The Butcher & The Crown (Part Two) - Supremacy 2024
Jan 23, 2024 22:47:40 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Dave D-Flipz, and 4 more like this
Post by Hyperion on Jan 23, 2024 22:47:40 GMT -5
ONE OF NINE
“...so, as you can see… It's a cage around the stage, a cage around the runway, and another cage around the ring. Whoever thought up this idea was definitely having a big brain moment. Alas, this is the circus they have us performing in, and to achieve our goals we must dance to their tune.”
Meredith stands before a whiteboard, along it images and pictures taped and tagged in place. The words ‘Annihilation Complex’ written above, below images of the grueling and barbaric set up that the XHF plans to erect in time for Supremacy.
Meredith has stood alongside Baldur, from his early career reign as ‘Axel Steele’ to his recent foray into Ozymandias, more character trait than character arc. And for each federation they have dominated, each company that has brought the Butcher to their door, each have surpassed the last with absurd, preposterous matches and events.
‘Annihilation Complex’ is no different. A monolith to chaos and carnage, a spectacle to behold for all in attendance. Nine bodies enter, nine broken souls leave. There is little winning to occur in this form of battle, there is only survival. Etching your name into the history books, proving yourself to reign supreme over the opposition.
“Shall we go over each of your foes, or does it matter?” She speaks to a figure behind her, brooding in a dark corner of the room. Meredith took on the role of Old Harbor’s mayor many years ago, and with that came some level of responsibility. To best conduct her business and allow a welcome space for the residents of her sinister fishing village, the ground floor of her home has been realigned into an office space. Desks, cabinets, pamphlets and tourism brochures adorn the walls and surfaces.
And now, a whiteboard containing some of the most brutal, yet laughable, wrestling conditions to face these professionals. Meredith can hold her composure and elicit a manner of focus and contemplation, but it is in vain if those in attendance do not feel the same way. And for this, those in attendance are one of the nine.
“...I’m sensing this is of no interest to you, and naturally I would agree. This motley crew do not pose a threat to you, nor should you be hesitant to be reckless during your match. However, the stakes for this are simply too high to skip over.” Meredith often keeps a lease on Ozymandias, whether inside the ring or out. A good manager, a wise leader, and more importantly - the wielder of the whip.
Ozymandias has grown into an unruly, untamed, wild animal. His career has succeeded in part due to this, however his defeats and monumental losses have also come from this brash attitude and stubbornness. Size alone is not enough to win a fight, and Meredith has seen that far too many times. Ozymandias aligns himself with someone of similar mind, with Hyperion bringing on his own demise more often than not. Supremacy is not a time for power and bravado, but a place for skill.
“....so I shall continue? I have your attention?” Meredith looks towards the sulking giant, still sat in the dark. The natural light of the Alaskan evening pours through the windows, sliced by her venetian blinds, casting several daggers of red and pink light across the room. The whiteboard is lit from above, but without other sources the room is populated with unnerving shadows. “As I mentioned, this setting is something unusual-”
“I care little about their cage, or the inmates they put me with.”
Ozymandias speaks out, his voice constricted and harsh, his metallic mask adding a metallic reverberation to each word. His voice quivers, like static from a distorted speaker. He adjusts his seating position, indicating without words that he grows bored and impatient with Meredith’s lecture. Alas, her vorpal stare and twin, pursed lips indicate that this behemoth has no other option than to sit and listen.
She crosses the room towards the window, putting the whiteboard behind her and forcing Ozymandias to turn in his seat, still obscured in the darkness. His mask, coarse black metal shapes, catches the evening light and bounces a sliver of light, symbiotic of the light being rejected by the darkness. Looking out the window, Meredith eyes the setting sun as it casts one last warm glow over the bay of Old Harbor, and over her home.
“We are so close, Baldur. So, so close. Our numbers have grown, our followers bite at the bit more and more with each passing sermon. I can not only feel our strength growing, but I can see it. You witness it yourself, more joining our meetings. More following the word of the Father. More coming to aid our efforts, more coming to pledge their allegiance.”
She turns to face Ozymandias, the pink sunlight turning orange and red as it sets. Casting a strong outline around her, Meredith looks to be glowing. A ring of fire and flame dancing around her silhouette.
“Our masses grow, but our wealth does not. More mouths to feed, more children to house. Old Harbor grows, yet we cannot sustain it. The ships, the farms, the artisans… they can only do so much, they can only maintain their own homes. But us… we are building something more, something bigger… for Him.”
Meredith pauses, clutching at something unseen due to the lighting. A necklace, a pendant dangling at her chest. She clutches at it, holding it tight. “We will raise the Great Dreamer, we will bring him back to us. Our lives of eternal bliss will be so worth it all… but to get us there, to make the Great Awakening a possibility, we need capital. We need income. We need wealth. And this golden belt…”
“The belt is worthless. A trinket, a false trophy. A mark, not of my strength, but to the weakness of others.”
“It is not the belt that we seek, Baldur. It is the prosperity that it brings, the wealth that comes from all encompassing avenues. To be a star in this sporting entertainment is one thing, but to be the face of their brand? To be their biggest draw? To hold their literal championship in your hands? Not to mention… They have a bunker.”
She approaches Ozymandias, still standing in a manner so that the fading sunlight outlines her. Slits of light still shine through her venetian blinds, laying beams across her face.
Now turning a dark red as the sun broaches the horizon, her tone matches that of the setting sun… darkly.
“A bunker that only their champion can access. A bunker that only the past champions have accessed. A room, so decorated with history and pride… to think what value it holds. To imagine what expensive trinkets and trophies we must find inside.”
“So you mean to ransack this trophy room of theirs? Thief away their history, and sell to the highest bidder?”
Ozymandias scoffs, translating into a harsh whistling sound from his mask. His nightly routine has left a large physical toll on his body, drowning himself to the point of death, so that he may speak with those in the dark beyond. Deep in the waters, where nothing can reach him, only cold heavy darkness all around him, filling his lungs with salty poison and scarring his body from the inside out.
The mask was devised to help him breath, help him withdraw any remaining liquid or vapor from his lungs. Help him live, so that he may drown himself again. But as time has gone by, his face has grown scarred and soiled from the waters. Torn, rough lips. Pocked, agitated face. Skin rough as leather, white as snow. His breathing, without his mask, labored and harsh.
It is unfortunate that the mask has become as much of a shield for him, as it has become a sword. A protection from the elements, a safety from judgment and unwanted attention. Alas, a mask shaped like that of the Great Old One, a metallic effigy to his God that is semi-permanently attached to his face… unwanted attention is all too familiar for the Butcher of Reine.
“Let us first get the belt. Let us acquire their gold, their titles. Become their champion, see what offerings it brings us. An influx of fame, popularity, promotion and advertising may help us get to the next step, and help us spread our word. The bigger the platform you stand on… the more that may hear your words. And hear His call.”
The sun sets, the glow of the sunlight dissipates and the room fills with darkness and silence. Both figures remain still, allowing a moment of digestion to pass. Meredith breaks this silence by approaching Ozymandias, reaching beyond him… and lighting a paraffin lantern on the desk behind him. The room is modern with amenities, yet torches and lamps still decorate many homes in this village. She looks at Ozymandias, with a slight side eye and without a word spoken, she understands she has his captive attention.
“...nine enter the complex, only one survives to the end. You do not win by elimination, you do not win by escaping the cage. This fight is purely tactical, with one person winning and eight people losing. To walk out of there as the victor, you must be the first person to secure the victory. Pin, submission, knockout… pick your poison, but that is how this dance is done.”
She walks to white board, rolling a dimmer switch next to the board to light it up further. Adorning the surface, along with details on the match itself, are images of each entrant. Clearly printed from an ink printer, they are in black and white… and not very clear. She begins pointing at the first name, the current X*Crown champion that is Kilroy Evans, when her attention is diverted outside.
“I see the man from Vegas persists still”, as she spies outside. Sure enough, Reiss Smith-Rowe is walking around outside, gingerly snapping pictures on his camera. Seemingly innocent, shots of the docks, the pier and the village buildings. But Meredith knows his true intentions, Reiss has been less covert than he would like. “We do not know how much he witnessed last night, but we must be cautious.”
She turns to face her friend, studying the expression on the barbarians face.
“Perhaps… the reporter should meet the Great Dreamer?”
THE BOATHOUSE
What was expressed as a brief, routine trip to Old Harbor has turned into a living nightmare for Reiss Smith-Rowe.. Landing on a Friday and expecting to be aboard an Alaskan Air flight back to Vegas by Sunday, that plan has quickly dissipated for the SCCW reporter.
