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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Sept 1, 2005 16:11:06 GMT -5
Cernunnos is still moving slowly as Wolf gets up; Predator yells at him for the tag, and Wolf readily accepts the invitation. Seeing the chance to grab a sneaky second, Predator rushes in to try and capitalise, but Cernunnos is aware of the situation and a big boot knocks Predator down with ease. Even so, Predator gets up quickly, and challenges Cernunnos to come forward; Cernunnos advances at his own pace, unhurried, almost stately in manner. Predator gets in a couple of stinging jabs before he has to duck a swinging arm from Cernunnos; Predator grabs the extended arm and tries to whip Cernunnos, but finds that Cernunnos isn’t all that keen on the idea. Predator tries again, making the crowd laugh; Cernunnos almost smiles himself, but instead reverses things so that Predator is sent hurtling across the ring. Predator hits the ropes and ricochets; the crowd’s amusement makes him angry, and anger becomes strength. He ploughs right into Cernunnos, surprising the big man and driving them both to the mats; as they roll over, Predator applies the Predator clutch. He tries to force Cernunnos’ shoulders down, but Cernunnos resists, and in the surge of noise he hears Pilko shouting to him for the tag. Drawing all his strength together, Cernunnos breaks out of the hold, flinging Predator aside, and hauls himself to the corner to make contact with his partner. Pilko has only one goal as he jumps into the ring, and nothing will distract him from it; he’s on top of Predator before he can react, and lifts him into the X-5 without even pausing. The move is delivered at full power, and Pilko covers; he almost gets 3, but Wolf makes the save. As the ref shouts at Wolf, Cernunnos moves around the apron and Pilko brings Predator over, setting him on Cernunnos’ shoulders. Cernunnos slams Predator down, and Pilko makes another pin as the ref turns his attention back to the ring. This time Wolf isn’t able to help, and Pilko secures the 3 count.
Philip: Wow, what a comeback… that’s 11 minutes gone and 4 to go, with the scores now tied at 1 - 1!
The crowd cheers for the Deities, but if anything this has the greatest effect on Predator; fuming at losing his lead, he charges at Pilko from behind and clotheslines him to the mat. Pilko fights to get up as Predator stamps away at him; Wolf, meanwhile, starts to shout at both Pilko and Cernunnos, winding both of the Deities up until they are simmering with anger. Pilko lands one or two shots on Predator, but Predator’s precision is greater, and he piles on the pressure with his spinning sheer drop brainbuster. Pilko takes a heavy impact, so much so that Cernunnos has to make the save; now the referee gets annoyed with the deities, and as he shouts at Cernunnos Predator throws Pilko into his own corner where Predator and Wolf can beat him without mercy. Enraged, Cernunnos pushes past the referee; Wolf sees him coming and leaps into a missile dropkick with a yell of “NO SHITTING, YO!” that has the entire arena and most of the backstage marking out like six year olds. Cernunnos is floored, but still manages to assist Pilko, who whips Predator across the ring so that he tumbles over Cernunnos and Wolf. In all the confusion, Cernunnos is the first to work out how to best take advantage; he rolls quickly to the outside, and then shouts at Pilko with enough volume to wake people in the next state. Pilko understands and tries to reach the corner; Predator and Wolf both try to hold him back, but the referee shoos Wolf off, and Predator can’t hold Pilko alone. The tag is made; Wolf does his best to reach Predator, but the referee prevents it and the recovered Cernunnos is able to execute his Pagan Wrath unopposed. The referee gets rid of Wolf and rushes in for the count; Wolf is about to head right back in, but Pilko has silently slipped around the ring and he pulls Wolf off of the apron, as the referee’s hand comes down for 3.
Philip: 2 – 1! We have 30 seconds left….
Predator grabs Cernunnos, who is still making the pin, and rolls the pair of them over; as Wolf and Pilko scrap and roll into the ring, Predator gets incredibly close to a pin of his own, but Cernunnos busts out in the nick of time. The ref loses control as all four men end up fighting, but the time for the match is exhausted, and the fighting peters out as the bell is heard ringing.
Philip: Here are your winners….. and STILL ACW Tag Team Champions, Cernunnos and Sgt. Pilko, the Deities of War!
As Cernunnos and Pilko have their hands raised in victory they are given their ACW Tag Team Titles, while Wolf and Predator can only turn away in disappointment. Boos are heard echoing throughout the arena, but it is impossible to tell why at this stage. The camera cuts to show the CBK rushing down the ramp with steel chairs as Cernunnos and Pilko are exiting the ring. As Cernunnos looks up it’s too late. A huge chair shot by Scott Andrews, and he’s out cold on the floor. NBK does the same to Pilko. The Deities of War lie motionless on the outside, with their Tag Titles next to them. Scott and NBK pick up one title each and lift them in the air as the crowd erupt with further jeers and booing. NBK grabs a microphone from Philip on the outside and tosses it over the ring to Scott, who almost drops it.
SASA: I think you two had the right idea of having a long rest after a gruelling match like that, hahaha...But now to my point. Ya see, Deities, you beat this pathetic team of Predator and Wolf, but,…you also beat the Cold Blooded Killers,…by fluke of course!
The crowd erupt with cheers when Scott announces the loss.
SASA: But next week, we have a proposition for you two jackasses, to make up for that loss.
Scott hands the microphone to NBK. NBK takes the attention away from The Deities and stares at The Predators, who are still in the ring.
NBK: That’s right. Next Monday, on Warfare, we propose a Number One Contenders Match for the ACW Tag Team Titles!
The crowd show signs that they obviously like the idea of a match between the two teams.
NBK: But,…seen as we are kind and caring people, we are making YOU, Cernunnos, the guest referee!
The crowd show further excitement. NBK gives the microphone back to Scott. He looks Predator straight in the eyes.
SASA: So you two little bitches better get suited up and ready for Monday. Cos’ let’s face it, you two are nothing more than has-beens, and the Cold Blooded Killers are the future of the Tag Division. Talk to you jackass later…
The CBK just smirk and toss the titles on the torso’s of the Deities as the Predators can be seen expressing their anger from the insults by Scott Andrews. Predator leans over the ropes, yelling and pointing to the CBK, and the fans realises that the tag division just got shocked back into life in dramatic fashion…
The scene fades out with the CBK leaving the ring. Normally, the show would be ending… but not tonight. Instead, the fans settle as the ring clears; they’ve waited a long, long time to see what’s about to unfold across the alphatron. All the theories, the discussions, are about to be resolved….
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Sept 1, 2005 16:11:51 GMT -5
Segment: Prelude (Credit: Ridley)
L'amour est un oisseau rebelle, etc, etc, ad nauseum.
Ridley closes the doors to the office behind him, tunes out the blaring "Habanera" from his mind, and turns to face the Demiurge, who reclines leisurely behind his desk, his knee boots propped up next to the constantly-moving knick knack of a hydra dipping its heads into seven glasses of water, and blows out a ring of hookah smoke. Bathory sits on the desk next to him; her posture is seemingly relaxed, but the occasional mournful glance around the room says otherwise.
