Monstrum Bellum, Part Two [Rumble RP #2]

[Donzig]

Chapter One

Then -

Donzig snarled as he batted aside another clumsy strike, and he dropped back a single step before his foot snapped upwards. The man doubled over, and Donzig struck as he always did.

Event Horizon.

The man flopped across the ring, and Donzig whirled to fling another across his shoulder. He spun around, throwing stiff shots at the man’s head to drive him into the ropes before he jerked aside as another grabbed at his shoulder. His head cracked into the man’s face, and he stumbled back before Donzig sniffed.

‘Rabble. These are fucking rabble.’

Sinclair Godfrey shrugged as she looked up from where she sat nearby. The Baroness rolled her eyes, and flicked her fingers as she leaned back on the equipment crate. Nearby sat more men in ring gear who had clearly seen better days. They were battered and bleeding, more than a few holding ice on their necks or shoulders. She sniffed, and looked back to the Scourge.

‘Well, oddly enough it is hard to find sparring partners for you.’

Esmeralda laughed wickedly from where she leaned against the mat, her eyes focused on the carnage inside the ring. Donzig’s training sessions were sporadic and bloody, and he didn’t consider sparring a proper test unless someone was left bleeding. She tsked, shaking her head as he cracked a knee into the temple of a rising man. He dropped back to the mat, and Donzig ducked low as another ran at him.

‘I could send for the clowns again.’

Donzig snorted.

‘The Twins are of little use, Esmeralda. And do you trust them?’

Esmeralda shrugged, and changed the subject.

‘You know why you fail at these things?’

Donzig grunted as he took a few blows, two of the men deciding it was best to team up against him. The Scourge grumbled at that, but he moved aside to make distance from them before grabbing the one of the left by the arm. Clothesline, and the man fell before Donzig smiled grimly at the other who started to back away.

‘Tell me, oh wise one.’

‘There is no need to be sarcastic.’

Sinclair laughed at that, shaking her head.

‘Let’s not ask the impossible, Esmeralda.’

Donzig glared at her, and the man cracked a stiff punch across his face. Donzig staggered, and shook his head before he was flung into the ropes. He was dropped on the rebound, and the men went for the cover before Donzig reversed to roll him up.

‘Not bad, but the reason you fail is that you get caught up in this. The Violence, the spectacle, the carnage. You’re an addict, dahling. You can’t stop yourself, you get blood drunk.’

The man rolled from the ring, and Donzig was caught with a sudden suplex by the other. He was distracted now, which he suspected was Esmeralda’s desire all along. He kicked out of the pin, and rolled back to his feet before he ducked in low to fling the man backwards into the ropes. Coming forward the man was leveled by a DDT, and Donzig pinned another.

‘Bah!’

‘She’s not wrong. You were in the Rumble last year for forty odd minutes, and I don’t remember many pin attempts. A lot of Event Horizons and few eliminations, Donzig.’

He stared at Sinclair sullen, and she leaned forward. Esmeralda nodded in agreement, continuing.

‘Exactly! Or worse, you get focused on your enemies. You try to destroy them, not even defeat them mind you. And then you forget that you need to deal with the others too. Who was it last year? Bloodied Fox again? How tiresome. You are obsessed with him, it’s like that drool movie everyone used to like. The one with the wizards and the school? Utter nonsense, really.’

Sinclair laughed, and Donzig spat before he sent another one of the wrestlers crashing to the mat.

‘I wonder who it will be this year? Steve? Dylan?’

‘Oh, I bet it will be Rat Bastard! You know how very angry he is with anything associated with Reign!’

‘I would never!’

Esmeralda frowned, leaning forward as she glared at him over the ropes.

‘Don’t lie, dahling. It’s unbecoming. I wonder if it will be El Rey, I remember how angry you were that he eliminated you last year.’

Sinclair clapped her hands, nodding in agreement. Donzig rolled his eyes, and he bounced off the ropes to crack another of his sparring partner’s face into a knee. The man grabbed at his face, bleeding as he rolled around the mat before the Scourge rolled him over to lock on the Pennsylvania Cloverleaf.

‘I do not get fixated! This isn’t about revenge! I want that X-Crown!’

‘Next you will tell me you didn’t steal Tarrasque from Armand’s service to be petty.’

Donzig glared at her, and ignored the man tapping as he leaned back hard.

‘I bet it will be Lord Domnicus. His comments against W:UK probably got under his skin.’

Donzig released the hold, eyes narrowed as he glared at Sinclair who smiled back at him. Then he scowled, noticing the ring was empty before he walked over to the corner.

‘Bah!’

Esmeralda lifted a finger, tapping her head.

‘Listen to me, your mind is your greatest weapon. But sometimes? You don’t think clearly, and that is one of your greatest flaws, dahling.’

Chapter Two

The Present -

‘Well, come on. I don’t have all fucking night.’