Due to unforeseen weather changes, and arbitrary situations that would not occur on the mainland (Reiss certainly has struggled with the Wi-Fi quality of the fishing village), Reiss is finding his extended stay in the village to be very arduous.
Forcing his stay to be extended, Reiss has tried to incorporate his presence into the village as best he can. Catching the morning markets, strolling by the docks during the coming and going of ships, meeting and greeting some of the locals. But much as he tries to instill himself to this humble fishing town, the more he learns of their darker tides.
By day, a quaint and picturesque small village. Full of characters and life, folks truly absorbed into the peaceful, ocean-faring lifestyle. But by night the true darkness emerges from the homes of these residents. What appears to be friendly hospitality comes with a cost, as he feels his grasp on freedom escaping him, the village sucking him in deeper and keeping him prisoner. So once the sun sets, he self-imprisons himself to his rented room at the Old Harbor inn.
His room is damn, musky and ancient, along with less than desirable sleeping arrangements. His irritation at his accommodation has led to a conversation of him seeking alternative solutions from the mayor of Old Harbor herself, but resulted in Meredith comically and generously counter offering him options to stay in the local stable instead. Finding the company of the local horses to be surprisingly more welcoming and hospitable than the denizens of Old Harbor, Reiss reluctantly chose to remain at the Inn.
As night comes he finds a new pastime - spying from the window of his bedroom at the Inn. Hard to decipher, he has documented some unusual behavior in the past number of nights. As the moon cycles from dusk to dawn, Reiss has witnessed a parade that winds through the town. Robed-villagers, a dozen or so depending on the night, walk the streets and side roads of the village, holding blazing torches to guide their paths. An unusual scene at first, but one that is slowly becoming normal to Reiss, strange as it is to say.
After hearing stories of how Old Harbor was sacked many years back, earning Ozymandias his coined title of ‘The Butcher of Reine’ due to his retaliation efforts, Reiss assumed these parades were for the safety of the village. A night watch, so to speak. The coincidence of each night has left him feeling somewhat safe, in a bizarre sense. Knowing these streets are being monitored, knowing the risk of ruffians coming to this town ever again are slim. But also are his chances of getting out of this village unscathed.
Knowing it’s best to skip this parade and remain indoors, he has watched with horrified fascination as the congregation gathers at the pier, walking the village in cycles, and ending yet again the pier. From the safety of his room, he can peer through his old glass window with relative comfort. However last night was different, and forced his hand to be more reckless than he’s ever been.
The congregation of villagers was becoming the norm to Reiss, but last night they were joined by two others leading their way - their mayor, Meredith, and their protector, Ozymandias. The route they took differed also, this night leading the entire populace to an old boathouse along the docks. Big enough to hold their numbers, and sinister enough for whatever might happen within. Reiss decided that his curiosity was going to kill the cat, and he had to know what was going on inside.
Knowing that if he were spotted, they might not see his intrusion as friendly as they greet him by day. With the moon climbing to its highest peak, bathing the fishing village in a sickly egg-white glow, Reiss pursued the parade forming across the town. Figures marching together, chanting in unison. As the clock in his room rolled past three in the morning, Reiss chose to brave the cold night and satisfy his curiosity. Sneaking from his room to the boathouse unseen was a stroke of luck, but arriving at the building filled him with dread. Hearing their chanting, singing, synchronized in perfect unison… he knew he was about to witness something unexpected.
Peering around corners to ensure his way was clear, Reiss snuck around the building to a spot where he could mount some lobster cages, standing with his back to the ocean. A strong wave of nausea and terror entered his mind, imagining a large beast emerging from the depths to meet him. A giant crab, a scaled-beast, a large tentacle to drag him to the depths…
But what he spied inside the boathouse, left him feeling colder than all the howling winds of the Alaskan night. Peering into through an old dirt-stained glass window, he witnessed a gathering of town folks, villagers he had seen during his time in the town and faces he could pick from a crowd. Only this time, they all dressed in uniform, rugged brown robes adorning each. Some still wielding torches, albeit safely in this waterlogged wooden shed. But at the front the congregation stood their mayor, Meredith Agnar. And flanking her, the scariest and most intimidating masked-giant Reiss has ever had the displeasure of working with.
“...continue, and as such this next battle will help us secure that…”
Reiss could not hear what was being said, only snippets of speech. Their mayor, standing on a crabbing box, towers over the folks. Her words mean little to the reporter, she may as well have been speaking in tongues. But in a secluded boathouse, in the middle of the night, with the uniform robes…?
“...awaken Him, and when this world faces judgment, our Father will thank us with salvation…”
Rumors of a cult had dropped in the past few days, with Reiss being sure of something darkly hidden within this town. The action of these villagers, and their nightly routines assured him of something sinister. But witnessing Ozymandias climb from the depths of the waters, like some form of monster dripping icy cold water and his dead, black eyes looking back-
-it still made Reiss shiver. He was sure something was happening here, and this village is no longer safe to remain in. Were he a superstitious man, he would be chasing rabbits feet and four-leafed clovers to get out of this town as quickly as possible.
“...down his foes, and your Butcher will leave none standing in his wake. He will show you all what it means to be His chosen champion…”
Reiss couldn’t understand how wrestling and fishing were intertwined, it just didn’t make sense to him. But he soon grew to realize that maybe Ozymandias wasn’t in this for fame and glory, and maybe not even for sport. He had previously come to the conclusion they were controlling this village with money, their main revenue stream. But now seeing them before the pair, somewhat worshiping them…
“...one of nine beings that will enter their cage, but the design of their mistake lies there. Imprisoning those eight with our brother will be their downfall. Encaged, engaged, and enraged! And when he walks out of their mindless challenge with their golden prize, they will witness Us. They will see their new champion as a man of flesh and bone, but it will mark our champion of soul and spirit… HIS new champion!”
A cheerful roar from the crowd, much to the confusion of Reiss. He understands the hometown hero mindset, but to have folks congregate in the depths of the night to support their local sporting legends? Meredith continues but Reiss struggles to pick out anything from the conversation, as her voice lowers and becomes muffled. Only when the gathered repeat her words does he catch it.
“...and with it, we shall chant His name, and He will awaken! Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!”
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!”
Unsure of what he is seeing, or hearing, Reiss tries to document as much as he can on his cellphone. Pressing the camera close to the glass to record the scene below, capturing as much of the strange audio as he can. But with his focus taken elsewhere, he loses balance on the boxes below his feet and stumbles, banging against the wall of the boathouse. The gathered villagers paid no heed, but it was the eyes of one man that stirred his bowels.
Peering through the soiled glass, he was sure nobody inside could see him nor hear him. But it was direct eye contact with the Butcher that convinced him otherwise, and set his heart racing. Ozymandias, looking directly to where Reiss is standing, perched on boxes and lobster cages, vulnerable to the elements and with their Butcher piercing his mind with those dead, dark eyes. Bizarrely, Ozymandias remains in place, aware they are being watched but not letting it interfere with the evening.
“...and so we end our sermon. Soon the night will be upon us, where our brother fights for Old Harbor. Our Butcher, helping to mark the dawn of a new day for our cause, and our pilgrimage to the next world. With his victory, with his golden prize, we will be one step closer to awakening the Great Dreamer.”
The gathered crowd all bow, no cheers or applause, but more terrifyingly they begin to leave the boathouse. Knowing he only has seconds to escape before Ozymandias locates him, Reiss jumps from his stacked boxes and fishing cages, knowing over lobster pots and spools of rope in his frantic escape. Seeing a clear path along the docks, hidden well in the shadows, he runs as quickly as his aged legs will carry him and beelines for the Inn. He refuses to peer behind him as he runs, afraid that he might have angry villages in pursuit. Alas he arrives at the Inn, safe and sound.
That was, until he arrived in his room. Catching his breath and gathering his thoughts, a warm feeling of alleviation washed over him. He had spied on the villagers, and escaped without capture. Not to mention, he had some interesting images documented on his cellphone that would be surely interesting once he arrived back to the safety of SCCW.
Reiss stood up to close his curtains, and that’s when his stomach dropped. His knees buckled, and his entire will to live fled his body. For on the street below stood one figure, outlined by the moonlight, wind and light rain flying around him like a veil of cold. But he did not move, did not budge. He just stood there, staring, watching. Reiss and the man made direct eye contact, and as before it was like locking eyes with death himself.
He drew the curtains and killed the lights in his room, curling into a ball in his bed fearing the worst. He prayed the man did not remain outside, but more so he prayed he did, for a knock on his door but enough to soil his pants. That would be the last of his curiosity, that would be his last venture into the night. He pried the curtain slightly, to see if his fears were true… and he confirmed it.