There's a pause as Drakul and Ridley study each other, within twenty feet of each other for the first time in a decade. "Habanera" seems actually drowned out by the constant ticking of a clock somewhere in the room. Everything moves and acts with a rhythm, from the clock to the hydra down to even Bathory's sighs. Only the two men, Prophet and Illuminatus reunited at last, seem still. Frozen in time, one could say, until the silence breaks.
Drakul: Simon.
Ridley: Salvatore.
Drakul: You've made it through everyone, I see.
Ridley: Yes, and it was quite satisfying. Some of them squealed quite exquisitely before they died, and now that I've run out of them...well, here you are. How convenient.
With a snort, Drakul stands up, handing the pipe end of the hookah to Bathory, and adjusts the ruffles on the front of his shirt.
Drakul: Indeed, you certainly seem to have blown through the underlings. Galder, Shibari, Vortex, Sickle, Bludgeon, and now Garm aren't answering their headsets, and Sekhmet's silent as always. I must congratulate you.
Ridley: It's a living. To be fair, though, I've only dealt with Shibari and Garm; credit must be given where credit's due. Looks like Kiji and Alexandra held up their end nicely. Also, much love to the Abraxites. It looks like your abuse of their kind's driven High Priest Necros over the edge at just the right time. Also, I'd like to thank the Academy for---
Drakul: Your levity is astounding, considering your situation.
Ridley: Mmhmm, I suppose it's that pre-death rush people talk about.
The Demiurge crosses the room, running his armored fingers over the floor-to-ceiling window that makes up an entire wall of the room. Ridley could muse on the view of the city from here, but what he's actually taken with is Drakul, interestingly enough. The style, the grace, the...sheer delicacy, he'd almost venture. In fact, if there's one word he'd sum Drakul up with, it'd be "delicate". In the second before he gets his response, Ridley finds himself reminded of (of all the people) Alexandra.
Drakul: Ah yes, death. So you've finally accepted your fate, I see.
Ridley: I'd accepted it from the day it was offered me. I exist only to serve.
He speaks with a quiet conviction, the sound of which elicits a grin from Drakul, who turns, pressed up against the window, and offers a fanged smile.
Drakul: Music to my ears...delicious.
Ridley: Don't get any ideas. I'm not dying for just anybody.
Drakul: Oh, I know you're not. Fortunately, I DO happen to be the Illuminatus; somehow, I don't think you thought your cunning plan all the way through.
Ridley: Oh, really.
Drakul: Yeah, really.
Ridley: What if I said I didn't believe a word of it?
An exasperated sigh. If there's one thing the king of the Crypt is fond of, it's apparently histrionics; he rolls his bright blue-within-blue eyes with a flourish that can be seen a mile away. His regal cape swirls around him like a black and violet mist as he twirls in place, culminating in another sigh and a diatribe.
Drakul: PLEASE. You can't deny it any more than I can. I feel the aura of the Chosen around you just as strongly as I KNOW you feel it around me.
If it's true, Ridley won't acknowledge it, but he swallows rather forcefully and snarls at Drakul's observations.
Drakul: Oh, and did I mention I've got THIS?
He raises a finger to his left ear, showing off one of the Gems of Yog-Sothoth dangling from an earring. Ridley's thoughts are instinctively drawn to his own right ear, where an identical gem hangs, unmarred by the blood and gore that's been splattered all over him on the way up. With the jewels so close to each other, Ridley can already feel the heat from the earring vaguely trailing over the right side of his body. Perhaps Drakul's engulfed in entropy on his left, he muses.
Drakul: Plus all the on-site resources I needed to get you motivated enough to come all the way over here at last. Vortex, Garm, Shibari, Bludgeon, Galder, even my dear Bathory here, they've all served their purposes.
She doesn't look up as she hears her name, instead staring at the carpet silently.
Ridley: And Sickle? Another "convenient on-site resource"?
Drakul: Simple enough premise. I couldn't get the job done with what I had, so I figured I'd simply steal what you had and use that.
Ridley: Leave Jake Cheng's promos out of this. Your buying in sickens me almost as much as Sickle's selling out.
Drakul: Nonsense, Malachi. Once you understand the method to my madness, I dare say you'll agree with me.
Ridley chuckles and runs a bloodstained hand over his goatee, musing on this.
Ridley: That amuses me for some reason...I can't quite put my finger on it, but I could swear I've had this conversation before.
Drakul: You still don't understand, do you...pity. I'll explain soon enough what I want, if you last that long.
The demonic grin he flashes at Ridley causes the Archangel of Suffering's eyebrow to raise, and although he doesn't back down, Ridley can't help but feel a brief shiver run down his spine at Drakul's silky, purring voice.
Ridley: So let's get this over with, Drakul. You want to "fulfill destiny" right here or take it outside?
In response, the Demiurge sits down on the front of the desk, carelessly letting a leg dangle as he leans on an elbow and grabs Bathory's closest breast with the other hand. She turns her head away as he plays with her, a tear flowing down one cheek.
Drakul: Such hurry, and for such a purpose. If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were getting suicidal.
Ridley: Get to the point.
Another chuckle from Drakul, who now lets his hand wander down to Bathory's stomach and slides it up the front of her dress, whispering something into her ear as he works his wrist in patterned circles. She whimpers and looks the other way, the tears now flowing in earnest at her apparent shame.
Drakul: Tell me something, Malachi, do you unquestioningly follow the orders of the Old Ones?
Ridley: I do.
Drakul: And has it ever occurred to you that maybe, just MAYBE...you don't have to?
He removes his hand and holds it in front of Bathory, who shrinks back; displeased with her reaction, Drakul pulls her forward, and Bathory reluctantly begins licking off Drakul's fingers as Ridley answers him.
Ridley: Many times. Ask me if I've ever acted on it.
Drakul whirls at this and takes a step closer to Ridley, who doesn't back down, followed by another...another...another.
Drakul: *scoff* I don't have to, believe me. Haven't you ever contemplated, just once, that perhaps fate isn't an absolute gods-set thing? That if you deviated from your supposed ultimate purpose, you'd be the better for it by doing what's best for you instead of what's best for...for whom, even? For the Old Ones? For this pathetic human race?
He's right up in Ridley's face now as he gesticulates, and the two are almost touching, nose to nose. Drakul's hot breath washes over Ridley's skin, adding an aura of tangible heat to the impenetrable glares they've fixated into each other's eyes. Drakul: WE, Malachi, are the last of a dying breed, the likes of which this miserable world couldn't possibly dream of emulating! The undisputed progeny of the gods' warfare, trampling on the mediocrity of our lessers! Consider the god you could be if you cut these puppet strings and---
Ridley: You've overstepped the boundaries of your own humanity. Your delusions of grandeur sicken me; there are few things worse than one who doesn't know his place and his task.
For the first time, Drakul seems to get legitimately frustrated; he turns with a snarl and strides towards the door in the back of the room. It swings open and he glares back at Ridley, who reaches for his knives. The Demiurge shakes his head.
Drakul: You'll listen to reason. I'll MAKE you listen to reason, Malachi; we've got all the time in the world...
With that, he turns and bounds up the stairs. Immediately, Ridley dashes to follow him...and as he passes the desk, he's nailed in the side by an unexpected weight. Ridley and Bathory hit the floor hard, with Bathory on top, and the evidently-crazed blonde lifts a dagger high, slamming it down directly towards the Archangel of Suffering's chest. At the last possible second, Ridley catches her wrists, forcing the blade upwards, and the two struggle briefly before he overpowers the much smaller woman, knocking her off him and leaping up, holding the confiscated dagger.
