Monstrum Bellum, Part Three
Apr 5, 2023 22:23:21 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer and bloodiedfox like this
Post by Donzig on Apr 5, 2023 22:23:21 GMT -5
The Past -
The room stank of death, he mused as he walked across it. Beyond the antiseptic smell of the hospital, and the perfume of the nurses all he could smell was death and decay. He frowned, waking across the room to stare at the flowers along one side of the bed.
There were dozens of them, their own sickly sweet smell trying to cover the stench. He scowled, peering at the cards with the names of men he knew.
Hypocrites.
They all hated the man dying in the bed. They all detested and despised him even as they took his money. They were all hypocrites. More liars. More sinners. More devils in the Hell of the world. His hand balled into a fist at his side.
Why had he come?
He didn’t know that either. Just to stare at the face of his enemy one last time? To get in the last laugh? Absolution? Redemption?
Who knew.
On the other side of the room machines hissed and beeped, straining to keep the old man alive. But death was in this room, he could feel it. He frowned, and the old man looked up at him.
‘You. You came.’
‘You knew I would, old fool. We have unfinished business you and I.’
The Ringmaster laughed, a gurgling sound that turned into a fit of coughing.
‘I am dying. Old age got me. I don’t have the strength to fight you anymore, Donzig. I am too tired to play the games anymore. You win.’
Donzig sniffed.
‘There is no victory in this. You will escape our wrath again.’
The man who had been the Ringmaster snorted, before he spammed once more. He rolled his eyes, and tugged at his blankets restlessly.
‘The pain.’
‘Life is pain, old man.’
‘I wish—‘
Donzig lifted a hand, waving the thought away as he stared down at the man. When had this happened? When had it become too late for them to ever find peace? When had things gone so far that only when one of them was dying they could talk like this?
Does that matter? Hissed a voice in his mind, a voice like his but one with all the human weakness and frailty removed. He had tried to hide from thag voice, but it always found him.
Donzig was not a saint, but the voice was a monster. He knew that.
‘Too late for wishes, Ringmaster.’
The old man sighed, looking away.
‘If only I had tried to be better father to you, if things had been different.’
A shrug.
‘Things are what they are, that is all they can ever be. Is this what you called me for?’
‘No, I need to tell you something.’
A grunt. Donzig stared at the machines, and waited. The Ringmaster coughed again, body shaking before he fell back against the pillows. His hand rose, then fell before he murmured.
‘There is a group, an order. They have been working in the shadows for centuries in this sport. They control the darkest parts of it all, Donzig. When I die, they will come for Albany. They will come for Timmy.’
‘Why should I care about that?’ he snapped, and he felt his skin crawl as his voice sounded like that other again.
When he came back to his senses, he had ran away from these people. From this world, and he tried to hide away from that voice. That terrible voice. He had tried to hide from himself. He knew he was a monster, he knew that he would always be driven by rage and violence. He wanted it to end.
The voice promised him that, all he had to do was give in. And he had, he had waded in blood before he returned to Albany. [D: Ruin again.]
The Ringmaster grabbed for his hand, thin fingers closing in his own.
‘Timmy can’t fight them. He can’t know about them. But you? You can!’
Donzig stared, and the voice howled in his mind before he jerked his hand away.
‘You brought me here to protect your precious Timmy from the monsters? From your demons? Is that all I will be even as you die, Ringmaster? Your pawn? I should have been your heir! I should have been your son! Me! But you cast me out! You drove me away!’
‘You are what we made you. Your mother and I, and I hate that. But what I need to stop them is you.’
Donzig scowled, and he looked away to stare out of the window. He could see the lights of the city beyond, and he shrugged before he looked back to the dying man. He hated this man, but to truly hate someone you had to have once loved them.
‘I’ll protect Timmy, but not because you asked me to.’
The Ringmaster gasped, coughing again.
‘There is a flashdrive in my office. You can’t trust anyone, you can’t trust them. They’re monsters, Donzig. Killers.’
Donzig stared at him, and the Ringmaster blinked as he saw emotion drain out of that face. Those eyes became cold and hard, distant as the face seemed to shift into a mask. And Donzig smiled a vile humorless smile, and he waved his fingers.
‘What am I, old man?’
The Ringmaster laughed at that, shaking his head before his body spasmed again. He coughed, and jerked in the bed before he fell back again. He gasped for air, and then he jerked at the hoses and wires attached to his arm before he stared at his bastard son, his enemy, and his friend.
‘I need one more thing from you. Something I couldn’t ask of anyone else.’
A brow lifted, and Donzig stared at him before he looked at the machines.
The Present -
Armand jerked on the man’s arm, pulling on it as he forced him to walk ahead of him inside of the old warehouse. It was clearly a training center of some sort, weight benches and exercise machines lined the walls. And a few rings sat in their own pools of light as he shoved him ahead of him. Victoria followed them, smirking to herself as she spoke in a low voice to the hooded figure at her side.
The man was old, though he was still big. His beard streaked with grey, and face lined with age and care as he was shoved into a chair beside one of the rings. He said nothing as Victoria swiftly tied him up, and then he smirked.
‘The three of you are playing a dangerous game, Victoria.’
Victoria drew back, staring at him. Armand snorted, and he absently lit a cigarette before he shrugged.