The man remained, stood on the street, staring at Reiss in his room. Watching him.
Ozymandias.
ANNIHILATION COMPLEX
“...no, as fitting as an end it would be for his time in Old Harbor, we must not bring unwanted attention to ourselves. Perhaps one day…”
Meredith watches out of her window, spying on Reiss as he takes photos of the docks. She understands he saw too much the night before, and she knows how dangerous it could be for Old Harbor should their secrets leak. Yet, standing in her office, she allows the reporter to feign interest in their village and gather whatever intel he desires..
“Let him fill his camera, pictures of our docks and our pier. They are most beautiful, a sight to behold. He tries to fool us into thinking he is an avid tourist, donning his bravest face to us and advertising his affection for our village through the lens of his camera.” She watches him, studying his body language. A fake smile of happiness and joy on his face, but she sees his hands trembling and knees shaking. “He must be a fool to think we did not observe him last night. He is either brash and brazen, or he is desperate to cast an illusion on his behavior during the night.”
Somewhat distracted still, it is the stirring of Ozymandias that brings her back to reality.
“Where was I… yes, the nine. The night of Supremacy. Their finest battleground, and the list of their elites that will enter.” She points to the whiteboard, knowing very well that half of the faces and names will fly over the head of Ozymandias.
“Kilroy. Our current X*Crown champion, and the man you aim to defeat. He’s an accomplished athlete with a laundry list of accolades and victories under his belt. He is currently the X*Crown champion, so that is a statement in itself.”
She plucks the printed picture of Evans from the whiteboard, passing it to Ozymandias to inspect. A picture of a somewhat playful, somewhat arrogant man smiles back to him, doing little to amuse the hulking brute.
“I’ve taken the liberty to study some of his past matches, some of his recent wins in the XHF, and even a little about his history in the business. I assume you do not share an interest in watching these clips?”, she says to Ozymandias, already knowing the answer. “He’s versatile, he’s tough, and he’s somewhat tactful in the way he wrestles. Depending how he is portraying himself on the night, he may choose to stand toe-to-toe with you in a brass balls contest, or he may lull you into a false security and try to drag you down. He has several tricks up his sleeve, and seems to be quite competent… for a stoutly fat man.”
Ozymandias eyes the printed page, before scrunching it into a ball and dropping it to the floor. Gently, he uses his foot to flatten the ball of paper, must to the distaste of Meredith,
“He has everything to lose, and little to gain. Nine of you will be in that cage - keep your eye on Evans. If you have an opportunity to take the victory, take it. You do not need to send a lesson, even though I’m sure he is very well aware that you are coming for him.”
Ozymandias nods, his unspoken gesture to move the conversation on.
“Do not tread lightly, my friend. You have been marked, by just adding your name to the list. They will know your power, and they will fear it. Kilroy Evans most of all. He might joke and jest but he is afraid. There is no way to conceal that with comedy or acts of confidence. You pose a very real threat to his short reign, and he will be aware that defeating you is close to impossible. He will be desperate and hungry. If he loses, he loses it all. If he wins, he gains to earn everything.”
Ozymandias looks at Meredith, silence between them, before a slight nod lets her know he is ready to move on.
“Andrej von Grapple”, she says as she grabs another picture. “This one… this one might give you some trouble. Claiming to be a ‘Viking’, yet his biography shows no heritage or place of birth… claiming to have wrestled with bears and participated in highland games, a burly wild man. From what I’ve seen, this is all a gimmick. I do not think the man is Norse, nor do I think Thor’s blood flows through him.”
Ozymandias studies the picture, the burly blonde man looking back at him. His brow furrowed, it is clear this man's entire persona angers the Butcher of Reine.
“His gimmick of being a Norse Viking is not in vain, as he does indeed boast some incredible strength and athleticism. He may match you in terms of power and hardiness, and I dare say there will be a moment where he challenges you directly to a feat of strength. Do not fall into his trap, growing exhausted to best a false-Nord will net you little.”
Ozymandias hands her back the sheet of paper, not worth his attention any longer.
“He is a threat, and he is unpredictable. Much like Evans, you will be marked as a target as soon as you enter that complex, not just for your size alone but as a test of strength. These men, shorter than you, will surmise you to be their main threat. It would not surprise me if these wild dogs formed a pack, to attack their alpha.”
Ozymandias looks at Meredith, her eyes lighting with fire and passion as she speaks of these foes.
“Vikings, champions, warriors. It matters not, they are merely men. As we know… all men must fall.”
“All men must fall.”
She smirks, shooting him a somewhat proud, somewhat heinous look before grabbing the next batch. She tugs a picture of a robot, a librarian, mathematician and an overly emo-looking middle-aged man from the whiteboard, before gingerly handing them to Ozymandias. He takes the pictures, eyeing them up with a look of uncertainty in his eyes. Looking at Meredith, and back to the pictures, he sits back in his chair and drops his enthusiasm.
“Is this truly their elite?”
“These are the elected fighters of their prospective federations, and as much as you don’t agree with it…”, she plucks the pictures from his hand, reattaching the images of the spectacled librarian, the bright pink furry robot, the mathematician and the screaming rockerboy to her whiteboard once more, “...this is what the pinnacle of sporting professionalism looks like today. So, at the cost of your dignity and some of your time, these are the foes you face.”
The pain on his face is evident, seeking a real fight with real fighters, and in return being stood across from unimaginable characters. Ozymandias can only watch in a sense of disappointment and disbelief, as Meredith begins to explain his opposition.
“ARM815H1 MK.69… quite the handful. Gimmicked as a homosexual robot from outer space…”. She looks at the Cthulhu-worshiping fisherman with Viking ancestry, and gestures with his head to just follow along. “...we may be surprised by this one. Looks can be deceiving, and they have seen some combat in their past. With some success. Like the others, do not let your guard down.”
She takes the next printed image down, that of Random McConalogue, and hands it to Ozymandias. Before she can even speak he has also crunched the paper up, this time angrily in just one hand.
“Yes, she looks harmless and yes, her gimmick clearly states that she is ‘mostly harmless’. But like anyone else in this fight, she was elected as the representation of her brand. She perceives fights in a new manner to most, weighing up odds and probabilities. Should she see you engaged in a brawl, she will calculate her odds of winning by seizing the opportunity, for example. A tactician, and someone that can easily be stopped with a swift boot to the face.”
She points to the handsome librarian next. “Mistress Discipline, aside from sounding like some sex-working dominatrix, follows suit behind the furry extra-terrestrial. A somewhat seasoned combatant, a vicious tongue along with a grasp on technicalities and submission holds. Not to sound like a broken record-”
He grunts, his mask turning it into somewhat of a metallic whistle sound.
“-don't let you guard down around this one.” She quickly moves on to the last of the trio, with Psychotic Goth. “This guy might actually be fun for you. Absorbed in the darkness of the world, a brooding and malevolent fighter, the kind of guy that enjoys blood flowing as much as you relish opening that tap. He is an XHF legend at this point, and has seen more action within this network than you have.” She walks towards the whiteboard, looking closely at the picture of Psychotic Goth, “...actually, just have fun with this one. Dismantle him, tear him apart, enjoy your time in the cage.”
Ozymandias gives her a look, somewhat relieved to finally hear something good. She smirks back, shooting him a brief smile from the corner of her eye before moving on.
“James Raymond, another name that has seen his share of time in the XHF rings. Never quite achieving the success of his peers, and always finding himself on the losing end of an important battle, you might encounter a hungry dog at Supremacy. Raymond would like to see his name in lights, a true egotistic rising star that would be unbearable to tolerate should he win the match. Narcissistic as he is proud, proving his experience and skills are all that matter to him.”
She looks at his picture for a moment, before tearing it from the whiteboard and ripping it in half. “Do not let him win. Losing to the pink robot would be more digestible than letting this scrawny twerp hold a victory over your head.”
She turns to the last face, but Ozymandias stands up and distracts her attention. Growing weary and restless, he chooses to take the wheel of this conversation.
“This one… this one I know.”
“Former President Curtis Kanyon. A name as famous within the XHF as he is around the world. A man of politics and principles, but also one that keeps strange company.” She points to his picture, with the stars of GUNS behind him. “Washed-up superstars, former champions, strange walks of life. Oh, and a bear. He keeps a bear as a pet.”
Ozymandias scoffs, somewhat of a chuckle but diffused through his mask.
