The Interview, Part II [Rumble RP #3]
Apr 10, 2024 14:23:35 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Dave D-Flipz, and 1 more like this
Post by Donzig on Apr 10, 2024 14:23:35 GMT -5
‘Heaven, help me for the way I am
Save me from these evil deeds before I get them done
I know tomorrow brings the consequence at hand
But I keep livin' this day like the next will never come…’
Alfred Cohen blinked awake, and looked around wildly as the voice rose and fell off key and hissing. He shook his head, and turned slightly as he found himself inside the backseat of a moving car. Black leather seats, and he shifted to stare at the mask of the Scourge. The lights of the street, and the passing cars washed over it, bathing it in white or red before the darkness would return.
‘Why? Why do you sing?’ he croaked.
Donzig shoved a water bottle into his hands, and turned from the window to stare at him. That voice growled cold and hard as a hand lifted.
‘What?’
Cohen took a drink, swallowing as he looked around. He could see an unknown driver behind the wheel, and the pretty, though cold eyes of the Baroness met his in the mirror. He looked away with a shiver, and turned back to Donzig.
‘The singing? You do it alot.’
Donzig nodded, giving a soft ‘ah’. He stared at the passing cars, a hand lifting to fall away as he turned to regard the reporter.
‘It drowns it out.’
‘What out?’
Donzig stared at him for a long minute, those eyes widened ever so slightly behind the mask. As if the man could not believe what Cohen had said. He tilted his head, and then grunted before he spoke again.
‘The screaming of the Void. Don’t you hear it? The screams of a dying world? A million voices screaming in pain and fear as we fall into the Abyss? The endless howl of Chaos? You don’t hear it?’
Cohen stared, lowering the water bottle as he swallowed. He was suddenly very nervous, and Donzig’s head twisted to the other side. Neck creaking as he leaned back into the seat, his gaze turning back to the passing city.
‘No, no, I don’t.’
‘You will, you will.’
Cohen swallowed, and they drove in silence for a few minutes. His eyes felt like they were full of sand, and his mouth was dry. It was hard to think, and he took another swallow of water before he cleared his throat.
‘Did you drug me?’
‘Of course, we did.’ said the Baroness.
Cohen blinked, and started to speak before Donzig lifted a hand. He spoke absently, distracted as though his mind was else where.
‘It is best to keep your enemies off balance, disoriented. It makes it hard for them to think, to resist, and easy to control.’
‘And am I your enemy?’
Donzig’s head turned slowly, and Cohen flinched as he heard thar horrible hissing and wracking boise come from under the mask. It gurgled and bubbled, and Donzig cackled before a hand lifted to drag across the mouth of the mask.
‘Anyone who isn’t us, is our enemy.’
That fact simply stated was the hardest truth. There was no rancor in it, there was no animosity. Donzig simply say everyone who had not yielded to his truth as his opponent, as an enemy, as his foe.
And Donzig had no mercy for his enemies.
Another drink of water, and he watched the road pass by before he rubbed at his eyes. He saw another car following them closely. And he shivered, he knew that was the Death Squad. They were never far from Donzig and Sinclair. Like shadows.
He turned then, and took another drink.
‘What are you?’
Donzig’s hand rose, and it splayed across the mask before his fingers twisted. They tightened, and he pulled the mask off to lay it on his lap. He cradled it there, and he stared down at it before he lifted a hand to tug at his beard. Fingers raking through it, and he hissed.
‘I am the Scourge. I bring divine retribution. I will purify this world through pain, through suffering, through mortification. I will cleanse it of evil, of wickedness, of sin and decadence! I will make the Sport of Kings what it should be by my own hands! And though no one will thank me?
They will be better for it.’
Cohen nodded numbly, these words were said without preamble. Without venom. Without any emotion at all, they were cold and detached. Yet he knew very well what cruelty and malice this man was capable of.
‘What made you like this?’
Donzig’s head tilted, and Cohen thought with a shiver that he looked almost like a man trying to hear or see something far away. Was he listening to the voices he claimed were the Void? The cries of a burning world was it fell into eternal darkness? Into Hell? He swallowed, trying to not shudder as Donzig’s eyes narrowed.