‘Mein freund, this is no game. This is a war. I will break the Scourge, I will take Donzig apart.’
Timmy Draven snorted.
‘I have heard that one before. He can’t be stopped, he can only be contained.’
‘I will stop him!’
Victoria lifted a hand, shaking her head as she stepped past Armand. Her eyes narrowed, and then she paced as she licked her lips before she shrugged.
‘I don’t understand you, Draven. I never have. My brother, and that thing he has become have done nothing but try to destroy you and everything you have built for his entire life! And yet you sound proud of him! You try to defend him!’
Timmy Draven tugged at the ropes, and then he shrugged.
‘He’s the best of us, and the worst. That is all he can ever be. He’s been my worst enemy, my best friend, and my brother. And I will never stop believing in him, Victoria. And this? This game you and these others are playing?’
Armand frowned as Draven laughed.
‘He’s going to make you pay for this.’
‘You’re scared of him!’
Draven nodded.
‘Terrified. I admit it.’
Victoria took a step forward, her hand lifted before Armand caught her arm. He drew her back, shaking his head before she jerked away to stomp off into the shadows. He watched her go, and he looked back to Draven as he flicked ashes from his cigarette.
‘Your brother is just a man. A dangerous man but still just a man, and I will defeat him. He will no longer threaten what is mine. You will see, Mister Draven. Do you think he will come? Do you think he will come to save you?’
Draven laughed, a bitter sound as he sagged forward against the ropes. He laughed harder, shaking his head before he looked up at Armand. Then he glanced towards Victoria, and he chuckled again.
‘Save me? Oh, he’s going to save me. But not why you think. I have only had one enemy for years, only one. You see Donzig made it clear to everyone that anyone who laid a hand on me would suffer for it. Only Donzig is allowed to torment me, only Donzig can cause me harm, and what you have done? Is insult him.’
Armand blinked.
Draven leaned forward.
‘He’s coming. And when he gets here? Well, I wouldn’t want to be in his fucking way.’
The Past -
‘I see you know about them.’ said Donzig as he sipped at his coffee, and across the table from him the pretty woman arched a brow. She leaned back in her seat, glancing around before she frowned.
‘Yes. Our mother was one of them, though they tried to keep her at arm’s length. I have tried to claim her seat, but according to their rules? I am not her rightful heir.’
Victoria’s lips twisted at that, and she turned back to him. He was watching her with those cold eyes, a faint frown on his lips. She tried to remind herself not to trust him, but he could be so very charming when he wanted. Donzig always seemed to know what you needed to hear, what you wanted to hear, and he would say the words.
She lifted her own cup.
‘Help me.’
Victoria blinked, lowering the coffee.
‘What?’
Donzig absently undid the button of his jacket, leaning forward as he smiled.
‘With your knowledge and the Ringmaster’s files? We run the table, we take them over, we take them apart from the inside, Victoria. We take what is ours.’
She stared at him, and then she leaned forward as a hand lifted to brush back her hair. Her dark eyes met his, and she pressed her lips together before she glanced around.
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘I am always serious.’ His voice changed slightly, emotion bleeding from it as those eyes seemed to turn to icy black pits. And his hand curled into a fist as he leaned back, and he sneered. ‘We destroy them, Victoria. They are a threat. They tried to control us. Now they learn what that means.’
She nodded, and shrugged.
‘I’m in.’
The Present -
All our times have come
Here but now they're gone
Seasons don't fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain
We can be like they are…
The voice rose slowly, hissing and slightly off key as the song echoed weirdly across the empty graveyard. He staggered between the gravestones, a hand pressed against his side as he stumbled a bit. He shook his head, leaning hard against the old stone as he tried to roll his shoulder. Something once off, and he grunted as his head swam again.
Then he started back up the hill, and he was still singing.
Come on, baby (don't fear the reaper)
Baby, take my hand (don't fear the reaper)
We'll be able to fly (don't fear the reaper)
Baby, I'm your man
La, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la…
‘They’re waiting for you at the top of the hill.’ chimed in a voice, and the creature known as Death in High Places paused. He turned his dented and battered mask towards the voice, and he gave a raspy cough that may have been a laugh.
‘You. It’s been a minute.’
The figure that sat there was a younger version of himself. He was clad in jeans, a t-shirt, and a flannel as he hopped from the gravestone. He walked around in a slow circle, and he gave a shrug before he looked up the hill.
‘Well, you’d see me more often if you weren’t such a sour prick.’
‘Is that a Jordan Four shirt? Empty Night!’
The Ghost of Donzig Past looked down, plucking at his shirt. He stared at it, then gave a shrug before he let it fall as he watched the Scourge slump against a grave stone. A shake of his head, and stepped closer.
‘First of all, no one knows what Empty Night means. Second of all, you have a concussion.’
‘Oh, good. I thought you were a real ghost. I am so bloody relieved. I was waiting for Triple D or Simon Dope to show up.’
‘The Denigrator? He is too good for a shitshow like this, bro.’
‘What a stupid fucking name, the Denigrator. Because he denigrates people? Bah, sounds like he ate a thesaurus.’
The ghostly Donzig pressed a hand to his chest, and snorted a laugh.
‘Aren’t you one to talk?’
The Scourge snorted, and he felt blood ooze under his mask. He leaned back hard against the gravestone, and he lifted a hand to rub his fingers together. He tilted his head, thinking before the younger version of himself leaned closer.