Ridley: Ember, what the fuck are you--
Bathory: IT'S BATHORY!!!
He steps back, a little stunned at her wail, and puts the knife down on the desk as Bathory rails at him, tears pouring from her eyes.
Bathory: It's Bathory now, it's always Bathory, all because of YOU!!! Because you fucking abandoned me back when you left the city! You knew full well Frost and Maledict couldn't run the Angels, but you went and pursued some goddamn career while we fought and died, for WHAT? For fucking NOTHING; they kicked our asses without you there, and look at me! I've been like this for ten years, dammit, ten years of that BASTARD always groping and feeling and....fuck! I HATE you! Why'd you even bother coming back when it's too late now? When you think he's just gonna kill you anyway, because why, it's "fate"? A lot of good it does me, and King, and Rasputin, and Faust, and your brother and sister! Your own fucking siblings!!! And everybody who's dead now because you left us! Goddamn you, Malachi! GodDAMN you--
She's beating on his chest with her fists by now, and gasps mid-sentence as Ridley pulls her into his arms, offering no resistance. For a couple seconds, Bathory simply cries her eyes out, sobbing with her head buried in Ridley's shoulder, and he lets her vent for a second before gently maneuvering her over to Drakul's throne and helping her sit down on it. After a second, he steps back and heads for the door he last saw Drakul exit through. There's a Mossberg pump-action shotgun hanging on a rack next to the staircase; he takes it off the wall and checks the chamber to ensure it's loaded. Bathory just stares, trying to wipe the tears away, and sees Ridley stop at the door and turn to look at her.
Ridley: .....I'm sorry. For what it's worth...I should've stayed.
Bathory sniffles, still rubbing at her eyes.
Ridley: And I'm sorry for what I'm about to do to your brother.
He turns again and ascends the first step, but stops as Bathory's voice stays him again.
Bathory: He's not the Illuminatus.
She defiantly punches a fist into the arm of the throne, glaring at him with both hatred and utter sadness in her countenance.
Bathory: He can't be. There's no way such an ANIMAL could be the Illuminatus. He's the only person in this world who's a bigger monster than you.
Slowly, Ridley nods, understanding. Without another word, prepared to accept whatever awaits him, he drapes the shotgun over one shoulder and climbs up the stairs...to face destiny.
End.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Sept 1, 2005 16:12:49 GMT -5
Segment: Scarlet Lady (Credit: Kiji)
The evening embraces her, a humid lover. The air has begun to cool down somewhat with the approach of rain, but it's still so hazy that one can barely see a dozen yards in front of oneself. But that matters little. Sekhmet squats on the roof of a skyscraper adjacent to the Omni Complex, the concrete warm beneath her feet. Her clothes lay in a red heap some distance away, but she's replaced them, after a fashion: crimson hieroglyphs are painted all over her body in some sticky substance, which the fingertips of her right hand is also stained with.
She cradles her rifle like a precious infant. The rifle is her friend; it kisses her shoulder with each shot she fires. She goes into battle unclothed for this purpose--to feel the gun thrust against her with a rhythm that is not unkind, a rhythm like the slow heartbeat of some greater beast. Her hunter's soul sighs quietly and happily at this, the single true pleasure left to her in this world. As though from a great distance, she hears the beating of a heart. Not the heart of her friend, the rifle, but the heartbeat of a man, slightly irregular. For all his solemn-faced professionalism, he is still just a boy. She knows this. She knows many things.
Her eyes are closed as she rises slowly, sinuously to her feet with movements practiced and repeated a thousand times over. She knows she is safe; she can smell him, as well, and can sense that he isn't ready to make a move yet. Wraithen in the gathering dark, she moves utterly without sound, carefully choosing her steps. She feels the nameless man's muscles tense, his heart begin to beat a little faster. She had heard tell that he calls himself "Kiji", but she knows he has no name. She wonders briefly if he himself knows this--now!
A glimpse of a pale face and the satisfying crack of a gunshot. Her nostrils flare as she inhales deeply, gratefully accepting the sharp tang of cordite into her lungs, like a smoker. Before she even fires, she knows she's missed, but now he knows where she is. She cannot help but smile as she senses his confusion. The sharp and unexpected squawk of a crow intrudes on her senses. Her eyes snap open in time to see the black shape fluttering past her, overhead--and brings the rifle to bear again, narrowly missing the nameless one as he darts to a new position. The crow lands close by on top of an air conditioning unit and looks at her, head cocked to one side. Its glossy black eye meets her gaze almost intelligently. The bird hops from one foot to the other, flutters its wings, and begins pecking inanely at the surface of its metal perch.
Turning back to her hunt with one last sidelong look at the crow, her eyes close again. It occurs to her suddenly that she hadn't remembered seeing any crows in this area, but she dismisses the thought just as quickly. Chips of shattered concrete sting her bare calf as a bullet slams into the rooftop nearby. She hadn't even bothered to dodge; she knew it would be a miss. A hasty, barely-aimed shot. His heart, it seemed, wasn't in it.
Rain begins to fall, slowly at first, droplets falling into the darkness of her hair. The pace gradually increases until warm sheets of it pour over her shoulders and down her body--oddly enough, not even smearing the hieroglyphs. She opens her eyes again, seemingly for the sole purpose of narrowing them in displeasure. The scent is lost to her now, replaced by the heady smell of rain, and the loud drumming of the rain on the roof and the various metal structures around her makes it impossible for her to hear her prey. With a squawk, the crow takes off into the air, flying towards the Omni.
Her hair now plastered wetly to her sleek form, Sekhmet returns to a crouching position and moves behind cover. Now, perhaps, the fight is on even terms. In a flash, the sight resumes again. Several shots are traded back and forth through the blinding rain; she scores a hit to the torso as her target makes a sudden dash to another part of the roof, but the ceramic plates of his armor absorb the impact completely. With annoyance, she pushes a lock of sodden hair out of her face... and stops dead. Her lips curve into an exultant smile as, to her utter astonishment, she sees her quarry crouching motionless in the open. Evidently, in the chaos of the last skirmish and the disorienting weather, he fails to realize that his new position leaves him only partially concealed.
The rifle comes to her shoulder, and her lips begin to move. She speaks softly, reverently, as though whispering her innermost secrets to the rain blasting down around her.
"Mine is a heart of carnelian, crimson as murder on a holy day."[/i]
She takes careful aim. The rain makes it difficult, even with her vision, to get a clear view with the plain iron sights of the rifle.
"Mine is a heart of corneal, the gnarled roots of a dogwood and the bursting of flowers."[/i]
Slowly, she inhales. Her body is tense, unmoving.
"I am the broken wax seal on my lover's letters."[/i]
An ordinary hand might have trembled, but Sekhmet was not an ordinary woman.
"I am the phoenix, the fiery sun, consuming and resuming myself."[/i]
His head is now directly between the sights.
"I will what I will."[/i]
Her finger, wet and slick, begins to squeeze the trigger.