The voice was angry now.
‘Life. Life made me like this. The world made me like this. Our sport made me like this. I became a monster because they left me no choice. Everyone talks about this, or about that, or the next great thing they will do!’
He spat.
‘I am what happens after. I am what is left in the ashes! I am a thing of wreckage! Look on me and despair, because this is the future! This is the inevitable! All of these people talking about how they escaped death? How they returned to life? How they escaped Hell?’
That voice had risen to a shriek, a scream that filled the car as he leaned closer. His eyes blazed with cold fury, and his hand was curled around that mask as the other jabbed an angry finger at Cohen.
‘Fah! Every wrestler thinks they have cheated death, that they alone have risen from the grave! Well, not me, never me! I am still in my Hell, I am still in it! And I will never escape it! Everyday is like a thousand years of torment I am forced to endure!
So with all due respect to Spike Kane or that jackass Fox? They can escape death, hell, or walk back in here from the grave? But they won’t escape me! They won’t escape me ever! All I ever wanted was immortality! All I wanted was to be remembered by the one thing I ever gave two things about!
And I got it! I got it! They will remember us for a thousand years! We have carved our name in blood on the walls of Wrestling!
AND IT IS NOT A FUCKING ENOUGH! IT WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH!’
Cohen cowered back in his seat as Donzig loomed over him, his hand like a claw tangled in his suit, pinning him against the side as his eyes blazed with madness. Drool ran from his mouth, and his eyes burned like hot coals as the other hand held the mask over his head like a club. Then he froze, head tilting before he shoved Cohen back.
He leaned back in the seat, taking a deep breath as he looked out the window.
Cohen was shaking, his face pale as he nodded quickly. Donzig was still breathing heavy, and his fingers twisted and clenched. Then Cohen took a deep breath, wiping a hand over his face before he adjusted his suit.
‘Where are we going?’
Donzig stared, and then turned to look at him again. His face twitched, and he cracked his neck once more before he lifted a hand to wipe across his mouth.
‘One of my minions has gotten out of line. Since my throne was usurped last year, it has been happening more and more. You see I know exactly who and what I am leading, I know what they are.
They are monsters, they are killers, they are would be demi-gods. And someone needs to keep them in check, someone needs to keep them in their place. I do this thing, I protect the world from them. I keep them at bay.’
‘Why?’
Donzig tilted his head, and a look of confusion flickered across his eyes.
‘Because they are my children, made in my image.’
The gleaming black SUVs turned down a side road, and drove through what was clearly an area in decline. Empty crumbling buildings and old abandoned factories stared down on the desolate roads before the cars turned into a parking lot covered in crumbling asphalt and cracked concrete.
A few long lines of rusted poles covered in peeling paint leaning and bent sideways across the cracked parking lot like old teeth. Broken and heavily rusted chains dangled between them, and Cohen heard a dull thump in the air like far away bass.
Lights flowed from one of the old buildings, and cast wild shadows across the lot. Cohen stared as the car halted, and then the doors to the one behind them popped open. Sure enough the hulking forms of Mormo and Moloch got out.
They were wearing black fatigues, and were dressed for war. They paused, and they pulled on their skull masks. They glared around the lot, and started forward to open the doors to the other car. Sinclair stepped out, her hand on Mormo’s arm. She nodded, and then he yanked open Cohen’s door to jerk him out. He shoved him forward, and Sinclair stared at him with a faint sneer.
Donzig walked around the car, and Cohen saw he was dressed for a fight. He adjusted his mask, and stepped closer as Donzig-gun formed a knot around him.
‘Stay close.’
Cohen swallowed, and then the Children of the Fall led him forward. They entered the old factory unchallenged, which drew a scowl from the Baroness. Donzig said nothing as he walked down the crumbling hallway, the old plaster on the wall cracked and warped. Faded papers and posters hung from the walls, stirring in the breeze as the music grew louder. Mormo kicked the battered door open, and they looked down from a cracked cement alcove with stairs descending below.