“Ironically, he has more ties to Norse mythology than Andrej it seems, believing his power to come from Thor himself, and even praying and speaking with the fallen God. A good fighter, a dangerous foe, and as before he is one to watch. Surely a fighter that will spy you as a threat, and hoping to use his signature move to cut you in half. He has worn this title in the past and he savored his time with the belt - he will be seeking to return to his prime days. Do not let him make a martyr of you.”
With the list completed, the pair stand in peaceful silence, taking in the names and faces of the fight to come. Nine enter the complex, with only one achieving greatness. A lot to work towards, but with this mismatched gathering of characters before them, it is apparent that Ozymandias still seeks a worthy foe.
“Patience, my dear. This fight is only the beginning. A victory at Supremacy seals you in the history books. A victory at Supremacy secures your contract, and helps aid our town further. Mostly, becoming their champion means nothing.. What is important here-”
“-is becoming His champion. Once and forever.”
She smiles, and nods to him.
“He will awake one day, we will help to raise R’lyeh to the surface. His thanks, His gratitude will be bestowed to you. Wielding their golden belt, but with His golden praise… this victory will mark you as the Father’s chosen warrior. It bodes very well for Old Harbor and our followers for your victory.”
He looks to her, and bends forward to place his brow against her, a very rare act of humanity from the Butcher of Reine.
“I am Ozymandias, King of Kings… all men must fall.”
“All men must fall.”
DEPARTING TIDES
Luck would find Reiss Smith-Rowe, as a break in the weather allowed him a brief window to secure his escape from Old Harbor. With a ferry scheduled to retrieve him and many sleepless nights behind him, he was ready to put his fear and dread aside and finally return home.
Standing along the pier he awaits his vessel, a small ferry that will see his return to the mainland, and eventually his flight to Las Vegas. His time in Old Harbor has been educational, learning a lot of fishing folk and a more relaxed lifestyle. And as he would also learn, the home of a cult dedicated to the Great Sunken God named Cthulhu.
The effigies, the markings on the walls, the stone-faced, corpse-like residents of the village - he was ready to put it behind him. Sickly to his stomach and without restful sleep for days, he has endured a cycle of fear, dread, worry, panic, concern and lastly - terror. The dark arts and acts of these villagers, their robed attires, their torch-lit parades amidst the dark nights, the self-acts of drowning and sacrifice made by their very own protector…
As the ferry approaches, Reiss grows anxious in anticipation. Eager to board the boat and be rid of this town, he counts the seconds it takes for the vessel to near the pier, to dock and stay its course so that passengers may board. To step foot anywhere that is not soiled by shadows of the Eldritch horror, will be a true blessing for the SCCW reporter.
As the ferry is about to disembark, Reiss closes his eyes for a moment of peace, of joy, of utter euphoria. He is finally leaving!
“Reiss, were you about to bid us farewell, without stopping by to say so?”
He opens his eyes to a horrifying sight, with Meredith standing over him. The bright sunlit sky behind her is in stark contrast to her dark clothing, pale skin and flowing black silk dress. Behind her, to add further panic, is Ozymandias. The burling brute that spotted Reiss that unfortunate night, that stalked the reporter to his room at the inn, and the same looming presence that has haunted Reiss’ dreams with every single passing night since.
“It would be a shame for you to have left, without so much as a thank you?”
Reiss is speechless, lost without words and terrified to his core. Meredith leans forward, her face close enough to his he can smell her perfume, a sickly mix of incense and dried fruits. An aged-casket smell, musk and spices intertwined. If he were not about to soil his pants, he might think of her as a beautiful woman, attractive in appearance. Her face with the forests, cliffs and homes of Old Harbor before her... the face of death itself.
Leaning close, he can only stare at her sharp features and dark, flowing hair. Almost vampiric.
“Reiss… you know we cannot let you leave yet, right? We are only just starting to have fun. There is much left for you to see, and we had hoped you might join us at our next sermon.” Her lips move almost independently from her words, her speech almost snake-like, unbridled with hisses and snarls. “Seeing as you enjoyed watching us so closely a couple of nights back, we figure the next one you could be the main attraction. The centerpiece, if you will.”
Reiss gasps, suddenly aware he has not taken a breath for some time. His eyes dance between Meredith’s inches from his face, to those of Ozymandias behind her, piercing his cornea's. With the sun shining and the sounds of seagulls and other dockhands in the background, Reiss tries to understand how a setting so peaceful can suddenly feel so cold, so monstrous.
“What do you say… stay with us another night? We would love for you to see the work we are doing, up close and personal. And perhaps if you are lucky, Ozymandias might even bring you to the depths with him tonight. You can experience what it feels like to be close to death, see how incredible that feeling can be, and if you are chosen… you might even hear the Call of Cthulhu.”
Vomit. In his mouth. Pure and utter shutdown of all his senses, fear and terror consuming him completely. Meredith smiles, pulling away only slightly. With almost zero struggle she takes Reiss’ cell phone from his hand and passes it back to Ozymandias. A bag on the floor next to his seat is also picked up, the logo of Canon on the side indicating this is his camera bag.
“We wouldn’t want our secrets leaking to the mainland, would we? The people are not ready to hear our words yet, and not quite ready to understand what we hope to achieve. This world is fragile, soft, weak. People fret over genders, sexual preferences and proper pronouns. But none worry about the looming death that each must face, none worry about the reckoning that will soon come to greet them.”
She steps away from Reiss, handing Ozymandias the camera bag and allowing the reporter to catch his breath.
“What you saw, what we are working towards, what we hope to achieve… it is inevitable, Reiss Smith-Rowe. We will awaken the Great Dreamer, and he will raze this world anew. He will cleanse this planet, and only the chosen that dwell within R’lyeh will be elected to begin this world, fresh. It is hard to comprehend now, but soon you will understand our ways.”
Ozymandias steps towards Reiss, standing over him with eyes trained on those of the shaking man. The other passengers of the ferry seem completely oblivious to this event, all quickly becoming familiar to Reiss as attendees of that same sermon. His mind fills with feelings of hopelessness and defeat, knowing he is surrounded at all odds.
Ozymandias doesn’t speak, allowing his manager to be his mouth piece.
“Supremacy is only the beginning. Sin City Championship Wrestling has barely seen what we can do, they have barely seen the Butcher in action. Ozymandias has worn two golden belts within your halls, and once the bell rings at Supremacy he will return with the glorified X*Crown around his waist. Twenty-four world championships reside within that one crown… Ozymandias is the man to bring it home.”
She stands next to Ozymandias, linking her arm with his.
“Will you be cheering for your champion? I do hope so, Reiss. Cheering for his many successes and achievements. Because to do anything else, to try to steer his momentum sideways or derail his progress…”
Ozymandias demonstrates a small act of strength and intimidation, bending Reiss' iPhone in half with his bare hands. Metal and plastic warps in the giant's palms, cracking glass dripping to the ferry platform. A final act of intimidation, Ozymandias tosses the phone overboard and lets Reiss here one last *splash*.
“We will be your champion. We will top the XHF. And we will bring the gold home for all in SCCW. This bodes well for you, Reiss Smith-Rowe. Share what you saw here, share the wonders of Old Harbor, share its beauty, share its hospitality. Tell the people of the generosity and kindness you same Baldur Magnusson showed to his people, and how their mayor greeted you with open arms.”
She leans forward one more time.
“Tell them anything else, and you will sleep with my family in the deep.”
Reiss nods, literally on the verge of collapse now. White knuckled and rigid, terrified beyond belief he grasps the very chair he is sat on, as if it may save his life. He watches, without relief or reprieve, as Meredith and Ozymandias step off the ferry and begin to take their leave down the pier. Even as the ferry powers up and slowly drifts away from the pier, Reiss remains firm. Stoic. Staring at the couple as they casually stroll back towards their village.
Even as the ferry approaches the horizon, Old Harbor fading further and further in the distance, Reiss does not relax. The eyes of the passengers around him, those same eyes he saw beneath robes in the boathouse. Those faces, formerly florists and bakers, now cultists with a darker agenda. Those that welcomed him with open arms, would place a dagger in his back should he speak a foul word against their cause.
Reiss was sent to investigate Old Harbor, and find out if Ozymandias was truly destined to be the next X*Crown champion.
He has left their peaceful fishing village with absolute certainty, beyond any shadow of doubt, that their Butcher will not accept defeat. He will be the next big champion of SCCW, and he is determined to bring the crown home. He will be the XHF’s Champion.
And with gut wrenching reality setting in, Reiss knows one thing -
The Cult of Cthulhu is real. And Ozymandias is their Champion.
He heard the Call, and he answered it.
Reiss looks out to the ocean before him, mindless and broken. Unable to think, unable to focus, only one thing flows through his mind. One thing he has heard so much of, that it may never leave his mind again.