‘You know you’re not going to win the Rumble, right?’
‘Eh?’
‘No dick jokes, man. People like dick jokes. You’re just not funny.’
‘I am a goddamned laugh riot.’
‘People say you moved to Britain, so you could be the funny one. But honestly? You’re a little dry even for the British.’
The Scourge dropped to sit on the ground, he needed a minute. A hand pressed against his side, and he stared at the ghostly Donzig of the past as he settled onto a gravestone of his own.
‘I am hilarious.’
‘Tell me a joke.’
‘How do you watch a ship wreck?’
‘How?’
‘You just let it sink in.’
He started to laugh at his own joke, the horrible laughter of the scourge echoing weirdly in the graveyard as he rasped and hissed. His shoulders shaking as he leaned hard to the side, gurgling before he stopped with shake of his head.
‘Good thing we’re already in a graveyard so that joke didn’t kill anyone.’
‘Fine! What’s faster to get out a truck three hundred bowling balls or three hundred dead –’
A hand snapped up,
‘Not that one, man. Jesus.’
The Scourge grunted, wiping a hand across the mouth of his mask as he started to rise. He paused, staring at the wet darkness on his fingers. He rubbed them together, staring at them with a tilt of his head.
‘You’re bleeding, dahling.’
He blinked, and stared at Esmeralda Von Krauss casually sitting on a tombstone nearby dressed like she was going to a party. He sniffed, and looked at the other Donzig.
‘Don’t ask me, man. Your subconscious is a fucking mess.’
Esmeralda shrugged, absently inspecting her fingers.
‘You probably manifested me because you realize that I am the only one or two people who gives a shit if you die or not, dear Donzig. You wouldn’t want Sinclair to see you like this, so it’s me. Joy.’
The other Donzig laughed at that, and the Scourge shot him a baleful look.
‘You don’t sound quite like Esmeralda.’
‘It’s your subconscious, dahling. I imagine we all sound bored, disgusted, and sarcastic.’
A grunt, and he wobbled as he shoved away from the gravestone to start up the hill again.
‘Enough of this. I have to crush Armand so I can turn my attention back to the Rumble. Or else someone like Lord Dominicus will win the fucking thing. Or worse Steve.’
‘You know he doesn’t like Tasha Yar?’
Donzig jerked to a halt, staring at his other self before he looked back to Esmeralda. The immortal shrugged, tsking softly.
‘I don’t know who that is, probably because you can’t imagine me watching Dr. Who.’
‘It’s Star Trek.’
‘Whatever.’
Donzig rolled his eyes, and grabbed at his head again as pain rocked through it. He stumbled, nearly falling before he forced himself onward.
‘Tasha Yar was a brilliant character just badly written, likely because they were trying to burn through Phase Two scripts that were written for a different sensibility.’
‘The Rumble?’
‘Ah, what hope do that rabble have against me? All I have to do is fling them over the top rope. It’s just a glorified brawl, that favors me.’
‘Oh, it would if you would quit letting everyone drag you into these little wars. You can barely stand, dahling. You have concussion, a few broken ribs, and something is twisted in your shoulder.’
‘She’s right you know.’
‘It is only sheer stubbornness and spite that is keeping you on your feet.’
Donzig stared at them, waving a hand.
‘I have the Reaper’s strength, I will be fine.’
Esmeralda tsked.
‘Victoria is leading you into a trap, this is her plan. She wants you weakened so her and Armand can pick you apart.’
He jerked to a halt, and shuddered before he looked up the hill. Then he glanced at the other Donzig who grunted.
‘She’s probably right, after all we’re both you.’
The Scourge spat.
‘I don’t give a fuck. I am not letting those two think I am afraid of their little games. I am the Scourge, the Chosen of the Void! I will not lay down and die here to please them! The rest of it be damned.’
The Other Donzig sighed.
‘Spike was right, you know. For a creature of Chaos you are rather predictable.’
‘Speaking of Spike, dahling.’
Donzig lifted a finger, pressing it against the bloody slots of the mask’s mouth.
‘Shhh.’
He shoved himself forward, and waved a hand at the ghosts as he staggered past a few more gravestones. And he crossed beneath the shadow of a watching angel, and he smiled beneath his mask as he snorted.
‘Almost home.’
The Past -
The guttering torches lit the stone room, and ancient carvings of long dead and forgotten gods stared down at the gathering. Around the edges of the room stood silent figures all wearing masks as they glanced at each other. They murmured to themselves, and stared at the man standing near the door. He stood in a small ring of carvings excised into the floor, and watching them from beneath his mask.
Victoria stood just behind him, and one of the figures stepped forward as he pointed.
‘You come here with no knowledge of us or our ways, and you demand a place among us. You walk among us and speak of your lineage, and make demands! And you think we will just give you what you demand!’
Donzig lifted his masked head, and shifted slightly. He would have liked to beat the old man’s head in, but instead he folded his arms over his chest.
Another of them stepped forward, tugging at his mask which looked like a screaming dragon. The man shook his head, gesturing angrily as started to pace back and forth across the warped and broken stone of the floor. A scowl, and he pointed as well.
‘He comes here and claims he has a right to be here by his blood. But this man has waged war on his family for years, he has done nothing to earn the claims of his father or mother! He is a beast, a menace to us! We should banish him now!’