A riot of people were below, cheering as music blared above them.They danced and twisted to the throbbing beat, drinking as they all watched the pair of men fighting in a ring that had no ropes in the center of the throng. A man with greying blonde hair watched them, laughing as he leaned back to watch them.
Two figures lurked in the darkness behind them, though they looked up. Cohen knew they were seen, and then Mormo nodded. The pair below nodded back, and then slid into the darkness. Donzig said nothing.
‘What has he done?’
Sinclair frowned, eyes narrowed as she looked at Cohen. Moloch stepped closer, and then Donzig lifted a hand before he murmured. Despite the noise, his voice hissed and purred in the reporter’s ears as Donzig answered.
‘He has brought the uninitiated into the ring. He has brought the phony tough into the circle, and he has broken them for sport. He and his crew abuse the power they were given to demean those who are not trained in the art.’
The voice dripped with disdain.
‘For no gain, no purpose, just to amuse themselves. And it ends tonight.’
Donzig swept forward, his coat snapping around him angrily as he stalked down the narrow stairs. And Cohen knew enough to know that the Scourge was boiling with fury. The crowd parted around him, and Donzig ignored them as he headed for the ring. He paused at the edge of it, head tilting as the man in the chair stared in disbelief.
Inside the ring a group of men in wrestling gear were beating down a larger group of men in street clothes, they were laughing and mocking. And Donzig slid inside, and stalked forward as the man rose from his throne to yell something.
One of the wrestlers turned, and he yelled at Donzig before he was grabbed to flung forward. Donzig’s knee snapped upwards, and cracked into the man’s face! His nose shattered, blood spraying as he staggered around before toppling from the edge of the ring. He laid in a heap, and another of them ran forward.
Donzig moved quickly, leveling him with a clothesline across his throat. And the man grabbed at his throat, choking and gasping. Another of them rushed forward, but was dragged from the ring by the monstrous Mormo!
And the crowd gasped as the music finally stopped, when he was ripped upwards befre driven into the cement floor of the factory with an Oblivion Driver! The man folded, howling as he rolled around in pain as he grabbed at his back. Another was thrown to the ground, broken and bleeding as he was flung into the crowd who scattered by Mormo.
Donzig spun to stare at the man on the throne, and jerked his head before a hand lifted. Cohen was drawn forward by the Baroness as she stepped lightly over the first man who was clearly in shock, and bleeding badly.
‘What is the meaning of this?’
The man stammered, holding up his hands as he stepped forward. He wore a leather vest covered in patches, and his hair was a salt and pepper blonde. He was tall and lean, and he looked from Donzig to Sinclair as he licked his lips.
‘I meant no offense, I was just–’
Sinclair sniffed.
‘You were just beating on weaklings? Attacking people with no means of fighting back? Making mock of your position?’
He frowned, and took a step forward.
‘You can’t speak to me like that–’
Sinclair’s eyes flashed, and she lifted her chin as the Death Squad stepped towards the throne. Eyes blazing behind their masks, and the man looked at them. Sinclair spoke in a hiss, quite agitated.
‘I am the Baroness Sinclair Godfrey, I am the Right Hand of the Scourge, you are barely worth my effort. And I will hear what you meant here.’
The man frowned, and he ran a hand through his hair before he stepped back. He shook his head, and almost sat back in the chair. Then he jerked away from it, and he glared at them before he shrugged.
‘I run this territory! I don’t need to explain myself!’
Sinclair started to answer, but Donzig lifted a hand. A hush fell, and he tilted his head to stare the man before he looked at the battered men who were clearly trying to get their wits. He lifted a hand, wiping it across the slit of his mask before he stepped forward.
‘You will explain yourself to me, mortal.’
‘What! I stretched a few kids, these guys thought they were hard, so we showed them what was up.’
Donzig nodded.
‘Rabble. These are rabble. We are Donzig-gun. We do not prey on rabble, we do not fight children and rabble! We are lions, we prey on the strong! We fight warriors, we fight legends, and Gods! And you are stretching these people?
I should strike you down where you stand! You are a disgrace!’