"Mine is a heart of carnelian, blood red as the crest of a phoenix."[/i]
Somewhere in the storm, over the beating of her heart and the patter of the rain, she hears the harsh cry of the crow. The nameless man whirls with a speed bordering on supernatural, simultaneously raising his own rifle and squeezing off a shot. Sekhmet's eyes register surprise as she topples backwards onto the roof, a sizable chunk of her head blown away, marring her proud leonine features. The rain churns the blood into a bubbling mess that runs in rivulets away from her body. On the adjacent rooftop, the man stands, uncertainly. Then he turns, and with one last backward glance, starts off across the roof towards the stairwell leading down into the building.
In four or five minutes, the rain slacks off until it stops completely. By then, the body on the roof is gone, not a single drop of blood remaining.
She might never have been.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Sept 1, 2005 16:14:07 GMT -5
Segment: That Which I Am (Credit: Ridley)
As the door to the roof of the Omni Complex slams open, jarring itself to the point where it hangs off a sole hinge, Ridley steps up onto the hard sheetrock of the roof, Mossberg in hand. His eyes, fully alert from the cacophony of violence that's transpired for the last hour or so, sweep over the rooftop in a search for his target...and slowly, they come to rest on a familiar black-draped form, perched on the edge of the roof with its back to him. For a second, Ridley's thoughts are reminded of the way he himself would frequently stare over the city from the roof of the ACW arena; a blink of his eyes clear the similarity from his head. He steps forward, but has barely made it three feet when the King of the Inner City finally speaks.
Drakul: So you got through Bathory, did you? Pity. She had...such exquisite eyes.
Ridley: She's not dead.
This seems to amuse Drakul, but he doesn't bother to look behind him. Rather, he simple runs a hand through his ebony locks and continues staring at the flaming streets.
Drakul: You've had enough blood for one day, eh?
Ch-CHAKT. The slide of the Mossberg pumps up, then plunges back down in one fluid motion as a new shell loads itself in the shotgun's chamber.
Ridley: Almost enough.
The sigh that escapes his lips turns into more of a grim chuckle as Drakul finally turns, sweeping down from the edge and stopping to face the One Man Holocaust in the center of the roof. His eyes are loaded with some bizarre intensity, whether hatred, sadness, fury, or anything else one could conceive...it's impossible to read what he's thinking, which irks Ridley to no end. He takes a cautious step back as his adversary takes one forward in turn.
Drakul: Then are you that determined? Beyond any shadow of a doubt, you'd be prepared to remove me from the face of this earth?
Ridley: In an instant.
Drakul: Then there do we see your weakness. Would you chop off your right arm before a fight and leave it bleeding on the floor? Do you seriously think that you'll feel BETTER if (and not when, let me assure you) you kill me? Idealism, Malachi, idealism in its purest, blindest form. Even in death, you'll never be rid of me, I'll still haunt your every waking moment, your every dream, every nightmare, EVERY moment of your life will have my spectre hanging over it...because you can never truly kill me. You'd be killing a part of yourself; it's not natural. You won't allow yourself to do it.
He's taken a couple steps closer, and Ridley backs up in turn, only to find his back against the wall. Regardless of the fact that his enemy's advancing on him, Ridley can't find it within himself to raise the Mossberg...something about Drakul's words has stopped him.
Drakul: And do you know why you can never erase me from your consciousness, Malachi? It's because I AM YOU. I am the shadow of everything you were, everything you are, everything you aspire to be...and yet so different, so very intriguing. You find yourself wondering if you'd have gone the same way given the same opportunities, don't you? It was meant to be that way; the Old Ones put us together for exactly this purpose.
Ridley's still silent; his glare burns into Drakul's like a blast of concentrated hellfire as the distance between them closes further.
Drakul: Prophet...and Illuminatus. Alike yet opposite, yin and yang, lock and key. Head and tail, certainly...but of the same coin. That you cannot deny, Malachi; we are one in the eyes of the Old Ones, and when we both stand before the judgment halls in many-pillared Y'ha-nthlei, we shall be weighed equally. Two souls, forever intertwined in the completion of the Gate in human form...and yet the Illuminatus must slay the Prophet for the climax of ten thousand years of planning to finally be achieved.
He's very, very close now, with little more than six inches of air between the Prophet and the Illuminatus. Ridley's silence endures as the gears in his mind frantically race over everything he's heard in the last two minutes. Much to his surprise...it all seems to be true.
Drakul: And so we find ourselves irrevocably linked. We're the only true believers left, and I should know; all my henchmen are pitifully misguided. Abraxites and atheists, all of them, corrupted, festering, bags of flesh. But you and I, we're different, Malachi...we know what purpose the Old Ones have assigned us, and we're more than prepared to fulfill it, even if it means death. Weren't those your convictions? Ready to go through with it even though it meant my tearing your heart from your chest and watching your pulse crawl to a halt?
They're perhaps an inch from each other now, and Ridley's crimson eyes lock with Drakul's deep-black irises as he finally responds.
Ridley: I exist to serve...and I will fulfill the prophecy for them. Regardless of what I must do.
Drakul: And in that, you see it...just how deep that oneness goes.
It happens before Ridley has any time to react. The lunge catches him completely off guard, and before he knows it, the wall smashes against his back as Drakul's lips forcefully press themselves onto his, the intensity behind them burning like Hell itself. There's a long, torturous second as they remain, locked in a bizarre stasis, each one answering the other's fire with their own, and then as quickly as it'd begun, it breaks off, and once again the space between them has widened to a full meter. After a moment of shock, Ridley ensures that any tongue in his mouth is still his, then raises his glance to stare at the King of the Inner City, whose half-smirk, half-grimace is prominently displayed.
Drakul: So now you know.
Ridley: ....I suppose I do.
Drakul: Heh...I suppose we both do. I believe I learned more about you in those five seconds than you'd care for me to know. Call it prescience, I suppose; it's something I've had for as long as I can remember.
He turns and walks partway across the roof, before looking over his shoulder at the slightly-shaken Ridley.
Drakul: You have a daughter, correct?
Ridley: Yes, I guess so...I didn't know any specifics.
Drakul: Mmmhmm. And you have others that you love. Alexandra, for example?
Ridley: More than life.
Drakul: And knowing what you know, are you truly prepared now, to go to your death at the hands of the Illuminatus? To leave your widow and orphan behind, all for the sake of the prophecy? Can you not see what I'm trying to do, Malachi? Come to me! Come to me, and we shall defy the plan of the Great Old Ones! The cycle can be broken, and we can reign supreme over not just the Inner City, but who knows...the continent? The world, the very cosmos? Only one of us was meant to survive this, but TOGETHER...we can free the human race, we can be the masters of all we survey! The Prophet of Azathoth and the All-Seeing Illuminatus, side by side, who could stand against us? Cast aside your role in this cosmic game, and be no longer a lamb to the slaughter, but a being of ultimate power, as we should be!
As Drakul stands there, a hand outstretched, torrents of rain begin to pummel the rooftop with a drumming rhythm. The silence comes to an end in the pouring rain, and as thunder crashes in the distance, the Archangel of Suffering raises the shotgun up to shoulder level, letting it rest against his collarbone. He answers with an unmistakably iron resolve in his voice, the likes of which we've never heard.