A hand lifted from one of the others, his mask was black and featureless as he leaned forward.
‘No, I say we make use of him. This council has many enemies, our order has foes gathered all around it! Every day we are more at peril! This man is a weapon, we should use him! He is made for this, he is made for war! The perfect warrior of our wars!’
A few of them nodded, and the dragon masked man stared. The first one nodded, and he stepped closer.
‘He is right. We shall grant you a place here, but you will have no voice on the Council. You will be our weapon, our champion, you will fight where we command, you will destroy any who we so order. You will train our champions, and our soldiers to serve us. And perhaps one day?’
A shrug.
The black masked man spoke nodding slowly.
‘Until then you will be our scourge.’
Donzig lifted his head, and he smiled beneath the mask as he waved a hand.
‘Of course, if this is the will of the order.’
The Present -
Beneath the gaze of the angel stood a trio of masked men. They spoke to each other in low voices, muttering as they worked in the chill rain. The leader looked up, shaking his head as he leaned against the massive gravestone. Before him was a grave, and he gestured absently before he drove the shovel into the mound of dirt beside it. That grave bore Donzig’s name.
His mask was red, black, and gold. The others wore the same black and gold, but marked with blue and green. The masks were decorated like skulls and flames, and Donzig knew them.
Las Tres Muertes.
The Three Deaths. The proudest fighters of the Headhunters known in Mexico as Cazadores de Cabezas. Donzig grunted sourly, and stepped into the light with a shake of his head as Red Death looked up.
‘Fancy meeting you here.’
Green Death snarled, and lunged for him. Donzig stepped aside, stumbling slightly before he grabbed for Green Death to fling him aside. He staggered, and he nearly dropped as his arm flared with pain. He battered a fist into his shoulder, shaking his head before he was driven back by a series of kicks from the fastest of three.
Blue Death smirked, and he leapt off one of the stones to yank Donzig’s arm to send him to the wet grass. Donzig grit his teeth, and shoved himself upwards as Blue Death started to rain kicks into his back. He was tired, he was so tired.
Was this all there was?
He twisted then, yanking Blue Death’s foot from under him. He fell to the ground, and Donzig leapt on him to start firing off hard blows with his good hand. His injured arm roared with pain as he used it to grab at his throat, and he snarled. Then a hand closed on his head, and he howled in agony as he was hauled to his feet.
Red Death arms coiled around him, squeezing and pressing at his injured ribs as he flailed. He struggled to get free, shaking his head as he managed to snake an arm free. And he grabbed at the man’s face, fingers squeezing as he locked on the Sicilian Claw! Red Death jerked away, flinging Donzig to the ground where he rolled away.
He stumbled to his feet, blood oozing from the slots of his mask. He was hurt bad, and he didn’t care.
Green Death leapt for him, driving an arm across his throat to topple him against one of the gravestones. He leaned hard on it, coughing as he laughed before he shoved himself away. He staggered, and Green Death came in with fists flying. The Scourge took the punches as he so often did, but he felt each othem like a hammer before Green Death kicked him hard in the ribs as he fell.
He landed near the grave, and the Three Deaths laughed as they drew closer.
ENOUGH! ENOUGH OF THIS!
Donzig shook his head, staring at his hand as it shoved through the mud. He wanted this to end, he wanted to go down in the mud. To rest.
But the voice would not let him.
RISE! RISE! FIGHT! DAMN YOU! WE ARE–
‘Death in High Places.’ Donzig spat.
The Three Deaths stared at each other in disbelief as Donzig rose, mud and dirt falling from him as he shoved himself upwards. He staggered, and his hand closed on the handle of the shovel as Green Death laughed and stepped closer.
NOW! NOW! HE’S MEAT!
The shovel was ripped free, and it clanged hard as it’s edge bit deep into the face and head of the man known as Green Death. Blood sprayed and his mask was nearly torn off as it ripped, and he dropped to the ground bleeding and broken. The other two gaped in surprise, and Donzig laughed as he drove his wounded shoulder into his gravestone.
Something snapped, something tore, but it all jolted back into place as he drove the butt of the shovel into the stomach of the oncoming Red Death. Then it cracked across his back, and he spun away as Blue Death came in. Donzig was gone, all that remained now was the terrible will that drove the creature that was the Scourge. It howled at the Headhunters, shovel spinning slowly as he circled across the muddy earth.
‘Despertar hora de morir!’
Blue Death swung his hands downward, cracking them across the metal mask of the Scourge. Donzig stumbled back, dropping to a knee as Blue Death laughed. And he stepped in, and Donzig’s palm snapped outward to crack into his knee.Blue Death wailed, and dropped into the mud as his knee was shattered. He reached forward, pulling himself forward as Donzig rose again. The shovel lifted over his head for a swing in both hands as he hissed and burbled.
The voice was empty, and cold as the grave.
‘Death submits to no one.’
The shovel slashed downward, and Blue Death screamed as his hand was torn free. Blood sprayed across the mud, and he rolled over to cradle it to his chest. Donzig kicked him into the grave with a shake of his head. Then he crossed the ground, and placed the shovel against the throat of Red Death as he stared down at him.
‘Where is Skulltaker?’