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.
Awaiting his awakening, awaiting his Champion.
“...so, as you can see… It's a cage around the stage, a cage around the runway, and another cage around the ring. Whoever thought up this idea was definitely having a big brain moment. Alas, this is the circus they have us performing in, and to achieve our goals we must dance to their tune.”
Meredith stands before a whiteboard, along it images and pictures taped and tagged in place. The words ‘Annihilation Complex’ written above, below images of the grueling and barbaric set up that the XHF plans to erect in time for Supremacy.
Meredith has stood alongside Baldur, from his early career reign as ‘Axel Steele’ to his recent foray into Ozymandias, more character trait than character arc. And for each federation they have dominated, each company that has brought the Butcher to their door, each have surpassed the last with absurd, preposterous matches and events.
‘Annihilation Complex’ is no different. A monolith to chaos and carnage, a spectacle to behold for all in attendance. Nine bodies enter, nine broken souls leave. There is little winning to occur in this form of battle, there is only survival. Etching your name into the history books, proving yourself to reign supreme over the opposition.
“Shall we go over each of your foes, or does it matter?” She speaks to a figure behind her, brooding in a dark corner of the room. Meredith took on the role of Old Harbor’s mayor many years ago, and with that came some level of responsibility. To best conduct her business and allow a welcome space for the residents of her sinister fishing village, the ground floor of her home has been realigned into an office space. Desks, cabinets, pamphlets and tourism brochures adorn the walls and surfaces.
And now, a whiteboard containing some of the most brutal, yet laughable, wrestling conditions to face these professionals. Meredith can hold her composure and elicit a manner of focus and contemplation, but it is in vain if those in attendance do not feel the same way. And for this, those in attendance are one of the nine.
“...I’m sensing this is of no interest to you, and naturally I would agree. This motley crew do not pose a threat to you, nor should you be hesitant to be reckless during your match. However, the stakes for this are simply too high to skip over.” Meredith often keeps a lease on Ozymandias, whether inside the ring or out. A good manager, a wise leader, and more importantly - the wielder of the whip.
Ozymandias has grown into an unruly, untamed, wild animal. His career has succeeded in part due to this, however his defeats and monumental losses have also come from this brash attitude and stubbornness. Size alone is not enough to win a fight, and Meredith has seen that far too many times. Ozymandias aligns himself with someone of similar mind, with Hyperion bringing on his own demise more often than not. Supremacy is not a time for power and bravado, but a place for skill.
“....so I shall continue? I have your attention?” Meredith looks towards the sulking giant, still sat in the dark. The natural light of the Alaskan evening pours through the windows, sliced by her venetian blinds, casting several daggers of red and pink light across the room. The whiteboard is lit from above, but without other sources the room is populated with unnerving shadows. “As I mentioned, this setting is something unusual-”
“I care little about their cage, or the inmates they put me with.”
Ozymandias speaks out, his voice constricted and harsh, his metallic mask adding a metallic reverberation to each word. His voice quivers, like static from a distorted speaker. He adjusts his seating position, indicating without words that he grows bored and impatient with Meredith’s lecture. Alas, her vorpal stare and twin, pursed lips indicate that this behemoth has no other option than to sit and listen.
She crosses the room towards the window, putting the whiteboard behind her and forcing Ozymandias to turn in his seat, still obscured in the darkness. His mask, coarse black metal shapes, catches the evening light and bounces a sliver of light, symbiotic of the light being rejected by the darkness. Looking out the window, Meredith eyes the setting sun as it casts one last warm glow over the bay of Old Harbor, and over her home.
“We are so close, Baldur. So, so close. Our numbers have grown, our followers bite at the bit more and more with each passing sermon. I can not only feel our strength growing, but I can see it. You witness it yourself, more joining our meetings. More following the word of the Father. More coming to aid our efforts, more coming to pledge their allegiance.”
She turns to face Ozymandias, the pink sunlight turning orange and red as it sets. Casting a strong outline around her, Meredith looks to be glowing. A ring of fire and flame dancing around her silhouette.
“Our masses grow, but our wealth does not. More mouths to feed, more children to house. Old Harbor grows, yet we cannot sustain it. The ships, the farms, the artisans… they can only do so much, they can only maintain their own homes. But us… we are building something more, something bigger… for Him.”
Meredith pauses, clutching at something unseen due to the lighting. A necklace, a pendant dangling at her chest. She clutches at it, holding it tight. “We will raise the Great Dreamer, we will bring him back to us. Our lives of eternal bliss will be so worth it all… but to get us there, to make the Great Awakening a possibility, we need capital. We need income. We need wealth. And this golden belt…”
“The belt is worthless. A trinket, a false trophy. A mark, not of my strength, but to the weakness of others.”
“It is not the belt that we seek, Baldur. It is the prosperity that it brings, the wealth that comes from all encompassing avenues. To be a star in this sporting entertainment is one thing, but to be the face of their brand? To be their biggest draw? To hold their literal championship in your hands? Not to mention… They have a bunker.”
She approaches Ozymandias, still standing in a manner so that the fading sunlight outlines her. Slits of light still shine through her venetian blinds, laying beams across her face.
Now turning a dark red as the sun broaches the horizon, her tone matches that of the setting sun… darkly.
“A bunker that only their champion can access. A bunker that only the past champions have accessed. A room, so decorated with history and pride… to think what value it holds. To imagine what expensive trinkets and trophies we must find inside.”
“So you mean to ransack this trophy room of theirs? Thief away their history, and sell to the highest bidder?”
Ozymandias scoffs, translating into a harsh whistling sound from his mask. His nightly routine has left a large physical toll on his body, drowning himself to the point of death, so that he may speak with those in the dark beyond. Deep in the waters, where nothing can reach him, only cold heavy darkness all around him, filling his lungs with salty poison and scarring his body from the inside out.
The mask was devised to help him breath, help him withdraw any remaining liquid or vapor from his lungs. Help him live, so that he may drown himself again. But as time has gone by, his face has grown scarred and soiled from the waters. Torn, rough lips. Pocked, agitated face. Skin rough as leather, white as snow. His breathing, without his mask, labored and harsh.
It is unfortunate that the mask has become as much of a shield for him, as it has become a sword. A protection from the elements, a safety from judgment and unwanted attention. Alas, a mask shaped like that of the Great Old One, a metallic effigy to his God that is semi-permanently attached to his face… unwanted attention is all too familiar for the Butcher of Reine.
“Let us first get the belt. Let us acquire their gold, their titles. Become their champion, see what offerings it brings us. An influx of fame, popularity, promotion and advertising may help us get to the next step, and help us spread our word. The bigger the platform you stand on… the more that may hear your words. And hear His call.”
The sun sets, the glow of the sunlight dissipates and the room fills with darkness and silence. Both figures remain still, allowing a moment of digestion to pass. Meredith breaks this silence by approaching Ozymandias, reaching beyond him… and lighting a paraffin lantern on the desk behind him. The room is modern with amenities, yet torches and lamps still decorate many homes in this village. She looks at Ozymandias, with a slight side eye and without a word spoken, she understands she has his captive attention.
“...nine enter the complex, only one survives to the end. You do not win by elimination, you do not win by escaping the cage. This fight is purely tactical, with one person winning and eight people losing. To walk out of there as the victor, you must be the first person to secure the victory. Pin, submission, knockout… pick your poison, but that is how this dance is done.”
She walks to white board, rolling a dimmer switch next to the board to light it up further. Adorning the surface, along with details on the match itself, are images of each entrant. Clearly printed from an ink printer, they are in black and white… and not very clear. She begins pointing at the first name, the current X*Crown champion that is Kilroy Evans, when her attention is diverted outside.
“I see the man from Vegas persists still”, as she spies outside. Sure enough, Reiss Smith-Rowe is walking around outside, gingerly snapping pictures on his camera. Seemingly innocent, shots of the docks, the pier and the village buildings. But Meredith knows his true intentions, Reiss has been less covert than he would like. “We do not know how much he witnessed last night, but we must be cautious.”
She turns to face her friend, studying the expression on the barbarians face.
“Perhaps… the reporter should meet the Great Dreamer?”
THE BOATHOUSE
What was expressed as a brief, routine trip to Old Harbor has turned into a living nightmare for Reiss Smith-Rowe.. Landing on a Friday and expecting to be aboard an Alaskan Air flight back to Vegas by Sunday, that plan has quickly dissipated for the SCCW reporter.
Due to unforeseen weather changes, and arbitrary situations that would not occur on the mainland (Reiss certainly has struggled with the Wi-Fi quality of the fishing village), Reiss is finding his extended stay in the village to be very arduous.
