The Webs Wrath In A Bloodbath RSH RP #2

[Roy "The Sorrow" Harlowe (NJC)]

 

“Smashed to pieces, torn apart from what you’ve created. All masks fade eventually."

--

Adorned on the wall, was a prestigious painting, artfully crafted onto this canvas hundreds of years beforehand. It dwells upon a dilapidated wall, cobwebs line the cracked holes in the structure. The building was obviously in severe need of repair. With a Candelabra in one hand, three lit candles hilted within it as Roy “The Sorrow” Harlowe saunters into frame.





Roy: “The Return Of The Prodigal Son,” Ahh, the work of Rembrandt van Rijn - well, would you like to know an interesting little tidbit of information? Way over a hundred fifty years ago, Eugène Delacroix said of Rembrandt that his works would be held higher than those of Raphael. His once blasphemous prophecy came true within fifty years. It won’t take me fifty years to usurp the shine that Bobby Barratt has tried to orchestrate a monopoly over."


He shakes his head, disgusted at the thought. 


Roy: “You know what I like about Bobby Barratt? He can compliment you, and belittle you...while making an utter buffoon of himself. You think cutting some meat and eating it qualifies as a piece of promotional material? You compliment my abilities to work a promo, I wish I could return the sentiment. You act like everything’s been a cake walk, that all of your accomplishments weren’t earned...they were a given. Whether it be because whatever flavor of the month nickname you came up with. From a Prodigy to an Icon. What exactly has caused that leap? You think winning that title one time makes you the best? You think unifying those titles is supposed to automatically make me and the unwashed masses worship the ground you walk on?"



He arches a brow as he slowly tilts his head, looking for an answer.



Roy: “Has nobody ever told you, Bobb-eh? Constantly yammering, relentlessly self referential talking...isn’t communicating. As I sat and listened to you go on your unnecessarily verbose diatribe, I couldn’t help but feel the lack of conviction in these words you spoke. It was almost you were...hasty in your reply. Did I strike a nerve? Were you waiting with baited breath for my words? How adorable...I think it’s very evident that throughout your boring braying that...you need this match for validation. What caused this need? Did Daddy miss a dance recital? Was mom buried in her work? Or are you the self absorbed in yourself that if your words are proven to be nothing more than boisterous boasts. You don’t want to be proven to be the fraud you know you are, don’t you?"



He snickers, shrugging his shoulders in a nonchalant manner.



Roy: “Call it a hunch, but you went to so much work to build this little world around you. I guess it goes with that old saying, history is written by the victors. You were so quick to drop all of your accomplishments, your opponents, your fury, your violent venom that courses in your veins. All this bluster...Who are you trying to convince? Me? Or is it you have to coach yourself to believe these words because if you don’t...then the illusion is shattered. The world will know that you’re nothing more than a puppet of the media. You dance and dance, twirling around to the whims of your ego. You need the lights, you need the flutter of the flickering lights of a camera’s bulb. That...That’s what you live for, that warmth that you can only feel in the limelight. You wanna be a marionette? I’ll pluck out your eyes and make you dance by your optic nerves."



He makes his fingers dance in an undulating wave and wiggle of his digits to emphasize the dance he’d make Bobby do. He watches his fingers bounce about for a moment, before resuming his talking.



Roy: "You ask me if I want the REAL Bobby Barratt, you’re damn right I do! Yeah! I'm asking for the bloodbath soaked Bobby who beat Hyperion into Hypertension! Not the Booby who beat Jack off Steel Diamond, Dicklick Maverick, not the bitch ass Bobby who acts like a title was handed to him because he managed to fit being a pretentious asshole intlo his daily routine. You’re not facing the parade of name’s dropped in a constant need to be relevant. You’re not here with me because there was no one else! You’re here because I damn well called you out! And until you prove to me, yourself and the world that you’re the man you claim to be. I'm asking for that Booby! The only one that matters now because his name is the one next to mine on the Marquee! We may be in the midst of the card, but you better fucking believe that I’m going to go out of my way to etch my heinous demented mind on the canvas with the sanctimonious crimson essence that flows throughout your being."


His eyes flutter at the thought of carnage. 