The man blinked, his pale eyes wide before they flushed with anger. He took a step forward, and he ripped off the vest before he pointed a finger at the Scourge. A few of his men gasped, and drew back quickly as he snarled.
‘You can’t speak to me that way! You’re nothing! Your day is over, old man! We all saw Spike bury you alive, and Arm–’
He gasped into silence as something snapped past his head, and it was buried in the chair behind him. The crude handle quivered, and one could see the glint of metal behind the black tape as the crude knife jutted from it. He stared at it, and then turned back to Donzig who lifted his head.
The voice purred from under the mask, cold and hard.
‘Are you finished? Allow me to retort.
Everyone seems to think I am finished, that I am done. That I have nothing left to offer, but you see? When I am here, when I am present, they are very silent! They will do anything, ANYTHING, other than face me!
I am what I am, I am everything I say I am! And all of these fucks, from the rabble, to you! From Spike Kane, to Fox, and even to that fuck Kira? Not to even mention Mister Mistress Discipline!
Need to get down on their hands and knees! And they need to thank whatever Gods they believe in that in all the days of time from the dawn of creation until this fucking day! They lived in the Age of Donzig!
That they were allowed to exist in the same time as me! So if a fuckboy like you thinks you can cock off to me after you wasted weeks beating up some fucking extras from High School Musical or some shitty bouncers?
No, no, no!
I am going to get my house in order, and then I will walk into the Rumble! And when the smoke settles and the dust fucking clears! I will be the last man standing, I will be X-Crown Champion, and I will have nothing left to prove to the fucking XHF!’
The crowd was silent, the man was silent. Donzig stared at him, eyes narrowed behind the mask. Then he stepped from the ring, crossing the room to mount the dias. His hand snapped upwards, pressing behind the man’s head and neck to drag him close. He pressed the mask to his lean features, and he growled in a low whisper.
‘I am the Wonder and Terror of this Age, eh? And you are a guy who stretches rabble? In whatever world did you think you could oppose me, child? I am the Hand of Doom, the Destroyer of Worlds, and you are?’
A shrug.
‘Nothing.’
Donzig shoved him back. Two figures stepped from the shadows, and he screamed as they grabbed his arms to pull him away.
Save me from these evil deeds before I get them done
I know tomorrow brings the consequence at hand
But I keep livin' this day like the next will never come…’
Alfred Cohen blinked awake, and looked around wildly as the voice rose and fell off key and hissing. He shook his head, and turned slightly as he found himself inside the backseat of a moving car. Black leather seats, and he shifted to stare at the mask of the Scourge. The lights of the street, and the passing cars washed over it, bathing it in white or red before the darkness would return.
‘Why? Why do you sing?’ he croaked.
Donzig shoved a water bottle into his hands, and turned from the window to stare at him. That voice growled cold and hard as a hand lifted.
‘What?’
Cohen took a drink, swallowing as he looked around. He could see an unknown driver behind the wheel, and the pretty, though cold eyes of the Baroness met his in the mirror. He looked away with a shiver, and turned back to Donzig.
‘The singing? You do it alot.’
Donzig nodded, giving a soft ‘ah’. He stared at the passing cars, a hand lifting to fall away as he turned to regard the reporter.
‘It drowns it out.’
‘What out?’
Donzig stared at him for a long minute, those eyes widened ever so slightly behind the mask. As if the man could not believe what Cohen had said. He tilted his head, and then grunted before he spoke again.
‘The screaming of the Void. Don’t you hear it? The screams of a dying world? A million voices screaming in pain and fear as we fall into the Abyss? The endless howl of Chaos? You don’t hear it?’
Cohen stared, lowering the water bottle as he swallowed. He was suddenly very nervous, and Donzig’s head twisted to the other side. Neck creaking as he leaned back into the seat, his gaze turning back to the passing city.
‘No, no, I don’t.’
‘You will, you will.’
Cohen swallowed, and they drove in silence for a few minutes. His eyes felt like they were full of sand, and his mouth was dry. It was hard to think, and he took another swallow of water before he cleared his throat.
‘Did you drug me?’
‘Of course, we did.’ said the Baroness.