Forcing his stay to be extended, Reiss has tried to incorporate his presence into the village as best he can. Catching the morning markets, strolling by the docks during the coming and going of ships, meeting and greeting some of the locals. But much as he tries to instill himself to this humble fishing town, the more he learns of their darker tides.
By day, a quaint and picturesque small village. Full of characters and life, folks truly absorbed into the peaceful, ocean-faring lifestyle. But by night the true darkness emerges from the homes of these residents. What appears to be friendly hospitality comes with a cost, as he feels his grasp on freedom escaping him, the village sucking him in deeper and keeping him prisoner. So once the sun sets, he self-imprisons himself to his rented room at the Old Harbor inn.
His room is damn, musky and ancient, along with less than desirable sleeping arrangements. His irritation at his accommodation has led to a conversation of him seeking alternative solutions from the mayor of Old Harbor herself, but resulted in Meredith comically and generously counter offering him options to stay in the local stable instead. Finding the company of the local horses to be surprisingly more welcoming and hospitable than the denizens of Old Harbor, Reiss reluctantly chose to remain at the Inn.
As night comes he finds a new pastime - spying from the window of his bedroom at the Inn. Hard to decipher, he has documented some unusual behavior in the past number of nights. As the moon cycles from dusk to dawn, Reiss has witnessed a parade that winds through the town. Robed-villagers, a dozen or so depending on the night, walk the streets and side roads of the village, holding blazing torches to guide their paths. An unusual scene at first, but one that is slowly becoming normal to Reiss, strange as it is to say.
After hearing stories of how Old Harbor was sacked many years back, earning Ozymandias his coined title of ‘The Butcher of Reine’ due to his retaliation efforts, Reiss assumed these parades were for the safety of the village. A night watch, so to speak. The coincidence of each night has left him feeling somewhat safe, in a bizarre sense. Knowing these streets are being monitored, knowing the risk of ruffians coming to this town ever again are slim. But also are his chances of getting out of this village unscathed.
Knowing it’s best to skip this parade and remain indoors, he has watched with horrified fascination as the congregation gathers at the pier, walking the village in cycles, and ending yet again the pier. From the safety of his room, he can peer through his old glass window with relative comfort. However last night was different, and forced his hand to be more reckless than he’s ever been.
The congregation of villagers was becoming the norm to Reiss, but last night they were joined by two others leading their way - their mayor, Meredith, and their protector, Ozymandias. The route they took differed also, this night leading the entire populace to an old boathouse along the docks. Big enough to hold their numbers, and sinister enough for whatever might happen within. Reiss decided that his curiosity was going to kill the cat, and he had to know what was going on inside.
Knowing that if he were spotted, they might not see his intrusion as friendly as they greet him by day. With the moon climbing to its highest peak, bathing the fishing village in a sickly egg-white glow, Reiss pursued the parade forming across the town. Figures marching together, chanting in unison. As the clock in his room rolled past three in the morning, Reiss chose to brave the cold night and satisfy his curiosity. Sneaking from his room to the boathouse unseen was a stroke of luck, but arriving at the building filled him with dread. Hearing their chanting, singing, synchronized in perfect unison… he knew he was about to witness something unexpected.
Peering around corners to ensure his way was clear, Reiss snuck around the building to a spot where he could mount some lobster cages, standing with his back to the ocean. A strong wave of nausea and terror entered his mind, imagining a large beast emerging from the depths to meet him. A giant crab, a scaled-beast, a large tentacle to drag him to the depths…
But what he spied inside the boathouse, left him feeling colder than all the howling winds of the Alaskan night. Peering into through an old dirt-stained glass window, he witnessed a gathering of town folks, villagers he had seen during his time in the town and faces he could pick from a crowd. Only this time, they all dressed in uniform, rugged brown robes adorning each. Some still wielding torches, albeit safely in this waterlogged wooden shed. But at the front the congregation stood their mayor, Meredith Agnar. And flanking her, the scariest and most intimidating masked-giant Reiss has ever had the displeasure of working with.
“...continue, and as such this next battle will help us secure that…”
Reiss could not hear what was being said, only snippets of speech. Their mayor, standing on a crabbing box, towers over the folks. Her words mean little to the reporter, she may as well have been speaking in tongues. But in a secluded boathouse, in the middle of the night, with the uniform robes…?
“...awaken Him, and when this world faces judgment, our Father will thank us with salvation…”
Rumors of a cult had dropped in the past few days, with Reiss being sure of something darkly hidden within this town. The action of these villagers, and their nightly routines assured him of something sinister. But witnessing Ozymandias climb from the depths of the waters, like some form of monster dripping icy cold water and his dead, black eyes looking back-
-it still made Reiss shiver. He was sure something was happening here, and this village is no longer safe to remain in. Were he a superstitious man, he would be chasing rabbits feet and four-leafed clovers to get out of this town as quickly as possible.
“...down his foes, and your Butcher will leave none standing in his wake. He will show you all what it means to be His chosen champion…”
Reiss couldn’t understand how wrestling and fishing were intertwined, it just didn’t make sense to him. But he soon grew to realize that maybe Ozymandias wasn’t in this for fame and glory, and maybe not even for sport. He had previously come to the conclusion they were controlling this village with money, their main revenue stream. But now seeing them before the pair, somewhat worshiping them…
“...one of nine beings that will enter their cage, but the design of their mistake lies there. Imprisoning those eight with our brother will be their downfall. Encaged, engaged, and enraged! And when he walks out of their mindless challenge with their golden prize, they will witness Us. They will see their new champion as a man of flesh and bone, but it will mark our champion of soul and spirit… HIS new champion!”
A cheerful roar from the crowd, much to the confusion of Reiss. He understands the hometown hero mindset, but to have folks congregate in the depths of the night to support their local sporting legends? Meredith continues but Reiss struggles to pick out anything from the conversation, as her voice lowers and becomes muffled. Only when the gathered repeat her words does he catch it.
“...and with it, we shall chant His name, and He will awaken! Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!”
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!”
Unsure of what he is seeing, or hearing, Reiss tries to document as much as he can on his cellphone. Pressing the camera close to the glass to record the scene below, capturing as much of the strange audio as he can. But with his focus taken elsewhere, he loses balance on the boxes below his feet and stumbles, banging against the wall of the boathouse. The gathered villagers paid no heed, but it was the eyes of one man that stirred his bowels.
Peering through the soiled glass, he was sure nobody inside could see him nor hear him. But it was direct eye contact with the Butcher that convinced him otherwise, and set his heart racing. Ozymandias, looking directly to where Reiss is standing, perched on boxes and lobster cages, vulnerable to the elements and with their Butcher piercing his mind with those dead, dark eyes. Bizarrely, Ozymandias remains in place, aware they are being watched but not letting it interfere with the evening.
“...and so we end our sermon. Soon the night will be upon us, where our brother fights for Old Harbor. Our Butcher, helping to mark the dawn of a new day for our cause, and our pilgrimage to the next world. With his victory, with his golden prize, we will be one step closer to awakening the Great Dreamer.”
The gathered crowd all bow, no cheers or applause, but more terrifyingly they begin to leave the boathouse. Knowing he only has seconds to escape before Ozymandias locates him, Reiss jumps from his stacked boxes and fishing cages, knowing over lobster pots and spools of rope in his frantic escape. Seeing a clear path along the docks, hidden well in the shadows, he runs as quickly as his aged legs will carry him and beelines for the Inn. He refuses to peer behind him as he runs, afraid that he might have angry villages in pursuit. Alas he arrives at the Inn, safe and sound.
That was, until he arrived in his room. Catching his breath and gathering his thoughts, a warm feeling of alleviation washed over him. He had spied on the villagers, and escaped without capture. Not to mention, he had some interesting images documented on his cellphone that would be surely interesting once he arrived back to the safety of SCCW.
Reiss stood up to close his curtains, and that’s when his stomach dropped. His knees buckled, and his entire will to live fled his body. For on the street below stood one figure, outlined by the moonlight, wind and light rain flying around him like a veil of cold. But he did not move, did not budge. He just stood there, staring, watching. Reiss and the man made direct eye contact, and as before it was like locking eyes with death himself.
He drew the curtains and killed the lights in his room, curling into a ball in his bed fearing the worst. He prayed the man did not remain outside, but more so he prayed he did, for a knock on his door but enough to soil his pants. That would be the last of his curiosity, that would be his last venture into the night. He pried the curtain slightly, to see if his fears were true… and he confirmed it.
The man remained, stood on the street, staring at Reiss in his room. Watching him.