Donzig muttered as he watched Sticky lumber forward, the monstrous clown slowly speeding up as he drew closer. Sometimes, Donzig found he didn’t care about even this anymore. Everyday it was harder and harder to care. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered. But his pride wouldn’t let him stop, and so he met the inhuman glare of the horrid creature with his own. Sticky’s hands reached for him as it kept coming, and Donzig moved aside at the last minute.

He snapped a few punches into the side of the clown, hammering away at his ribs and side. Sticky barely noticed, and he spun to wave a huge arm at the Scourge. Donzig staggered from the blow even as it barely touched him. Sticky was huge and powerful, but he was slow.

He was also rather stupid.

But Donzig was hurt, he had pushed too far of late. The war with the Von Krauss in January, his battle with the Sheik, the business with Yamamoto and Sky Force, it took a toll even on him. His muscles burned, and his bones ached as he rolled with the blow. He came back to his feet with a snarl, and Sticky drove a huge foot into his chest.

‘Empty Night!’

He flew backwards, sliding across the asphalt with a hiss. He could feel his ribs were bruised if not cracked, and he coughed as he crawled across the ground before he pushed upwards again. Armand had outwitted him this time, he had been too angry to think ahead for Sticky.

‘Esmeralda may have been onto something.’

Donzig was grabbed by the clown, and Sticky flung him aside like he was nothing. Pallets and wooden crates exploded around him, and he sprawled in the wreckage as he gasped for breath. Sticky stormed forward, growling and drooling as he flung aside broken wood to seek his enemy.

He scrambled away from the clown, and he grabbed a length of broken wood as he rose. Sticky came closer, and the wood cracked across his painted face. Broken wood and old nails ripped through paint streaked flesh, blood and ichor oozing from the gashes before Donzig cracked the wood over his head again. Sticky stumbled, but he kept coming before he snapped the piece of wood once more before a huge forearm rose to toss it aside.

Sticky ignored blood and black ichor running from his face, and drove a ham sized fist into the face of the Scourge. Donzig was dropped to the ground, and he grunted as he felt a wave of cold pain wash through his skull. The mask felt strange suddenly, and he started to rise before a hand splayed over it. He swore he could hear the metal groaning under those giant fingers as he was ripped upwards.

The monster threw him backwards, and Donzig cracked against a wall. Pain ripped through him again, and he stumbled forward with a hiss. They said he was immune to pain, but facts were he did feel it. But it was a dull, cold, distant thing, something that was happening to someone else.

He felt this, too much. It was too much even for him.

Huge arms wrapped around him, squeezing the air from his lungs as the world turned red. He strained to get free, but his strength was fading. He was in trouble, and he laughed that weird rasping laugh as he dangled from the hulking clown as he stared up at that ruined and painted face as it dripped with rain and blood.

Killed by a fucking clown not named Frank Windsor.

‘Ironic.’

Blackened fangs ripped at the metal of his mask suddenly, the sound like a dozen nails ripping across a chalkboard. They tore at it again, and he knew the metal would bear scars from this fight. He took another breath, and felt those arms tighten as his lungs burned. Then he snapped his head backwards only to drive it forward into that fanged mouth.

That blow followed by another, and another, and then another. Sticky stumbled back, blood and broken teeth falling onto the asphalt. Donzig sagged against the wall, every one of those blows had felt like a bomb going off in his head.

A great bell was ringing somewhere as the world spun and blurred. He hissed, trying to think as he reached behind him. His fingers were shaking, and he fumbled behind his belt as Sticky roared back in. He was shoved hard to the wall, and massive fingers coiled around his throat as he was slowly dragged up the wall. He hissed for breath, gurgling behind his mask before he ripped the hidden shiv free from behind the belt.

Sticky howled as the blade was buried deep in his eye, black ichor and blood spraying over his hand as he twisted it. The monster clown staggered backwards, grabbing at his face as he tried to rip the shiv free. Donzig dropped to his knees, and he could feel blood running from his mouth as he sputtered.

GET THE FUCK UP!

A cold voice screamed in his mind, cutting through pain and doubt. A voice even the Scourge obeyed, and he shoved himself to his feet before he grabbed a piece of jagged wood. It spun in his hands, and he lowered it as he charged.

The wood sunk deep into the back of Sticky, blood spraying as the wood erupted from his chest. It gurgled and screamed, and Donzig shoved harder with another burst of that inhuman hideous laughter. His lungs burned, and his chest felt like fire but he was alive. The clown started to flail, a huge arm sending the Scourge flying through the air to crash to the ground.

The Present -

The airship shook slightly as the storm raged around it. Wind slamming into it as thunder rattled the windows, but still it flew onward as the pilots forced it to rise higher above the storm clouds. Armand stared out the window, watching rain slash across the sky to run down the glass. Lightning cracked again, and he took a long drink before he turned to stare at her.