Cohen blinked, and started to speak before Donzig lifted a hand. He spoke absently, distracted as though his mind was else where.
‘It is best to keep your enemies off balance, disoriented. It makes it hard for them to think, to resist, and easy to control.’
‘And am I your enemy?’
Donzig’s head turned slowly, and Cohen flinched as he heard thar horrible hissing and wracking boise come from under the mask. It gurgled and bubbled, and Donzig cackled before a hand lifted to drag across the mouth of the mask.
‘Anyone who isn’t us, is our enemy.’
That fact simply stated was the hardest truth. There was no rancor in it, there was no animosity. Donzig simply say everyone who had not yielded to his truth as his opponent, as an enemy, as his foe.
And Donzig had no mercy for his enemies.
Another drink of water, and he watched the road pass by before he rubbed at his eyes. He saw another car following them closely. And he shivered, he knew that was the Death Squad. They were never far from Donzig and Sinclair. Like shadows.
He turned then, and took another drink.
‘What are you?’
Donzig’s hand rose, and it splayed across the mask before his fingers twisted. They tightened, and he pulled the mask off to lay it on his lap. He cradled it there, and he stared down at it before he lifted a hand to tug at his beard. Fingers raking through it, and he hissed.
‘I am the Scourge. I bring divine retribution. I will purify this world through pain, through suffering, through mortification. I will cleanse it of evil, of wickedness, of sin and decadence! I will make the Sport of Kings what it should be by my own hands! And though no one will thank me?
They will be better for it.’
Cohen nodded numbly, these words were said without preamble. Without venom. Without any emotion at all, they were cold and detached. Yet he knew very well what cruelty and malice this man was capable of.
‘What made you like this?’
Donzig’s head tilted, and Cohen thought with a shiver that he looked almost like a man trying to hear or see something far away. Was he listening to the voices he claimed were the Void? The cries of a burning world was it fell into eternal darkness? Into Hell? He swallowed, trying to not shudder as Donzig’s eyes narrowed.
The voice was angry now.
‘Life. Life made me like this. The world made me like this. Our sport made me like this. I became a monster because they left me no choice. Everyone talks about this, or about that, or the next great thing they will do!’
He spat.
‘I am what happens after. I am what is left in the ashes! I am a thing of wreckage! Look on me and despair, because this is the future! This is the inevitable! All of these people talking about how they escaped death? How they returned to life? How they escaped Hell?’
That voice had risen to a shriek, a scream that filled the car as he leaned closer. His eyes blazed with cold fury, and his hand was curled around that mask as the other jabbed an angry finger at Cohen.
‘Fah! Every wrestler thinks they have cheated death, that they alone have risen from the grave! Well, not me, never me! I am still in my Hell, I am still in it! And I will never escape it! Everyday is like a thousand years of torment I am forced to endure!
So with all due respect to Spike Kane or that jackass Fox? They can escape death, hell, or walk back in here from the grave? But they won’t escape me! They won’t escape me ever! All I ever wanted was immortality! All I wanted was to be remembered by the one thing I ever gave two things about!
And I got it! I got it! They will remember us for a thousand years! We have carved our name in blood on the walls of Wrestling!
AND IT IS NOT A FUCKING ENOUGH! IT WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH!’
Cohen cowered back in his seat as Donzig loomed over him, his hand like a claw tangled in his suit, pinning him against the side as his eyes blazed with madness. Drool ran from his mouth, and his eyes burned like hot coals as the other hand held the mask over his head like a club. Then he froze, head tilting before he shoved Cohen back.
He leaned back in the seat, taking a deep breath as he looked out the window.
Cohen was shaking, his face pale as he nodded quickly. Donzig was still breathing heavy, and his fingers twisted and clenched. Then Cohen took a deep breath, wiping a hand over his face before he adjusted his suit.
‘Where are we going?’
Donzig stared, and then turned to look at him again. His face twitched, and he cracked his neck once more before he lifted a hand to wipe across his mouth.
‘One of my minions has gotten out of line. Since my throne was usurped last year, it has been happening more and more. You see I know exactly who and what I am leading, I know what they are.