Ozymandias.
ANNIHILATION COMPLEX
“...no, as fitting as an end it would be for his time in Old Harbor, we must not bring unwanted attention to ourselves. Perhaps one day…”
Meredith watches out of her window, spying on Reiss as he takes photos of the docks. She understands he saw too much the night before, and she knows how dangerous it could be for Old Harbor should their secrets leak. Yet, standing in her office, she allows the reporter to feign interest in their village and gather whatever intel he desires..
“Let him fill his camera, pictures of our docks and our pier. They are most beautiful, a sight to behold. He tries to fool us into thinking he is an avid tourist, donning his bravest face to us and advertising his affection for our village through the lens of his camera.” She watches him, studying his body language. A fake smile of happiness and joy on his face, but she sees his hands trembling and knees shaking. “He must be a fool to think we did not observe him last night. He is either brash and brazen, or he is desperate to cast an illusion on his behavior during the night.”
Somewhat distracted still, it is the stirring of Ozymandias that brings her back to reality.
“Where was I… yes, the nine. The night of Supremacy. Their finest battleground, and the list of their elites that will enter.” She points to the whiteboard, knowing very well that half of the faces and names will fly over the head of Ozymandias.
“Kilroy. Our current X*Crown champion, and the man you aim to defeat. He’s an accomplished athlete with a laundry list of accolades and victories under his belt. He is currently the X*Crown champion, so that is a statement in itself.”
She plucks the printed picture of Evans from the whiteboard, passing it to Ozymandias to inspect. A picture of a somewhat playful, somewhat arrogant man smiles back to him, doing little to amuse the hulking brute.
“I’ve taken the liberty to study some of his past matches, some of his recent wins in the XHF, and even a little about his history in the business. I assume you do not share an interest in watching these clips?”, she says to Ozymandias, already knowing the answer. “He’s versatile, he’s tough, and he’s somewhat tactful in the way he wrestles. Depending how he is portraying himself on the night, he may choose to stand toe-to-toe with you in a brass balls contest, or he may lull you into a false security and try to drag you down. He has several tricks up his sleeve, and seems to be quite competent… for a stoutly fat man.”
Ozymandias eyes the printed page, before scrunching it into a ball and dropping it to the floor. Gently, he uses his foot to flatten the ball of paper, must to the distaste of Meredith,
“He has everything to lose, and little to gain. Nine of you will be in that cage - keep your eye on Evans. If you have an opportunity to take the victory, take it. You do not need to send a lesson, even though I’m sure he is very well aware that you are coming for him.”
Ozymandias nods, his unspoken gesture to move the conversation on.
“Do not tread lightly, my friend. You have been marked, by just adding your name to the list. They will know your power, and they will fear it. Kilroy Evans most of all. He might joke and jest but he is afraid. There is no way to conceal that with comedy or acts of confidence. You pose a very real threat to his short reign, and he will be aware that defeating you is close to impossible. He will be desperate and hungry. If he loses, he loses it all. If he wins, he gains to earn everything.”
Ozymandias looks at Meredith, silence between them, before a slight nod lets her know he is ready to move on.
“Andrej von Grapple”, she says as she grabs another picture. “This one… this one might give you some trouble. Claiming to be a ‘Viking’, yet his biography shows no heritage or place of birth… claiming to have wrestled with bears and participated in highland games, a burly wild man. From what I’ve seen, this is all a gimmick. I do not think the man is Norse, nor do I think Thor’s blood flows through him.”
Ozymandias studies the picture, the burly blonde man looking back at him. His brow furrowed, it is clear this man's entire persona angers the Butcher of Reine.
“His gimmick of being a Norse Viking is not in vain, as he does indeed boast some incredible strength and athleticism. He may match you in terms of power and hardiness, and I dare say there will be a moment where he challenges you directly to a feat of strength. Do not fall into his trap, growing exhausted to best a false-Nord will net you little.”
Ozymandias hands her back the sheet of paper, not worth his attention any longer.
“He is a threat, and he is unpredictable. Much like Evans, you will be marked as a target as soon as you enter that complex, not just for your size alone but as a test of strength. These men, shorter than you, will surmise you to be their main threat. It would not surprise me if these wild dogs formed a pack, to attack their alpha.”
Ozymandias looks at Meredith, her eyes lighting with fire and passion as she speaks of these foes.
“Vikings, champions, warriors. It matters not, they are merely men. As we know… all men must fall.”
“All men must fall.”
She smirks, shooting him a somewhat proud, somewhat heinous look before grabbing the next batch. She tugs a picture of a robot, a librarian, mathematician and an overly emo-looking middle-aged man from the whiteboard, before gingerly handing them to Ozymandias. He takes the pictures, eyeing them up with a look of uncertainty in his eyes. Looking at Meredith, and back to the pictures, he sits back in his chair and drops his enthusiasm.
“Is this truly their elite?”
“These are the elected fighters of their prospective federations, and as much as you don’t agree with it…”, she plucks the pictures from his hand, reattaching the images of the spectacled librarian, the bright pink furry robot, the mathematician and the screaming rockerboy to her whiteboard once more, “...this is what the pinnacle of sporting professionalism looks like today. So, at the cost of your dignity and some of your time, these are the foes you face.”
The pain on his face is evident, seeking a real fight with real fighters, and in return being stood across from unimaginable characters. Ozymandias can only watch in a sense of disappointment and disbelief, as Meredith begins to explain his opposition.
“ARM815H1 MK.69… quite the handful. Gimmicked as a homosexual robot from outer space…”. She looks at the Cthulhu-worshiping fisherman with Viking ancestry, and gestures with his head to just follow along. “...we may be surprised by this one. Looks can be deceiving, and they have seen some combat in their past. With some success. Like the others, do not let your guard down.”
She takes the next printed image down, that of Random McConalogue, and hands it to Ozymandias. Before she can even speak he has also crunched the paper up, this time angrily in just one hand.
“Yes, she looks harmless and yes, her gimmick clearly states that she is ‘mostly harmless’. But like anyone else in this fight, she was elected as the representation of her brand. She perceives fights in a new manner to most, weighing up odds and probabilities. Should she see you engaged in a brawl, she will calculate her odds of winning by seizing the opportunity, for example. A tactician, and someone that can easily be stopped with a swift boot to the face.”
She points to the handsome librarian next. “Mistress Discipline, aside from sounding like some sex-working dominatrix, follows suit behind the furry extra-terrestrial. A somewhat seasoned combatant, a vicious tongue along with a grasp on technicalities and submission holds. Not to sound like a broken record-”
He grunts, his mask turning it into somewhat of a metallic whistle sound.
“-don't let you guard down around this one.” She quickly moves on to the last of the trio, with Psychotic Goth. “This guy might actually be fun for you. Absorbed in the darkness of the world, a brooding and malevolent fighter, the kind of guy that enjoys blood flowing as much as you relish opening that tap. He is an XHF legend at this point, and has seen more action within this network than you have.” She walks towards the whiteboard, looking closely at the picture of Psychotic Goth, “...actually, just have fun with this one. Dismantle him, tear him apart, enjoy your time in the cage.”
Ozymandias gives her a look, somewhat relieved to finally hear something good. She smirks back, shooting him a brief smile from the corner of her eye before moving on.
“James Raymond, another name that has seen his share of time in the XHF rings. Never quite achieving the success of his peers, and always finding himself on the losing end of an important battle, you might encounter a hungry dog at Supremacy. Raymond would like to see his name in lights, a true egotistic rising star that would be unbearable to tolerate should he win the match. Narcissistic as he is proud, proving his experience and skills are all that matter to him.”
She looks at his picture for a moment, before tearing it from the whiteboard and ripping it in half. “Do not let him win. Losing to the pink robot would be more digestible than letting this scrawny twerp hold a victory over your head.”
She turns to the last face, but Ozymandias stands up and distracts her attention. Growing weary and restless, he chooses to take the wheel of this conversation.
“This one… this one I know.”
“Former President Curtis Kanyon. A name as famous within the XHF as he is around the world. A man of politics and principles, but also one that keeps strange company.” She points to his picture, with the stars of GUNS behind him. “Washed-up superstars, former champions, strange walks of life. Oh, and a bear. He keeps a bear as a pet.”
Ozymandias scoffs, somewhat of a chuckle but diffused through his mask.
“Ironically, he has more ties to Norse mythology than Andrej it seems, believing his power to come from Thor himself, and even praying and speaking with the fallen God. A good fighter, a dangerous foe, and as before he is one to watch. Surely a fighter that will spy you as a threat, and hoping to use his signature move to cut you in half. He has worn this title in the past and he savored his time with the belt - he will be seeking to return to his prime days. Do not let him make a martyr of you.”