Victoria sat on the bed, her chin resting on her knee as she stared at him.

Armand gestured with the glass.

‘Where are we going now?’

‘Albany. That is where it was born, that is where it first rose to power.’

Armand grunted, and he crossed the room to drop down in a chair. She was lovely, but she was dangerous. He shrugged, and swirled the glass before he spoke.

‘Why?’

Victoria smiled.

‘For years, Donzig wrestled for a company based out of Albany. He waged wars inside of the ring, Armand. He did things that would make even you cringe. But above all? He hated a man named Timmy Draven.’

Armand arched a brow, he had heard Donzig say the name. But like all things with Donzig it was said with equal reverence and hatred.

‘I have heard this name. Why?’

‘Why? Because Timmy tried to control him? Because he denied him what he thought was his by right? My brother will try to tell you that he was not always what he is now, Armand. But even before he became a monster? He was ruthless, a savage, to cross Donzig was to risk everything. He was merciless, cold, and implacable. He was full of self-righteous fire and zeal. You have seen flashes of it. How many times has he justified doing terrible things, Armand? Why do you think Anthony Jordan is terrified of him? Why do you think Drake spent so long trying to escape him?’

Armand grunted, taking a drink with a wave of his hand.

‘I have seen your brother do many things, Victoria. I have seen him laugh in the face of certain doom, I have seen him take beatings that would drop a man and rise again. I have seen him obsess over petty slights or perceived insults, and scheme the ruin of men for no reason but spite.’

‘So you know?’

‘Know what?’

Victoria shrugged, smiling slightly.

‘It is harder to be his friend than his enemy. The Scourge doesn’t love, he infects, he controls.’

A grunt.

‘Finish your story.’

She walked to the window, outlined by the storm as she watched it rage around them as the ship shook again.

‘Draven had a father, he was worse than him. He was a monster, you would have liked him. Manipulative, cunning, and utterly without conscience. He was obsessed with power, and control. And in fact, the only good thing you could say about him? He loved his son.

He was called the Ringmaster.’

She paused, walking away from the window to pour herself a drink. She sipped at it, rolling her shoulders as she paced across the room lazily. Armand watched her with a faint smile, and she turned as she continued.

‘The Ringmaster as you might imagine soon started to try and destroy the biggest threat to his company, and to his family. You see he would protect his son, and he would protect his business. And he would bring Donzig to heel no matter what he had to do! No matter what it cost.’

Armand sipped at his drink, nodding slowly.

‘And?’

‘You know how it is when two merciless people make war, Armand. They stopped at nothing to destroy each other, they tore apart the company. Each trying to end the other, and no one was safe! But then something changed, Donzig discovered that the Ringmaster was his real father. And his archenemy was his own brother.

That was when he first gave into it. He first gave into his own dark side, he first decided to become one with the Scourge.’

Chapter Three

The Present -

Pain exploded across his world as he rolled over, his arms shaking as he tried to force himself to rise. Then he fell again, panting before he flopped onto his back to stare up at the sky. Rain washed across his face, and he sputtered as he just floated on an ocean of pain. It was hard to think as lights seemed to explode across the inside of his eyes, and he rolled over again before he started to heave his guts out on the asphalt.

He turned slightly and he saw Sticky still laying nearby, the wood driven through his body holding him up. The broken wood pressed to the ground as the clown dripped blood and fouler fluids onto the ground. Donzig grunted, and spat out blood along with a bit of tooth before he reached up to feel his face.

His mask.

A feeling of terror washed over him, and he looked around wildly as the world spun. He dropped back to the cement, coughing as his lungs burned again. And he crawled forward, shoving aside bits of wood and debris as his breath came in ragged gasps.

He needed his mask. Needed it.

It was his face, his real face. It calmed him, it kept him in control. Lucid. Without the mask he was nothing, a shadow. He looked around again, and spat blood once more as he wiped at his face as he slowly forced himself to sit up. Pain blazed through him, and he sagged forward again as he pressed a hand to the wet asphalt.

The sound of sharp steps echoed in his ears then, a woman’s footsteps. And he looked up to see a pair of gleaming black shoes before him. He blinked, staring before he wiped a hand across his mouth.

‘Sinclair? Esmeralda?’

‘Oh, you’d love that. One of your whores to coddle your weakness.’

Donzig was rarely surprised. Nothing rattled the Scourge for long, it just wasn’t in his nature. But he was surprised now.

‘Mother?’

‘I suppose I have that dubious honor.’ she said dryly.

‘Quit tormenting the boy. He is already dying, thank god.’

Donzig sputtered, and he rolled onto his back with a shuddering breath. The man who looked down at him reminded him vaguely on Mongo, or Mister Blood. But he would know that dour face anywhere and that black designer suit. He blinked, shaking his head as he looked between the pair as they stared down at him with disdain.