Ridley: I cannot deny that which I am.
Drakul's eyes assume an equal expression of severity...and yet it's tempered by a certain bizarre softness. Disappointment, perhaps? It doesn't matter now, and Ridley will never know, because his archenemy's already slid a wicked-looking rapier seemingly out of the air itself, and more importantly, his shoulders are starting to...almost bulge under the shoulderpads of his regal attire, as if something's squirming around under them...and bubbling its way up to the surface.
Drakul: So be it, then. Now, you shall know the wrath of this world's messiah.
End.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Sept 1, 2005 16:14:39 GMT -5
Segment: The Scary Godmother (Credit: Rose)
Bathory kneels on the floor, with her salty tears burning her eyes and her mind dwelling on dangerous thoughts. All her shame…all her pain…and all her humiliation, she wants it all to end. She knows exactly where Drakul keeps his revolver and she retrieves it from the drawer. She sits in his chair and then calmly places the guns' mouth up to her temple. She fully intends to end her life at that very instant, but fate intervenes… In the form of a raven haired woman we know as Alexandra Kaesar. She walks in the door and is immediately taken aback by this scene. Bathory is likewise taken aback by this bloodstained intruder, yet she doesn't move her gun from her head. Alexandra decided to break the ice and she does so in a rather blunt manner that doesn't help the situation.
Rose: You don't honestly expect me to believe that you'll actually pull the trigger, do you?
Bathory doesn't really enjoy this stranger's mocking tone and responds to her very harshly.
Bathory: Who in the hell are you?
Rose: My name is Alexandra Kaesar.
It's a name that tickles the edges of Bathory's mind, it's familiar and alien at the same time. She taps the gun's muzzle against her head and she searches for the name.
Bathory: Where have I heard…? You…you came with Malachi, didn't you?
Rose: Yes, I did… You must be Bathory.
Bathory nods in the affirmative and new tears begin to flow from her eyes. She didn't want Alexandra to see her weakness, but she can't hold in all the pain any more.
Bathory: Not for much longer… Tonight, I'll finally be free of all of this bullshit, one way or the other.
Rose: I really don't want to see anoth-
Alexandra tries to explain herself, but Bathory doesn't want to hear it right now… She's become consumed in her own sorrow.
Bathory: Well, then you can leave the fucking room, because I'm not going to suffer anymore. I've finally got my chance to be free… If you ever see Malachi again…tell him that Bath- Tell him that Ember said thank you.
For the first time, Alexandra truly grasps the seriousness of the situation and she decided to move closer to Bathory. She adopts a less aggressive tone and general body language… She tries her best to reason with a women that she has never met. Rose: Why don't you just put the gun down and tell him when he gets back.
Bathory: I can't bear to face him one more time, after all that's happened… He can't possibly understand what I went through…
For a few seconds, everything just kind of stands still. Bathory keeps the gun to her temple and Alexandra tries her best to think of how to make this better… One only wonders if she even can. In the sincerest manner she knows how, she asks Bathory a question.
Rose: Would you mind telling me about it?
Bathory: Alexandra, was it?
Rose: Yes.
Bathory: I don't even know anything about you or how you're related to Malachi. I don't see---
For a reason that isn't quite clear to her, Alexandra decides to elaborate on just how she's related to Ridley… It is a decision that puts things on the right track.
Rose: I'm a month or so along, I think.
Bathory: Excuse me?
Rose: Simon is the father of my child…
Bathory: I wish I still had the same luxury…
Rose: What do you mean by that?
For the first time, Bathory calmly takes the gun away from her temple and places it in her lap. Then she tries to tell Alexandra her story, even though her voice cracks with emotion every now and then.
Bathory: Malachi left all of his friends behind ten years ago… He abandoned us all… Frost…Maledict…Rasputin…Faust…Hangman…Kincaid…and even Sickle. They're all dead now… All of them except Frost and Dagon were murdered like dogs, and for what? So, Malachi and my brother can kill one another and fulfill their grandiose fucking destinies? They used us like pawns… Hell, my own brother has treated me like his fucking sex toy for 7 years now… I can't even have children anymore thanks to him.
Rose: I'm so sorry…
Bathory: Malachi is going to be a father…? I can't help but almost feel happy for him. He's the only person that I still vaguely care about. You know, I had the chance to kill him earlier, and even though I can't ever completely forgive him for leaving us, I just couldn't go through with it.
Finally, at long last, Alexandra finds the thing she needs to convince Bathory not to go through with her plans.
Rose: If you kill yourself, you'll just be abandoning him like he abandoned you.
Bathory: Did you ever think that maybe that's exactly what he deserves?
Rose: Nobody deserves to go what you went through…
Bathory: Why do you have to make so much sense…? I've only known you for five minutes and you're already trying to save my life, why?
Rose: I told you, I've seen too many people die today.
Bathory: I see…
By this point, Alexandra feels sick to her stomach. She feels very sorry for Bathory and wonders how things would be if they had met under different circumstances… She realizes that this poor women has absolutely nothing in the entire world and she wants to try and give her something. She's only known her for a few minutes, but it feels like they've known each other forever… Kindred spirits, if you will.
Rose: Bathory, If I asked you to be my child's Godmother, what would you say?
Bathory: What?
Rose: I know this will never make up for what you've been through, but…it's something.
Bathory: A Godmother? I don't know… I'm not too good of an influence.
Rose: I don't think I'll be mom of the year either. This kind of scares me, to tell you the truth.
Bathory: I think I understand… I guess I'd have to stop drinking, wouldn't I.
Rose: I think I'll have to stop a lot of things myself… So, will you do it?
Bathory: I'll try.
With a special tenderness, Alexandra embraces Bathory and carefully puts a hand on Bathory's gun. Alexandra knows that she cannot make all of Bathory's pain go away, but she wants to help the best she can.
Rose: Thank you… Thank you very much.
Bathory: No… Thank you for stopping me from making mistake.
The embrace tenderly as Bathory just lets all of her anguish out and as they hug, Alexandra notices that the gun itself isn't even loaded… That's just a minor curiosity, but she thinks that it may make a good story someday… In better times… If such times do indeed come.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Sept 1, 2005 16:15:54 GMT -5
Segment: The Prophecy Foretold (Credit: Ridley)
There are times when Ridley can't help but think "there's no way this guy can possibly be this fast" about somebody he's fighting.
This is one of those times.
Drakul's rapier moves like a bolt of lightning, lancing through the Ridley's whirling knives on all sides. He doesn't bother striking any of the defense aside; rather, the Demiurge slips around it and strikes with rapid-fire accuracy. As it is, Ridley's having massive trouble keeping up with the fleet-footed Drakul, who's already managed to open up a couple minor scratches on Ridley's arms. While they don't mean much, they DO indicate that his enemy is getting a good deal closer to the mark than he'd prefer to let him. He leaps back, brings the Mossberg to bear, and fires a cloud of buckshot at Drakul...who seemingly dodges THROUGH it with a dancing motion. Ridley pumps and fires again, to similar results; regardless of where he shoots, the Demiurge continues to pirouette around the exploding shells until the chamber clicks, empty.
Drakul: Having problems, Malachi? Am I simply too much for you?