The room stank of death, he mused as he walked across it. Beyond the antiseptic smell of the hospital, and the perfume of the nurses all he could smell was death and decay. He frowned, waking across the room to stare at the flowers along one side of the bed.
There were dozens of them, their own sickly sweet smell trying to cover the stench. He scowled, peering at the cards with the names of men he knew.
Hypocrites.
They all hated the man dying in the bed. They all detested and despised him even as they took his money. They were all hypocrites. More liars. More sinners. More devils in the Hell of the world. His hand balled into a fist at his side.
Why had he come?
He didn’t know that either. Just to stare at the face of his enemy one last time? To get in the last laugh? Absolution? Redemption?
Who knew.
On the other side of the room machines hissed and beeped, straining to keep the old man alive. But death was in this room, he could feel it. He frowned, and the old man looked up at him.
‘You. You came.’
‘You knew I would, old fool. We have unfinished business you and I.’
The Ringmaster laughed, a gurgling sound that turned into a fit of coughing.
‘I am dying. Old age got me. I don’t have the strength to fight you anymore, Donzig. I am too tired to play the games anymore. You win.’
Donzig sniffed.
‘There is no victory in this. You will escape our wrath again.’
The man who had been the Ringmaster snorted, before he spammed once more. He rolled his eyes, and tugged at his blankets restlessly.
‘The pain.’
‘Life is pain, old man.’
‘I wish—‘
Donzig lifted a hand, waving the thought away as he stared down at the man. When had this happened? When had it become too late for them to ever find peace? When had things gone so far that only when one of them was dying they could talk like this?
Does that matter? Hissed a voice in his mind, a voice like his but one with all the human weakness and frailty removed. He had tried to hide from thag voice, but it always found him.
Donzig was not a saint, but the voice was a monster. He knew that.
‘Too late for wishes, Ringmaster.’
The old man sighed, looking away.
‘If only I had tried to be better father to you, if things had been different.’
A shrug.
‘Things are what they are, that is all they can ever be. Is this what you called me for?’
‘No, I need to tell you something.’
A grunt. Donzig stared at the machines, and waited. The Ringmaster coughed again, body shaking before he fell back against the pillows. His hand rose, then fell before he murmured.
‘There is a group, an order. They have been working in the shadows for centuries in this sport. They control the darkest parts of it all, Donzig. When I die, they will come for Albany. They will come for Timmy.’
‘Why should I care about that?’ he snapped, and he felt his skin crawl as his voice sounded like that other again.
When he came back to his senses, he had ran away from these people. From this world, and he tried to hide away from that voice. That terrible voice. He had tried to hide from himself. He knew he was a monster, he knew that he would always be driven by rage and violence. He wanted it to end.
The voice promised him that, all he had to do was give in. And he had, he had waded in blood before he returned to Albany. [D: Ruin again.]
The Ringmaster grabbed for his hand, thin fingers closing in his own.
‘Timmy can’t fight them. He can’t know about them. But you? You can!’
Donzig stared, and the voice howled in his mind before he jerked his hand away.
‘You brought me here to protect your precious Timmy from the monsters? From your demons? Is that all I will be even as you die, Ringmaster? Your pawn? I should have been your heir! I should have been your son! Me! But you cast me out! You drove me away!’
‘You are what we made you. Your mother and I, and I hate that. But what I need to stop them is you.’
Donzig scowled, and he looked away to stare out of the window. He could see the lights of the city beyond, and he shrugged before he looked back to the dying man. He hated this man, but to truly hate someone you had to have once loved them.
‘I’ll protect Timmy, but not because you asked me to.’
The Ringmaster gasped, coughing again.
‘There is a flashdrive in my office. You can’t trust anyone, you can’t trust them. They’re monsters, Donzig. Killers.’
Donzig stared at him, and the Ringmaster blinked as he saw emotion drain out of that face. Those eyes became cold and hard, distant as the face seemed to shift into a mask. And Donzig smiled a vile humorless smile, and he waved his fingers.
‘What am I, old man?’
The Ringmaster laughed at that, shaking his head before his body spasmed again. He coughed, and jerked in the bed before he fell back again. He gasped for air, and then he jerked at the hoses and wires attached to his arm before he stared at his bastard son, his enemy, and his friend.
‘I need one more thing from you. Something I couldn’t ask of anyone else.’
A brow lifted, and Donzig stared at him before he looked at the machines.
The Present -
Armand jerked on the man’s arm, pulling on it as he forced him to walk ahead of him inside of the old warehouse. It was clearly a training center of some sort, weight benches and exercise machines lined the walls. And a few rings sat in their own pools of light as he shoved him ahead of him. Victoria followed them, smirking to herself as she spoke in a low voice to the hooded figure at her side.
The man was old, though he was still big. His beard streaked with grey, and face lined with age and care as he was shoved into a chair beside one of the rings. He said nothing as Victoria swiftly tied him up, and then he smirked.
‘The three of you are playing a dangerous game, Victoria.’
Victoria drew back, staring at him. Armand snorted, and he absently lit a cigarette before he shrugged.
‘Mein freund, this is no game. This is a war. I will break the Scourge, I will take Donzig apart.’
Timmy Draven snorted.
‘I have heard that one before. He can’t be stopped, he can only be contained.’
‘I will stop him!’
Victoria lifted a hand, shaking her head as she stepped past Armand. Her eyes narrowed, and then she paced as she licked her lips before she shrugged.