They are monsters, they are killers, they are would be demi-gods. And someone needs to keep them in check, someone needs to keep them in their place. I do this thing, I protect the world from them. I keep them at bay.’
‘Why?’
Donzig tilted his head, and a look of confusion flickered across his eyes.
‘Because they are my children, made in my image.’
The gleaming black SUVs turned down a side road, and drove through what was clearly an area in decline. Empty crumbling buildings and old abandoned factories stared down on the desolate roads before the cars turned into a parking lot covered in crumbling asphalt and cracked concrete.
A few long lines of rusted poles covered in peeling paint leaning and bent sideways across the cracked parking lot like old teeth. Broken and heavily rusted chains dangled between them, and Cohen heard a dull thump in the air like far away bass.
Lights flowed from one of the old buildings, and cast wild shadows across the lot. Cohen stared as the car halted, and then the doors to the one behind them popped open. Sure enough the hulking forms of Mormo and Moloch got out.
They were wearing black fatigues, and were dressed for war. They paused, and they pulled on their skull masks. They glared around the lot, and started forward to open the doors to the other car. Sinclair stepped out, her hand on Mormo’s arm. She nodded, and then he yanked open Cohen’s door to jerk him out. He shoved him forward, and Sinclair stared at him with a faint sneer.
Donzig walked around the car, and Cohen saw he was dressed for a fight. He adjusted his mask, and stepped closer as Donzig-gun formed a knot around him.
‘Stay close.’
Cohen swallowed, and then the Children of the Fall led him forward. They entered the old factory unchallenged, which drew a scowl from the Baroness. Donzig said nothing as he walked down the crumbling hallway, the old plaster on the wall cracked and warped. Faded papers and posters hung from the walls, stirring in the breeze as the music grew louder. Mormo kicked the battered door open, and they looked down from a cracked cement alcove with stairs descending below.
A riot of people were below, cheering as music blared above them.They danced and twisted to the throbbing beat, drinking as they all watched the pair of men fighting in a ring that had no ropes in the center of the throng. A man with greying blonde hair watched them, laughing as he leaned back to watch them.
Two figures lurked in the darkness behind them, though they looked up. Cohen knew they were seen, and then Mormo nodded. The pair below nodded back, and then slid into the darkness. Donzig said nothing.
‘What has he done?’
Sinclair frowned, eyes narrowed as she looked at Cohen. Moloch stepped closer, and then Donzig lifted a hand before he murmured. Despite the noise, his voice hissed and purred in the reporter’s ears as Donzig answered.
‘He has brought the uninitiated into the ring. He has brought the phony tough into the circle, and he has broken them for sport. He and his crew abuse the power they were given to demean those who are not trained in the art.’
The voice dripped with disdain.
‘For no gain, no purpose, just to amuse themselves. And it ends tonight.’
Donzig swept forward, his coat snapping around him angrily as he stalked down the narrow stairs. And Cohen knew enough to know that the Scourge was boiling with fury. The crowd parted around him, and Donzig ignored them as he headed for the ring. He paused at the edge of it, head tilting as the man in the chair stared in disbelief.
Inside the ring a group of men in wrestling gear were beating down a larger group of men in street clothes, they were laughing and mocking. And Donzig slid inside, and stalked forward as the man rose from his throne to yell something.
One of the wrestlers turned, and he yelled at Donzig before he was grabbed to flung forward. Donzig’s knee snapped upwards, and cracked into the man’s face! His nose shattered, blood spraying as he staggered around before toppling from the edge of the ring. He laid in a heap, and another of them ran forward.
Donzig moved quickly, leveling him with a clothesline across his throat. And the man grabbed at his throat, choking and gasping. Another of them rushed forward, but was dragged from the ring by the monstrous Mormo!
And the crowd gasped as the music finally stopped, when he was ripped upwards befre driven into the cement floor of the factory with an Oblivion Driver! The man folded, howling as he rolled around in pain as he grabbed at his back. Another was thrown to the ground, broken and bleeding as he was flung into the crowd who scattered by Mormo.