He charges again, and Ridley quickly throws the shotgun aside, going for the khukhuris again. The rapier's attacks are relatively easy to swat away with his knives, but Ridley can't help but think to himself as they twirl about in a storm of flashing blades that he's going to have to come up with a new method of dissecting the Demiurge's seemingly-impenetrable wall of parries and flourishes. Deciding to try some more unorthodox tactics, he leaps into the air, flipping over Drakul's head and attempting to sweep the leg on the way down. This is the first time in this little excursion that it DOESN'T work, however; the Demiurge does a standing backflip and catches himself on one hand to spring back to his feet, still striking with the rapier. It's all Ridley can do to keep his assorted "wax on, wax off" motions going long enough to consistently escape Drakul's thrusts and slashes.
Drakul: You're slowing down! It's only a matter of time before--
Ah, there's that millisecond's window of opportunity. Ridley slaps the rapier down to the roof with one knife, slams down on it with his heel (bending it in half and pinning it to the roof), and drives in hard with his free hand. Drakul's eyes widen, and he attempts to move far too late to avoid the khukhuri ramming itself into his stomach. He involuntarily gasps as Ridley twists the blade and tears it out through another side of the abdomen, leaving Drakul's stomach half-slit hara-kiri style. An almost ejaculatory spray of blood shoots from the wound onto the Omni Complex's roof; Drakul himself breathes rather heavily and clutches his opened belly. All that either can look at for several seconds is the copious puddle of blood on the roof, mingling with the pouring rain into a bizarre swirl of diluted color.
Ridley: I'm "slowing down"? You're getting overconfident; it looks like you didn't think your cunning plan all the way through.
Interestingly enough, Drakul doesn't share these sentiments. A rivulet of blood trickles from his lips due to the internal injuries, yes, but he's not grimacing in pain, he's GRINNING, widely enough to show his bloodied fangs. Ridley takes a step back as the Demiurge stands up, the wound in his stomach already healing over, and spreads his arms with a low, menacing laugh.
Drakul: Oh, you don't think so? Isn't that a pity...
The bizarre rippling and bubbling under his shoulders suddenly starts up again, heaving at the flesh and cloth.
Drakul: ...because I'm just getting warmed up.
It happens, really, before Ridley has a chance to react. The explosion of flesh and rubbery matter, complimented by a shower of gibbets and tissue in a wide radius around Drakul, forces the Archangel of Suffering to briefly look away, and so he nearly misses the eruption of two massive, oozing gray tentacles from the Demiurge's shoulders. The horrifying appendages slam down, tips first, onto the roof and propel Drakul a full seven feet in half a second, sending him slamming into Ridley with inhuman speed and force. He bears down hard, bracing himself with the tentacles, as his spidery hands clutch around Ridley's throat, attempting to choke him into unconsciousness. Ridley, meanwhile, is attempting to pry the hands from his neck, but slowly being overwhelmed by the added pressure from Drakul's newfound limbs.
Drakul: What's wrong, Malachi? You came here expecting to find a madman, and instead you found a GOD?
Ridley: ...You talk too much.
Having given up on removing the viselike grip from his throat, Ridley slams his forehead into Drakul's nose once, twice, three times. This sufficiently dizzies the Demiurge enough for Ridley to kick him hard in the gut, flipping him up and over. Drakul catches himself on both tentacles and is immediately rebounding as Ridley kips up...but the whistling sound of something flying through the air, directly for his face, stops him. It's a khukhuri, rotating like a sawblade in midair, and it looks like Ridley's aim will hold true...
THWIPPT. A serpentine, inordinately long tongue extends out of the Demiurge's mouth, snatching the knife out of the air. He takes it in one hand, letting a devilish leer cross his black cupid's-bow lips.
Drakul: See? I have become as the beings we both worship!
With a flick of the wrist, Drakul launches the curved knife at Ridley. In turn, the Archangel of Suffering catches it with an adept swipe of the hand, and glares back.
Ridley: You're nothing more than a human with a messiah complex. And you know how I feel about messiah complexes.
With that, he once again throws the khukhuri straight for Drakul, and there's no repeat of the tongue trick. Instead, the Demiurge whirls in place and, reaching entropy itself, produces a gigantic, ornate halberd in the same way he drew the rapier earlier. His spin enhances the backhand swing of the newly-birthed weapon, and it bats the knife off into the raining night sky. Lightning flashes once more, silhouetting Drakul's vivid smirk as he rears back for an attack.
Drakul: Enough playing. DIE!!!
Ridley has no idea how such a light, delicate individual can swing a halberd that big, that fast, but he's moving before he knows it, jumping over a swipe from the gigantic weapon and rolling towards the staircase door. Drakul charges in again with a series of broad-stroked slashes, moving with unmatchable speed due to his tentacular propulsion, which Ridley somehow manages to slide around, although he parries the last one down with a remaining khukhuri--which proves to be a fatal mistake. As he slams the one end of the halberd down and away, the other end comes up and around with Drakul's backspin.
At first, Ridley doesn't really grasp what's just happened. He feels the shock kiss his spine, and the fire engulf his chest, and he sees Drakul release the handle of his weapon, step back, and flash that dazzling smile. And yet, even when the touch of the rain becomes insanely cold on his skin and the crash of the thunder becomes inaudible, he refuses to accept the implications.
Right about the time he looks down, however, and sees the halberd jutting into his chest, impaling him to the wall, pouring his blood out onto the rooftop...right about then, he's a believer. Drakul laughs with satisfaction, running a hand over the halberd's grip as he stares at the hanging Ridley, whose eyes are starting to go unfocused as he grips the handle in front of him.
Drakul: What a pity...a man after my own heart, lost to institution.
And then his heart leaps into his throat as the Archangel of Suffering raises his head, meets his eyes...and grins.
Ridley: What a pity indeed.
With that, Ridley bodily tears himself from the halberd, pulling his way off the polearm with both hands, and drops to the ground in front of Drakul with a death's head grin. The gaping hole in his chest, from which his heartbeat can easily be seen, immediately closes itself up, exactly as Drakul's stomach wound did.
Drakul: How...
Ridley: Only the Illuminatus can kill me...and clearly, you are not he.
With that, he dives forward and launches into a series of roundhouse kicks on Drakul, who, likewise unarmed, resorts to dodging with several intricate ducks and twists. As Ridley comes up from the last kick, Drakul lights into his defense with a barrage of straight punches, forcing Ridley back towards the edge of the Omni's roof. He quickly turns the tables by parrying a punch aside, sending the Demiurge by him, and driving a knee into his gut on the way through. Drakul doubles over with a snarl of pain, and Ridley slams a double-fisted sledgehammer blow into the back of his head, knocking him face first to the rim at the edge of the roof. As he rolls over, Ridley grabs him by the ruffles on the front of his chest, and hoists him off the roof, holding him five hundred feet above the streets of the Inner City. Drakul's tentacles flail limply; he's bleeding from the nose and the mouth due to the impact of slamming his face into the roof. He's obviously dazed, and not in any condition to fight back, but he can still snarl in disbelief at the Archangel of Suffering, this man who has seemingly defied logic itself.
Ridley: This is the end.
Drakul: No...no, the Illuminatus kills the Prophet; it's not supposed to happen like this! What is this blasphemy?