Roy: “You say you slayed a God, and now what does that make you? A God Slayer? What’s a God to a non-believer? What’s a Godslayer to a superior destroyer? The only one who doesn’t kneel before a God is the Devil himself. And you’re looking at his Infernal majesty himself. There’s no boundary I won’t cross to sear it into your mind...I am not to be taken lightly. I am not to be classified as a minimal threat. You will know my bloodlusting wrath, when I twist your spine across my knee. You’ll feel the muscles burst between your kidney and your spleen...just a twitch...You’ll feel the blood vessels rupture filling your insides with the lifeforce that feeds your arrogance. You’ll have no choice but to…”



He narrows his eyes like a pair of daggers to be thrown directly at the AWF Prestige Champion’s orbital sockets.



Roy: "Bow. Because Bobby Barratt, you are the man, the king, the icon and wherever you go you got the gold to prove what you’ve done. But that was then, and this is now. I’m not the same breed of combatant that you’ve faced before. I have history on my side, I’ve studied the tapes and I’ve seen the best you’ve given. You deserve to be where you are, and you’ve done everything in your power to make this phony world you live in. For that, you have my respect. Don’t confuse that for a moment though. I will not hesitate to drop you on your neck at any given opportunity I see."



He lifts the candelabra to his temple.



Roy: “See you can shoe horn your catchphrase in front of anything and everything you want. It doesn’t hide the tapestry of quiet desperation. With that trinket around your words carry no merit if I leave you bloody and beaten upon the floor. I want to see that look on your face...I need to, I need to see that terrified grimace when you realize...You were bested. Listen and listen well. This road of ruin before you is beset with many perils! Every turn and mistake I know very well that you will make will bring you closer to the cold awaiting hands of Sorrow’s Fate! I have tightened my deathgrip on your strengths. I see what a man driven by the unmitigated greed of his own ego. You’re nothing more than a gloryhound seeking validation…”





Roy’s teeth are bared in a malicious Cheshire grin. The pools of pale blue that were his eyes were wild with the thrill of the oncoming combat.



Roy: “I wish to take that away from you...That title around your waist...enjoy that feeling. Relish it, because while it may not happen at Global Dominance...I will rip that title from your grasp and I will hold it high above my head. This is my proving ground, and I will do everything in my power to make you feel that reality. Whether I win or lose, this won’t be the last time we cross paths. The thought has my ambition running wild with a squall of sinister intent. I don’t have to defeat you...I don’t have to make you submit…”



He raises his brows as his widened eyes linger in the lens.



Roy: “All I have to do...is prove you’re fallible, Show the world that you do indeed bleed...and I will be the one doing the bloodletting."



He can’t help but snap his fingers to a jaunty little tune that diddies in his head.



Roy: “Blood, blood...gallons of the stuff…Sorry, an opponent of mine recommended a band they thought I liked, and one of their songs got caught in my mind much like a fly in a spider’s web. Don’t mistake yourself for venomous for one second though, champ. The thing about creatures of pestilence...we always find a way to prevail in the end. ”



He slowly blows out the flames on the candle wicks and slowly disappears into the showers.



Roy: “You will bleed...and it’ll prove to us all..." 



Hushed silence, the sounds of the floorboards creaking, a harsh cold wind blows in through the foyer.



Roy: “You can be stopped."



More silence, suddenly Roy’s face slowly drips from the top of the camera, but he’s completely upside down. How on Earth was he doing this after disappearing into the shadows?

Roy: “ I have witnessed your sins...I will reap vengeance upon your arrogant persona. I will grind your bones into a fine powdery substance you with wicked reckless abandon. I say it because it’s not only an affirmation...it’s a promise. A solemn swear to myself to uphold the swinging hands of fate. You want your validation? Free yourself from the grasp of Sorrow’s desires. Knock me down, break me up, make an example out of me. Because that’s just my game...I want to see what would drive a man like you to the brink of insanity. I want to strip away everything you behold so dear. I want to see your sadness when you realize the charade is over. If it’s my destiny to bring you that devastation…” 

He snickers as he slowly surreally lifts up, his eyes turning into pools of pitch black, as if they were two abysses of ink wells.



Roy: “I could die a happy man."

The blackness of his eyes begins to creep through his eyelids and through his cheeks up to his brows like wild roots growing. Roy’s flesh was turning several shades paler. The reddish hues left his cheeks and skin’s undertone, replaced with a ghoulish grey and several shades of sickly blueish purple.



Roy: “You’re in the eye of oblivion Bobby Barratt…”



His sinister filled smiles widens as the black roots widen his lips into an almost glasgow smile.



Roy: “Are you sure you want to be seen?"



Pitch black.

END