‘You’re both dead.’

‘See what I mean? As stupid as that caveman he started this nonsense over.’

‘Well, he is concussed. Probably internal bleeding too. Never did know when to quit.’

Donzig gaped, and then he forced himself to roll over again. He dragged himself across the ground, pushing through the debris as he tried to find the mask. His mother stared down at him, arms folded over her chest as she tapped her fingers.

‘Killed by a clown.’

‘It’s a psychophage.’

‘An ‘It’ rip off? Oh, that is just wretched.’

Donzig growled, tasting blood again as he tried to shove the pain away.

‘This is a real zeitgeist of the early 2000’s, but frankly I don’t think death has improved the lot of you.’

The Ringmaster snorted, absently checking his watch before he shrugged.

‘You should marry that girl and leave this business behind? What is she the daughter of a Marquis?’

‘A baroness. He couldn’t land a marquess if his life depended on it. Shocked he isn’t after that other girl, or that goody goody blonde.’

The Ringmaster laughed, and his mother smirked as Donzig glared at them as he shook his head. He started to push forward again, muttering to himself. Mother Donzig stepped back, shaking her head as she tsked.

‘It has to better than lying to yourself about winning that X-crown.’

Donzig froze, and for a second the pain was washed away. He pushed himself upwards again, body shaking as he half rose to his feet. Then he fell forward, leaning hard on a crate as he spat again. He was still bleeding, and his eyes blurred as he staggered a few steps forward as the pair of ghosts sneered at him.

‘Go back to Hell.’

‘Ah, struck a nerve. He knows he is a failure, who can’t get the job done. The only belt he can seem to win around here are ones from dying companies, or the ones you have to bleed all over the place for!’

Donzig stared at her, and tugged at his beard as he looked around wildly. It had to be here, it had to be! He needed his face, he needed to think.

‘I will win that fucking X-crown! I am the Wonder and Terror of this Age!’

The Ringmaster laughed as Mother Donzig rolled her eyes.

‘Oh, god. Spare us your million names. This isn’t Starbucks.’

‘Next he is going to tell us how the Great and Wonderful Donzig doesn’t need to win the Rumble, he is just there to destroy and hurt everyone else. He just wants to defeat whoever, or ruin this other one’s chances.’

The pair leaned together as they laughed, and Donzig snorted as he nearly fell again. He saw a gleam of metal nearby, and he staggered towards it as his head throbbed with pain. They were more insufferable as hallucinations or ghosts than they had been alive.

At least he got it honest.

‘I’ll wear the bloody thing when I piss on your graves.’

‘Face it, boy. You’re not winning shit! They won’t let you win shit! Like you’re the poster boy of the XHF! A scowling overbearing terrorist with a god complex who can’t finish a sentence without cursing? You burned down Fireside for fuck’s sake!’

‘He does love his fires.’

‘Always did.’

Donzig dropped to his knees, pushing forward to fling aside debris as he shook his head. His ribs were broken he knew, and one of his arms didn’t seem to want to bend quite right. He rubbed at his eyes, grumbling before he crawled a bit forward.

‘It’s success, the boy is terrified of success. Always has been. It’s because he’s weak. Nothing to be done. I tried to make him harder, but he is flawed. He will choke like he always does, and find someone or something else to blame.’

His fingers brushed against it, and he pushed his hand forward to close on the mask. He pulled it free, dragging it from the broken splinters and wood as he leaned back. His fingers slid across the metal, and he was annoyed by the scratches and jagged lines on the surface of the metal. And he scowled as blood dripped on it. It was dented as well, he frowned at that before he gave a shrug.

It felt like he had found an old friend, and he lifted it slowly as he felt the pain ebb away as he stared into those empty eyes.

He felt whole again.

‘Don’t do it, Donzig. The more you put that mask on? The harder it is to take off.’

The Ringmaster’s voice was no longer mocking, it sounded sad. Donzig looked up at him, and he tilted his head with a sniff. His mother stepped closer, shaking her head before she gestured absently.

‘He’s right. That mask isn’t going to help you beat them.’

Donzig glared at them, and he shook his head before he lifted the mask to his face. He slowly pulled it on, hissing as the dents dug into his features before he lifted a hand to make a fist. He rose slowly, and he shuddered as he felt a wave of agony crash across him. But it flowed away as he took another ragged breath.

‘This is a fucking trap, a game. They want me to follow them. But where?’

Donzig looked around, eyes narrowed behind his mask before he stumbled towards Sticky. He dug around the clown’s massive form, and then he found it tucked inside of a dirty pocket. It was a ticket, and he lifted it slowly to stare at it with a gurgling hiss.

‘Albany.’

End Part Two

The killer awoke before dawn
He put his boots on
He took a face from the ancient gallery
And he walked on down the hall..

-The End, the Doors