‘I don’t understand you, Draven. I never have. My brother, and that thing he has become have done nothing but try to destroy you and everything you have built for his entire life! And yet you sound proud of him! You try to defend him!’
Timmy Draven tugged at the ropes, and then he shrugged.
‘He’s the best of us, and the worst. That is all he can ever be. He’s been my worst enemy, my best friend, and my brother. And I will never stop believing in him, Victoria. And this? This game you and these others are playing?’
Armand frowned as Draven laughed.
‘He’s going to make you pay for this.’
‘You’re scared of him!’
Draven nodded.
‘Terrified. I admit it.’
Victoria took a step forward, her hand lifted before Armand caught her arm. He drew her back, shaking his head before she jerked away to stomp off into the shadows. He watched her go, and he looked back to Draven as he flicked ashes from his cigarette.
‘Your brother is just a man. A dangerous man but still just a man, and I will defeat him. He will no longer threaten what is mine. You will see, Mister Draven. Do you think he will come? Do you think he will come to save you?’
Draven laughed, a bitter sound as he sagged forward against the ropes. He laughed harder, shaking his head before he looked up at Armand. Then he glanced towards Victoria, and he chuckled again.
‘Save me? Oh, he’s going to save me. But not why you think. I have only had one enemy for years, only one. You see Donzig made it clear to everyone that anyone who laid a hand on me would suffer for it. Only Donzig is allowed to torment me, only Donzig can cause me harm, and what you have done? Is insult him.’
Armand blinked.
Draven leaned forward.
‘He’s coming. And when he gets here? Well, I wouldn’t want to be in his fucking way.’
The Past -
‘I see you know about them.’ said Donzig as he sipped at his coffee, and across the table from him the pretty woman arched a brow. She leaned back in her seat, glancing around before she frowned.
‘Yes. Our mother was one of them, though they tried to keep her at arm’s length. I have tried to claim her seat, but according to their rules? I am not her rightful heir.’
Victoria’s lips twisted at that, and she turned back to him. He was watching her with those cold eyes, a faint frown on his lips. She tried to remind herself not to trust him, but he could be so very charming when he wanted. Donzig always seemed to know what you needed to hear, what you wanted to hear, and he would say the words.
She lifted her own cup.
‘Help me.’
Victoria blinked, lowering the coffee.
‘What?’
Donzig absently undid the button of his jacket, leaning forward as he smiled.
‘With your knowledge and the Ringmaster’s files? We run the table, we take them over, we take them apart from the inside, Victoria. We take what is ours.’
She stared at him, and then she leaned forward as a hand lifted to brush back her hair. Her dark eyes met his, and she pressed her lips together before she glanced around.
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘I am always serious.’ His voice changed slightly, emotion bleeding from it as those eyes seemed to turn to icy black pits. And his hand curled into a fist as he leaned back, and he sneered. ‘We destroy them, Victoria. They are a threat. They tried to control us. Now they learn what that means.’
She nodded, and shrugged.
‘I’m in.’
The Present -
All our times have come
Here but now they're gone
Seasons don't fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain
We can be like they are…
The voice rose slowly, hissing and slightly off key as the song echoed weirdly across the empty graveyard. He staggered between the gravestones, a hand pressed against his side as he stumbled a bit. He shook his head, leaning hard against the old stone as he tried to roll his shoulder. Something once off, and he grunted as his head swam again.
Then he started back up the hill, and he was still singing.
Come on, baby (don't fear the reaper)
Baby, take my hand (don't fear the reaper)
We'll be able to fly (don't fear the reaper)
Baby, I'm your man
La, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la…
‘They’re waiting for you at the top of the hill.’ chimed in a voice, and the creature known as Death in High Places paused. He turned his dented and battered mask towards the voice, and he gave a raspy cough that may have been a laugh.
‘You. It’s been a minute.’
The figure that sat there was a younger version of himself. He was clad in jeans, a t-shirt, and a flannel as he hopped from the gravestone. He walked around in a slow circle, and he gave a shrug before he looked up the hill.
‘Well, you’d see me more often if you weren’t such a sour prick.’
‘Is that a Jordan Four shirt? Empty Night!’
The Ghost of Donzig Past looked down, plucking at his shirt. He stared at it, then gave a shrug before he let it fall as he watched the Scourge slump against a grave stone. A shake of his head, and stepped closer.
‘First of all, no one knows what Empty Night means. Second of all, you have a concussion.’
‘Oh, good. I thought you were a real ghost. I am so bloody relieved. I was waiting for Triple D or Simon Dope to show up.’
‘The Denigrator? He is too good for a shitshow like this, bro.’
‘What a stupid fucking name, the Denigrator. Because he denigrates people? Bah, sounds like he ate a thesaurus.’
The ghostly Donzig pressed a hand to his chest, and snorted a laugh.
‘Aren’t you one to talk?’
The Scourge snorted, and he felt blood ooze under his mask. He leaned back hard against the gravestone, and he lifted a hand to rub his fingers together. He tilted his head, thinking before the younger version of himself leaned closer.
‘You know you’re not going to win the Rumble, right?’
‘Eh?’
‘No dick jokes, man. People like dick jokes. You’re just not funny.’
‘I am a goddamned laugh riot.’