Ridley: Just a minute ago, you were dismissing the prophecies as "puppet strings" and "old wives tales", and now you adhere to them so vociferously?
The Demiurge isn't cowed; he spits down at Ridley, burning into his eyes with the most vicious glare he can manage.
Drakul: You can't kill me. I told you already, there's no way you can ever be free of me. Even now, if you destroy my body here, I'll forever haunt you...I'll be in your dreams, Malachi, your nightmares; every time you look in the mirror, you'll see my eyes staring back at you; every time you ruin another life, you'll feel my touch on your shoulder; every single time you look up to the gods, you will see ME, the Illuminatus Atrox, staring down at you with venom of the utmost damnation! WHERE ARE YOUR GODS NOW, MALACHI? WHERE ARE THEY, NOW THAT YOU CAN SEE THE TRUTH?
In that moment, Ridley jerks the earring containing the Jewel of Yog-Sothoth from Drakul's left ear, and slides it into his own. He allows one final smile as he looks into the eyes of his star-crossed counterpart.
Ridley: Laughing at you, who cannot.
And with that, he rears back and hurls his adversary over the side of the roof. A final roar, both of fury at this action and disbelief of what's happening, escapes Drakul's lips as he plummets, although it becomes more of a demonic screech in the last couple seconds before he crashes backfirst onto the central and largest gargoyle of the Omni Complex's front balcony. It's a statue of the King in Yellow, winged, clawed, and crowned, and so the last thing Drakul sees after the jarring halt to his descent is the spikes of Hastur's crown ramming up through his back and out of his chest and stomach. He raises his head, blood gushing from his mouth down his pale skin and raven locks, and grasps feebly at the crown, choking out his last words through two lungs full of gore...
Drakul: No...NO....I...no...I am...I am the...the Illumin....
And with that, the hellish light in his eyes fades into oblivion, and his head lolls back, his eyes rolled to show only the pale sclera. A torrent of the warlord's blood gushes from the gargoyle's mouth, along with the torrents of rainwater, like a flowing proclamation of finality.
Salvatore "Drakul" Calascione, the Demiurge of the Crypt, is dead. And yet his counterpart remains.
?: Well done, my young protege...well done.
Ridley doesn't look up from his spot on both knees, staring listlessly over the edge at the impaled Impaler. He knows who it is that's walking up behind him. And indeed, when he feels the hand on his shoulder, easing the agony of whatever bizarre cataclysm's going on inside his mind and body, and the rain begins to slowly cease, he looks up to see exactly whom he'd expected.
Ridley: ....Holy One?
The kindly face of the Architect smiles, nodding.
Architect: You've done well, Ridley. You've done very, very well.
This should probably ease the Archangel of Suffering; instead, he clutches at his chest harder, obviously in indescribable pain.
Ridley: ....what...what the hell's HAPPENING to me?
Architect: The prophecy's fulfillment, young one. The time is nigh.
Ridley: But...but I killed--
Architect: I believe it's time I finally explained it to you.
End.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Sept 1, 2005 16:18:57 GMT -5
Segment: Endgame (Credit: Ridley, Kiji)
Architect: You are familiar with the words of the Analects of Y'ha-nythlei, and their claims of Earth's savior. It's not a question, and Ridley knows it. He manages to nod, grimacing at the intense pain ravaging his soul, and spits out a passage. Ridley: 'And behold, from the storms that Mighty Cthulhu had unleashed, there shall come the Illuminatus, bound in sable and cowhide...'...AUGH, rotting christ...'...with flesh of samite...and he shall reach forth to the Prophet, who hath summoned him into the Place of Judgment, and shall cast him down from the heavens...' There's a pause, and after a second, Ridley's agonized eyes look up at the Architect. Ridley: ...Have I defied the Old Ones? Was I too weak to carry out the prophecy after all? Architect: What do you mean? Ridley: As well you know, Holy One..."the spirit is willing, yet the flesh is weak"...has my will to survive and to overcome simply overridden my capacity to serve? Have I blasphemed, and become a traitor both to the prophecies...and to my own people? To the Earth, down to even the ones I care about? The old man smiles, shaking his head with a reassuring look as he, once again, pats the pained Ridley's shoulder. He almost chuckles at his pupil, but answers instead. Architect: No, young one, not in the least. We were forbidden to explain your role to you, in order to provide complete circumstances of free will so that neither you nor Drakul were forced down your paths in the prophecy. In the presence of free will, he saw the absence thereof, an attempt to control him, and he rebelled, thinking that he was defying his role in the cosmic path...when he was, in fact, fulfilling it just as faithfully as you were yours. You, meanwhile, of the devout and pious nature that you possess, determined that your role was the one of sacrifice, and became consumed with fulfilling it. A sharp spike of agony wracks Ridley's mind as the metamorphosis continues; he clutches at his temples, champing his fangs together. Ridley: But what does it MEAN? What's happening to me; it's like my sentience itself is being torn from my body-- Architect: Indeed it is. As the energy of your soul permeates the cells of your body, you will find that your divine capabilities come far more easily. Ridley: Divine... With a wave of his hand, the Architect motions out over the Inner City. Architect: It was, indeed, divinity itself that ordained this place, this "Inner City", as the Place of Judgment. And so it is that, although you were mistaken about your intentions, you have cast down the Prophet-- Ridley grabs the side of the Architect's robe, dragging himself halfway up to a semi-kneeling position as he stares up at the sage, ignoring the agony that wracks him. He poses the question, finally, there in the thinning rain and the overbearing night, the question that will finally define his existence... Ridley: ....what the fuck did you make me? What AM I? And his mentor simply looks down at him, eye to eye, and answers calmly. Architect: The one who walks in the darkness, the all-seeing eye, the thing you've been seeking for almost a year now. Ridley: I'm the-- YOU are the Illuminatus.[/b] There's a moment of deafening, overwhelming nothingness, in which Ridley feels the blood rushing to his every limb, and he nearly blacks out, leaning against the Architect's side. It sinks in with the ferocity of a lion's fangs, and he can't really respond at first other than simply laughing weakly. It comes out hoarse and breathy at first, giving him the sound of somebody suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder in mid-flashback. Ridley: Heh....hahahahaha...I was looking for it all along...and look at that, it was right with me...who would've thought it, huh? Ah, hahahaha, I'm the...oh, fuck, I think I'm dying... He looks like he's about to throw up over the edge of the roof, but manages to restrain himself. The Architect smiles, offers a final pat of comfort, and begins to walk away, slowly fading. Ridley extends an arm to stop him. Ridley: Holy One...wait...what do I do now? Architect: We'll get to you about that soon enough. For now...you have a city to rule...and people who care about you to see. As Ridley looks behind him, following the Architect's gesture, the door swings open, and Rose hurries onto the roof. Seeing Ridley, her face breaks out into a wide grin, and the concern is wiped from her expression as she runs to hug him where he kneels. Kiji and Jif are through the door shortly afterwards, followed by a group of Abraxites with assault weaponry, and the two rush over with their entourage to help Ridley to his feet. Rose: Is it over? Ridley: Yeah...he's dead, it's over. Any fighting left in the streets? Jif: I dunno. Uh, Sarge Grumbles? The counter-offensive-launching Abraxite next to him snaps to attention. Sgt Grumbles: The battle has stopped, sir. With the apparent death of the Demiurge, the Cryptites have ceased their resistance. Ridley: Good...where's Garm? Kiji: I spotted him on the way up. He was ordering the remaining groups to stand down, so I guess he's-- Ridley: ---on our side, trust me. Alexandra, are you all right? Rose: I'm fine. I took care of everything you asked for, and made some new friends along the way. There's something about the way she says it that would raise an eyebrow from him under normal circumstances, but instead he shrugs. Ridley: Oh, and it's a girl. Rose: What? Ridley: Compliments of Drakul. Now if you'll excuse me... He turns, and slowly steps up onto the edge of the roof. The legions of Cryptites and Abraxites in the streets turn and look up to this new figure, staring down at them. Ridley spreads his arms and lets his commanding, gravelly voice echo over the streets. Ridley: Sets of the Crypt...disciples of Abraxas...children of the Inner City...the Demiurge is dead. As one, they send back the loudest roar he's heard since being in a wrestling ring, and its sounds wash over him as he tilts his head back and basks in the combined shout... Cryptites: LONG LIVE THE DEMIURGE!!!
