names. I’ve not been a ‘big name’ since 2018 and I’ve never bounced back onto that same platform. I haven’t. I’ve not shown anything to prove myself in recent years much like they have.”
There's also Copycat...
Poena said this from the altar, his voice tinged with sadistic mirth.
“And you can stop there because he’s nothing more than a joke. He’s the only one we’ve got more star power than. And even then, it’s not fucking hard to accomplish that. It really isn't, so that’s one person we’ve got no way of worrying about.”
Poena shakes his head, laughing his soul-burning laugh... the sound even enough to make Armand twitch.
You say that we haven’t made names for ourselves, comparing us to heathens and heretics. I am likely the one here with the shortest tenure, but I have brought TAPOUT to a place of enlightenment. I have shown the world my altar in the desert of broken glass at more main events than any other.
Poena snaps his fingers as the Child crawls from the darkness of the choir loft to stand next to him. She’s even more scarred than before, thanks to Jack’s treatment. The diamond he left on her forehead has had more swirls added to it, corrupting the simple shape into a horror.
I have driven Jack to the limits of his sanity and beyond. I was, even now, weaving webs and playing mind games as is my strength. Armand has his Karnival, which it sounds like I need to visit, and I know firsthand how brutal Sheik is. So, Raymond, maybe you just need some education.
Poena looks to the Child, his 20 year old second in command, and motions toward the camera. She quickly lopes over to get it, giggling to herself.
So I shall show you His blessings! Be thankful that I am going to show you others and not use your own body.
Poena shakes his head as he says it, clearly meaning only the unenlightened would be thankful for it. He grins as the camera is picked up, the jostling distorting his body in the feed as he continues, his words the last thing the camera catches before going black.
It’s time to go hunting for new sacrifices...