‘People say you moved to Britain, so you could be the funny one. But honestly? You’re a little dry even for the British.’
The Scourge dropped to sit on the ground, he needed a minute. A hand pressed against his side, and he stared at the ghostly Donzig of the past as he settled onto a gravestone of his own.
‘I am hilarious.’
‘Tell me a joke.’
‘How do you watch a ship wreck?’
‘How?’
‘You just let it sink in.’
He started to laugh at his own joke, the horrible laughter of the scourge echoing weirdly in the graveyard as he rasped and hissed. His shoulders shaking as he leaned hard to the side, gurgling before he stopped with shake of his head.
‘Good thing we’re already in a graveyard so that joke didn’t kill anyone.’
‘Fine! What’s faster to get out a truck three hundred bowling balls or three hundred dead –’
A hand snapped up,
‘Not that one, man. Jesus.’
The Scourge grunted, wiping a hand across the mouth of his mask as he started to rise. He paused, staring at the wet darkness on his fingers. He rubbed them together, staring at them with a tilt of his head.
‘You’re bleeding, dahling.’
He blinked, and stared at Esmeralda Von Krauss casually sitting on a tombstone nearby dressed like she was going to a party. He sniffed, and looked at the other Donzig.
‘Don’t ask me, man. Your subconscious is a fucking mess.’
Esmeralda shrugged, absently inspecting her fingers.
‘You probably manifested me because you realize that I am the only one or two people who gives a shit if you die or not, dear Donzig. You wouldn’t want Sinclair to see you like this, so it’s me. Joy.’
The other Donzig laughed at that, and the Scourge shot him a baleful look.
‘You don’t sound quite like Esmeralda.’
‘It’s your subconscious, dahling. I imagine we all sound bored, disgusted, and sarcastic.’
A grunt, and he wobbled as he shoved away from the gravestone to start up the hill again.
‘Enough of this. I have to crush Armand so I can turn my attention back to the Rumble. Or else someone like Lord Dominicus will win the fucking thing. Or worse Steve.’
‘You know he doesn’t like Tasha Yar?’
Donzig jerked to a halt, staring at his other self before he looked back to Esmeralda. The immortal shrugged, tsking softly.
‘I don’t know who that is, probably because you can’t imagine me watching Dr. Who.’
‘It’s Star Trek.’
‘Whatever.’
Donzig rolled his eyes, and grabbed at his head again as pain rocked through it. He stumbled, nearly falling before he forced himself onward.
‘Tasha Yar was a brilliant character just badly written, likely because they were trying to burn through Phase Two scripts that were written for a different sensibility.’
‘The Rumble?’
‘Ah, what hope do that rabble have against me? All I have to do is fling them over the top rope. It’s just a glorified brawl, that favors me.’
‘Oh, it would if you would quit letting everyone drag you into these little wars. You can barely stand, dahling. You have concussion, a few broken ribs, and something is twisted in your shoulder.’
‘She’s right you know.’
‘It is only sheer stubbornness and spite that is keeping you on your feet.’
Donzig stared at them, waving a hand.
‘I have the Reaper’s strength, I will be fine.’
Esmeralda tsked.
‘Victoria is leading you into a trap, this is her plan. She wants you weakened so her and Armand can pick you apart.’
He jerked to a halt, and shuddered before he looked up the hill. Then he glanced at the other Donzig who grunted.
‘She’s probably right, after all we’re both you.’
The Scourge spat.
‘I don’t give a fuck. I am not letting those two think I am afraid of their little games. I am the Scourge, the Chosen of the Void! I will not lay down and die here to please them! The rest of it be damned.’
The Other Donzig sighed.
‘Spike was right, you know. For a creature of Chaos you are rather predictable.’
‘Speaking of Spike, dahling.’
Donzig lifted a finger, pressing it against the bloody slots of the mask’s mouth.
‘Shhh.’
He shoved himself forward, and waved a hand at the ghosts as he staggered past a few more gravestones. And he crossed beneath the shadow of a watching angel, and he smiled beneath his mask as he snorted.
‘Almost home.’
The Past -
The guttering torches lit the stone room, and ancient carvings of long dead and forgotten gods stared down at the gathering. Around the edges of the room stood silent figures all wearing masks as they glanced at each other. They murmured to themselves, and stared at the man standing near the door. He stood in a small ring of carvings excised into the floor, and watching them from beneath his mask.
Victoria stood just behind him, and one of the figures stepped forward as he pointed.
‘You come here with no knowledge of us or our ways, and you demand a place among us. You walk among us and speak of your lineage, and make demands! And you think we will just give you what you demand!’
Donzig lifted his masked head, and shifted slightly. He would have liked to beat the old man’s head in, but instead he folded his arms over his chest.
Another of them stepped forward, tugging at his mask which looked like a screaming dragon. The man shook his head, gesturing angrily as started to pace back and forth across the warped and broken stone of the floor. A scowl, and he pointed as well.
‘He comes here and claims he has a right to be here by his blood. But this man has waged war on his family for years, he has done nothing to earn the claims of his father or mother! He is a beast, a menace to us! We should banish him now!’
A hand lifted from one of the others, his mask was black and featureless as he leaned forward.
‘No, I say we make use of him. This council has many enemies, our order has foes gathered all around it! Every day we are more at peril! This man is a weapon, we should use him! He is made for this, he is made for war! The perfect warrior of our wars!’