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The sun has set. Night blankets the city, like the lid of a coffin closing over the mangled corpse of the day. Where there was once a deafening orchestra of gunshots, explosions, and screams, the streets are oddly silent. The pale, sleepy eye of the crescent moon looks down on the figure of Ridley at the edge of the roof, framing him against the panorama of buildings stretching into infinity. Kiji takes a cellphone from his bag, and taps a button. He talks in rapid Japanese for a moment, then clicks the phone shut. There's a pause before he addresses Ridley.
Kiji: So what happens now? Are you coming back to ACW with me?
Harsh laughter fills the night air. It is, Kiji supposes, a foolish question.
Ridley: I have a... company to run now. And Alexandra is expecting.
Kiji nods, pursing his lips.
Ridley: It was a pleasure working with you. Just why DID you come along, anyway? And don't give me anything about "field training".
Silence.
Ridley: Come on. I think you owe me that much. I know you work for Stanton.
Kiji: ...Very well. Under Drakul's leadership, the Crypt grew too big for its britches, so to speak. It was disrupting the operations of my employer and ignorant all attempts at communication. So I was dispatched to... negotiate. I was also told to eliminate any witnesses to my work. However, under the circumstances...
Ridley: Yes. Well, I'll tell you what. It seems I'm in charge of this little operation now. Why don't I reimburse Mr. Stanton for his lost profits and call it even?
Kiji: I find that arrangement satisfactory.
The noise of a helicopter's blades thump in the distance, growing ever closer. Those on the rooftop look up to see a jet-black helicopter approaching the Omni, a searchlight on its underside swiveling to train itself on the top of the building. Everyone gets out of the way as the chopper makes a careful landing, hair and clothes rippling violently in the downdraft from the vehicle's rotors. Kiji extends his hand to Ridley, who shakes it firmly. He waves towards Jif and Rose, then speaks, needing to raise his voice to be heard over the chopper.
Kiji: Till we meet again.
He walks towards the open door in the side of the helicopter and accepts the hand of a man in a suit and sunglasses who helps him clamber into the chopper, which takes off again almost before the door is closed, wheeling and setting off into the night. The echoes of its passing persist for a couple of minutes afterwards. Ridley stretches, pops his neck, and turns to Rose.
Ridley: Well... I guess we've got some paperwork to do.
They both grin.
THE END
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Sept 1, 2005 16:19:44 GMT -5
Segment: Epilogue (Credit: Kiji)
The music pounds into Belladonna's head like a hammer. Each pulse of deafening bass makes her feel like she's about to vomit. Nevertheless, she nurses her fourth screwdriver as she sits at a corner table in the Deadpool. She had taken up drinking after her mother was killed, and gotten into it so enthusiastically that someone had to take over her job as bartender. Despite being outrageously underage, she's never been denied a drink.
She gives an alcohol-scented sigh and nudges empty glasses with her arms as she slumps forward onto the table. For the time being, she's too inebriated to care about anything, and that's just the way she likes it.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Dominic Necros takes a very careful sip of absinthe and winces.
Necros: Ah... "Wherefore Abraxas is terrible"...
He chuckles. Things could be better--but then, they could be worse. The new regime didn't exactly persecute Abraxites... but it didn't help them, either. Necros had expected that Drakul and Ridley would finish each other off, and that he and his Abraxites could fill the power vacuum. Evidently, the Dual-Natured had other plans. Now, so did he. A man wearing an eyepatch and a broad-brimmed, plumed hat takes a seat opposite Necros.
Necros: What's a High Priest to do... oh, hello, Balthasar.
Balthasar: Afternoon.
Necros: Have you made any progress in the search?
Balthasar: Indeed...
He gestures towards Belladonna at her corner table, like a game show host revealing a prize.
Necros: Of course... why didn't I think of it sooner?
A broad smile splits his features.
Necros: I'll be right back...
Belladonna barely notices the lean figure of Dominic Necros as he takes up a seat next to her.
Necros: Hi, hon. How are you doing?
Belladonna: ...who the fuck are you?
He reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder, gently.
Necros: You shouldn't drink so much. It's not good for you.
No reply.
Necros: Listen... I heard about what happened. With your mother. I can help.
Belladonna: Yes, you can. By shutting the fuck up.
Belladonna fills herself with more vodka and orange juice while Necros tries to fix an expression of deep and genuine concern on his face. He mostly succeeds in looking constipated.
Necros: Please... you don't even know anything about me. What would you say if I told you I can offer you a place to stay? Somewhere safe--and furthermore, that I might be able to...
He leans forward, conspiritorially.
Necros: ...teach you... certain abilities.
Belladonna: I'd say you were full of shit. Go away. No one can help me.
Presently she begins to sob. Necros moves his chair closer and hugs her; she doesn't resist it.
Belladonna: God... they're all dead. Dad, and now mom...
Necros: Shh... it's alright. I can help you. What do you have to lose?
Belladonna: Okay, whatever...
Necros pats her on the back gently, fighting back a laugh. A manic grin spreads across his face. Things were beginning to look up.
........and that really is all they wrote, guys.
End of show.
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Post by scrawn on Sept 1, 2005 16:23:00 GMT -5
great show guys
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Post by Fallen Souls on Sept 1, 2005 16:25:42 GMT -5
Awesome show everybody ;D My Biggy bank....noooooooooo
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Post by Latino on Sept 1, 2005 16:26:26 GMT -5
Very, very nice show guys. I loved so much of it today.
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Post by hunter on Sept 1, 2005 17:08:47 GMT -5
Excellent Show. TWIA must become a movie. Seriously. Someone make it a movie and give Scorsese the director's chair. Or maybe someone more violent. Cronenberg, perhaps? Anyway, everything was awesome. Rock on, ACW!
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Post by BK London on Sept 1, 2005 17:46:39 GMT -5
*claps*
Good show once again.
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Post by hitman on Sept 1, 2005 17:58:32 GMT -5
w00t @ the show.
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Post by scarlet on Sept 1, 2005 17:59:54 GMT -5
Yay! Fun show! Not enough Yoko in it though. T_T
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