With the list completed, the pair stand in peaceful silence, taking in the names and faces of the fight to come. Nine enter the complex, with only one achieving greatness. A lot to work towards, but with this mismatched gathering of characters before them, it is apparent that Ozymandias still seeks a worthy foe.
“Patience, my dear. This fight is only the beginning. A victory at Supremacy seals you in the history books. A victory at Supremacy secures your contract, and helps aid our town further. Mostly, becoming their champion means nothing.. What is important here-”
“-is becoming His champion. Once and forever.”
She smiles, and nods to him.
“He will awake one day, we will help to raise R’lyeh to the surface. His thanks, His gratitude will be bestowed to you. Wielding their golden belt, but with His golden praise… this victory will mark you as the Father’s chosen warrior. It bodes very well for Old Harbor and our followers for your victory.”
He looks to her, and bends forward to place his brow against her, a very rare act of humanity from the Butcher of Reine.
“I am Ozymandias, King of Kings… all men must fall.”
“All men must fall.”
DEPARTING TIDES
Luck would find Reiss Smith-Rowe, as a break in the weather allowed him a brief window to secure his escape from Old Harbor. With a ferry scheduled to retrieve him and many sleepless nights behind him, he was ready to put his fear and dread aside and finally return home.
Standing along the pier he awaits his vessel, a small ferry that will see his return to the mainland, and eventually his flight to Las Vegas. His time in Old Harbor has been educational, learning a lot of fishing folk and a more relaxed lifestyle. And as he would also learn, the home of a cult dedicated to the Great Sunken God named Cthulhu.
The effigies, the markings on the walls, the stone-faced, corpse-like residents of the village - he was ready to put it behind him. Sickly to his stomach and without restful sleep for days, he has endured a cycle of fear, dread, worry, panic, concern and lastly - terror. The dark arts and acts of these villagers, their robed attires, their torch-lit parades amidst the dark nights, the self-acts of drowning and sacrifice made by their very own protector…
As the ferry approaches, Reiss grows anxious in anticipation. Eager to board the boat and be rid of this town, he counts the seconds it takes for the vessel to near the pier, to dock and stay its course so that passengers may board. To step foot anywhere that is not soiled by shadows of the Eldritch horror, will be a true blessing for the SCCW reporter.
As the ferry is about to disembark, Reiss closes his eyes for a moment of peace, of joy, of utter euphoria. He is finally leaving!
“Reiss, were you about to bid us farewell, without stopping by to say so?”
He opens his eyes to a horrifying sight, with Meredith standing over him. The bright sunlit sky behind her is in stark contrast to her dark clothing, pale skin and flowing black silk dress. Behind her, to add further panic, is Ozymandias. The burling brute that spotted Reiss that unfortunate night, that stalked the reporter to his room at the inn, and the same looming presence that has haunted Reiss’ dreams with every single passing night since.
“It would be a shame for you to have left, without so much as a thank you?”
Reiss is speechless, lost without words and terrified to his core. Meredith leans forward, her face close enough to his he can smell her perfume, a sickly mix of incense and dried fruits. An aged-casket smell, musk and spices intertwined. If he were not about to soil his pants, he might think of her as a beautiful woman, attractive in appearance. Her face with the forests, cliffs and homes of Old Harbor before her... the face of death itself.
Leaning close, he can only stare at her sharp features and dark, flowing hair. Almost vampiric.
“Reiss… you know we cannot let you leave yet, right? We are only just starting to have fun. There is much left for you to see, and we had hoped you might join us at our next sermon.” Her lips move almost independently from her words, her speech almost snake-like, unbridled with hisses and snarls. “Seeing as you enjoyed watching us so closely a couple of nights back, we figure the next one you could be the main attraction. The centerpiece, if you will.”
Reiss gasps, suddenly aware he has not taken a breath for some time. His eyes dance between Meredith’s inches from his face, to those of Ozymandias behind her, piercing his cornea's. With the sun shining and the sounds of seagulls and other dockhands in the background, Reiss tries to understand how a setting so peaceful can suddenly feel so cold, so monstrous.
“What do you say… stay with us another night? We would love for you to see the work we are doing, up close and personal. And perhaps if you are lucky, Ozymandias might even bring you to the depths with him tonight. You can experience what it feels like to be close to death, see how incredible that feeling can be, and if you are chosen… you might even hear the Call of Cthulhu.”
Vomit. In his mouth. Pure and utter shutdown of all his senses, fear and terror consuming him completely. Meredith smiles, pulling away only slightly. With almost zero struggle she takes Reiss’ cell phone from his hand and passes it back to Ozymandias. A bag on the floor next to his seat is also picked up, the logo of Canon on the side indicating this is his camera bag.
“We wouldn’t want our secrets leaking to the mainland, would we? The people are not ready to hear our words yet, and not quite ready to understand what we hope to achieve. This world is fragile, soft, weak. People fret over genders, sexual preferences and proper pronouns. But none worry about the looming death that each must face, none worry about the reckoning that will soon come to greet them.”
She steps away from Reiss, handing Ozymandias the camera bag and allowing the reporter to catch his breath.
“What you saw, what we are working towards, what we hope to achieve… it is inevitable, Reiss Smith-Rowe. We will awaken the Great Dreamer, and he will raze this world anew. He will cleanse this planet, and only the chosen that dwell within R’lyeh will be elected to begin this world, fresh. It is hard to comprehend now, but soon you will understand our ways.”
Ozymandias steps towards Reiss, standing over him with eyes trained on those of the shaking man. The other passengers of the ferry seem completely oblivious to this event, all quickly becoming familiar to Reiss as attendees of that same sermon. His mind fills with feelings of hopelessness and defeat, knowing he is surrounded at all odds.
Ozymandias doesn’t speak, allowing his manager to be his mouth piece.
“Supremacy is only the beginning. Sin City Championship Wrestling has barely seen what we can do, they have barely seen the Butcher in action. Ozymandias has worn two golden belts within your halls, and once the bell rings at Supremacy he will return with the glorified X*Crown around his waist. Twenty-four world championships reside within that one crown… Ozymandias is the man to bring it home.”
She stands next to Ozymandias, linking her arm with his.
“Will you be cheering for your champion? I do hope so, Reiss. Cheering for his many successes and achievements. Because to do anything else, to try to steer his momentum sideways or derail his progress…”
Ozymandias demonstrates a small act of strength and intimidation, bending Reiss' iPhone in half with his bare hands. Metal and plastic warps in the giant's palms, cracking glass dripping to the ferry platform. A final act of intimidation, Ozymandias tosses the phone overboard and lets Reiss here one last *splash*.
“We will be your champion. We will top the XHF. And we will bring the gold home for all in SCCW. This bodes well for you, Reiss Smith-Rowe. Share what you saw here, share the wonders of Old Harbor, share its beauty, share its hospitality. Tell the people of the generosity and kindness you same Baldur Magnusson showed to his people, and how their mayor greeted you with open arms.”
She leans forward one more time.
“Tell them anything else, and you will sleep with my family in the deep.”
Reiss nods, literally on the verge of collapse now. White knuckled and rigid, terrified beyond belief he grasps the very chair he is sat on, as if it may save his life. He watches, without relief or reprieve, as Meredith and Ozymandias step off the ferry and begin to take their leave down the pier. Even as the ferry powers up and slowly drifts away from the pier, Reiss remains firm. Stoic. Staring at the couple as they casually stroll back towards their village.
Even as the ferry approaches the horizon, Old Harbor fading further and further in the distance, Reiss does not relax. The eyes of the passengers around him, those same eyes he saw beneath robes in the boathouse. Those faces, formerly florists and bakers, now cultists with a darker agenda. Those that welcomed him with open arms, would place a dagger in his back should he speak a foul word against their cause.
Reiss was sent to investigate Old Harbor, and find out if Ozymandias was truly destined to be the next X*Crown champion.
He has left their peaceful fishing village with absolute certainty, beyond any shadow of doubt, that their Butcher will not accept defeat. He will be the next big champion of SCCW, and he is determined to bring the crown home. He will be the XHF’s Champion.
And with gut wrenching reality setting in, Reiss knows one thing -
The Cult of Cthulhu is real. And Ozymandias is their Champion.
He heard the Call, and he answered it.
Reiss looks out to the ocean before him, mindless and broken. Unable to think, unable to focus, only one thing flows through his mind. One thing he has heard so much of, that it may never leave his mind again.
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.
Awaiting his awakening, awaiting his Champion.