A few of them nodded, and the dragon masked man stared. The first one nodded, and he stepped closer.
‘He is right. We shall grant you a place here, but you will have no voice on the Council. You will be our weapon, our champion, you will fight where we command, you will destroy any who we so order. You will train our champions, and our soldiers to serve us. And perhaps one day?’
A shrug.
The black masked man spoke nodding slowly.
‘Until then you will be our scourge.’
Donzig lifted his head, and he smiled beneath the mask as he waved a hand.
‘Of course, if this is the will of the order.’
The Present -
Beneath the gaze of the angel stood a trio of masked men. They spoke to each other in low voices, muttering as they worked in the chill rain. The leader looked up, shaking his head as he leaned against the massive gravestone. Before him was a grave, and he gestured absently before he drove the shovel into the mound of dirt beside it. That grave bore Donzig’s name.
His mask was red, black, and gold. The others wore the same black and gold, but marked with blue and green. The masks were decorated like skulls and flames, and Donzig knew them.
Las Tres Muertes.
The Three Deaths. The proudest fighters of the Headhunters known in Mexico as Cazadores de Cabezas. Donzig grunted sourly, and stepped into the light with a shake of his head as Red Death looked up.
‘Fancy meeting you here.’
Green Death snarled, and lunged for him. Donzig stepped aside, stumbling slightly before he grabbed for Green Death to fling him aside. He staggered, and he nearly dropped as his arm flared with pain. He battered a fist into his shoulder, shaking his head before he was driven back by a series of kicks from the fastest of three.
Blue Death smirked, and he leapt off one of the stones to yank Donzig’s arm to send him to the wet grass. Donzig grit his teeth, and shoved himself upwards as Blue Death started to rain kicks into his back. He was tired, he was so tired.
Was this all there was?
He twisted then, yanking Blue Death’s foot from under him. He fell to the ground, and Donzig leapt on him to start firing off hard blows with his good hand. His injured arm roared with pain as he used it to grab at his throat, and he snarled. Then a hand closed on his head, and he howled in agony as he was hauled to his feet.
Red Death arms coiled around him, squeezing and pressing at his injured ribs as he flailed. He struggled to get free, shaking his head as he managed to snake an arm free. And he grabbed at the man’s face, fingers squeezing as he locked on the Sicilian Claw! Red Death jerked away, flinging Donzig to the ground where he rolled away.
He stumbled to his feet, blood oozing from the slots of his mask. He was hurt bad, and he didn’t care.
Green Death leapt for him, driving an arm across his throat to topple him against one of the gravestones. He leaned hard on it, coughing as he laughed before he shoved himself away. He staggered, and Green Death came in with fists flying. The Scourge took the punches as he so often did, but he felt each othem like a hammer before Green Death kicked him hard in the ribs as he fell.
He landed near the grave, and the Three Deaths laughed as they drew closer.
ENOUGH! ENOUGH OF THIS!
Donzig shook his head, staring at his hand as it shoved through the mud. He wanted this to end, he wanted to go down in the mud. To rest.
But the voice would not let him.
RISE! RISE! FIGHT! DAMN YOU! WE ARE–
‘Death in High Places.’ Donzig spat.
The Three Deaths stared at each other in disbelief as Donzig rose, mud and dirt falling from him as he shoved himself upwards. He staggered, and his hand closed on the handle of the shovel as Green Death laughed and stepped closer.
NOW! NOW! HE’S MEAT!
The shovel was ripped free, and it clanged hard as it’s edge bit deep into the face and head of the man known as Green Death. Blood sprayed and his mask was nearly torn off as it ripped, and he dropped to the ground bleeding and broken. The other two gaped in surprise, and Donzig laughed as he drove his wounded shoulder into his gravestone.
Something snapped, something tore, but it all jolted back into place as he drove the butt of the shovel into the stomach of the oncoming Red Death. Then it cracked across his back, and he spun away as Blue Death came in. Donzig was gone, all that remained now was the terrible will that drove the creature that was the Scourge. It howled at the Headhunters, shovel spinning slowly as he circled across the muddy earth.
‘Despertar hora de morir!’
Blue Death swung his hands downward, cracking them across the metal mask of the Scourge. Donzig stumbled back, dropping to a knee as Blue Death laughed. And he stepped in, and Donzig’s palm snapped outward to crack into his knee.Blue Death wailed, and dropped into the mud as his knee was shattered. He reached forward, pulling himself forward as Donzig rose again. The shovel lifted over his head for a swing in both hands as he hissed and burbled.
The voice was empty, and cold as the grave.
‘Death submits to no one.’
The shovel slashed downward, and Blue Death screamed as his hand was torn free. Blood sprayed across the mud, and he rolled over to cradle it to his chest. Donzig kicked him into the grave with a shake of his head. Then he crossed the ground, and placed the shovel against the throat of Red Death as he stared down at him.
‘Where is Skulltaker?’
End Part Three
Yeah, I am the ripper man
A locomotion mind, love American style, yeah
I am the Nexus-One
I want more life, fucker
I ain't done yet
-- White Zombie, More Human than Human
A locomotion mind, love American style, yeah
I am the Nexus-One
I want more life, fucker
I ain't done yet
-- White Zombie, More Human than Human