Donzig spun to stare at the man on the throne, and jerked his head before a hand lifted. Cohen was drawn forward by the Baroness as she stepped lightly over the first man who was clearly in shock, and bleeding badly.
‘What is the meaning of this?’
The man stammered, holding up his hands as he stepped forward. He wore a leather vest covered in patches, and his hair was a salt and pepper blonde. He was tall and lean, and he looked from Donzig to Sinclair as he licked his lips.
‘I meant no offense, I was just–’
Sinclair sniffed.
‘You were just beating on weaklings? Attacking people with no means of fighting back? Making mock of your position?’
He frowned, and took a step forward.
‘You can’t speak to me like that–’
Sinclair’s eyes flashed, and she lifted her chin as the Death Squad stepped towards the throne. Eyes blazing behind their masks, and the man looked at them. Sinclair spoke in a hiss, quite agitated.
‘I am the Baroness Sinclair Godfrey, I am the Right Hand of the Scourge, you are barely worth my effort. And I will hear what you meant here.’
The man frowned, and he ran a hand through his hair before he stepped back. He shook his head, and almost sat back in the chair. Then he jerked away from it, and he glared at them before he shrugged.
‘I run this territory! I don’t need to explain myself!’
Sinclair started to answer, but Donzig lifted a hand. A hush fell, and he tilted his head to stare the man before he looked at the battered men who were clearly trying to get their wits. He lifted a hand, wiping it across the slit of his mask before he stepped forward.
‘You will explain yourself to me, mortal.’
‘What! I stretched a few kids, these guys thought they were hard, so we showed them what was up.’
Donzig nodded.
‘Rabble. These are rabble. We are Donzig-gun. We do not prey on rabble, we do not fight children and rabble! We are lions, we prey on the strong! We fight warriors, we fight legends, and Gods! And you are stretching these people?
I should strike you down where you stand! You are a disgrace!’
The man blinked, his pale eyes wide before they flushed with anger. He took a step forward, and he ripped off the vest before he pointed a finger at the Scourge. A few of his men gasped, and drew back quickly as he snarled.
‘You can’t speak to me that way! You’re nothing! Your day is over, old man! We all saw Spike bury you alive, and Arm–’
He gasped into silence as something snapped past his head, and it was buried in the chair behind him. The crude handle quivered, and one could see the glint of metal behind the black tape as the crude knife jutted from it. He stared at it, and then turned back to Donzig who lifted his head.
The voice purred from under the mask, cold and hard.
‘Are you finished? Allow me to retort.
Everyone seems to think I am finished, that I am done. That I have nothing left to offer, but you see? When I am here, when I am present, they are very silent! They will do anything, ANYTHING, other than face me!
I am what I am, I am everything I say I am! And all of these fucks, from the rabble, to you! From Spike Kane, to Fox, and even to that fuck Kira? Not to even mention Mister Mistress Discipline!
Need to get down on their hands and knees! And they need to thank whatever Gods they believe in that in all the days of time from the dawn of creation until this fucking day! They lived in the Age of Donzig!
That they were allowed to exist in the same time as me! So if a fuckboy like you thinks you can cock off to me after you wasted weeks beating up some fucking extras from High School Musical or some shitty bouncers?
No, no, no!
I am going to get my house in order, and then I will walk into the Rumble! And when the smoke settles and the dust fucking clears! I will be the last man standing, I will be X-Crown Champion, and I will have nothing left to prove to the fucking XHF!’
The crowd was silent, the man was silent. Donzig stared at him, eyes narrowed behind the mask. Then he stepped from the ring, crossing the room to mount the dias. His hand snapped upwards, pressing behind the man’s head and neck to drag him close. He pressed the mask to his lean features, and he growled in a low whisper.
‘I am the Wonder and Terror of this Age, eh? And you are a guy who stretches rabble? In whatever world did you think you could oppose me, child? I am the Hand of Doom, the Destroyer of Worlds, and you are?’
A shrug.
‘Nothing.’
Donzig shoved him back. Two figures stepped from the shadows, and he screamed as they grabbed his arms to pull him away.
