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A Angel and A Demon
He stayed in his room because he was forced to. The four walls of that tiny room had been home for months. This was his choice, because everything beyond that room, was far more entrapping. Those people cared, and loved, and never feared showing it. They were all good people… ALL of them. It was a shame really, because it seemed far too good to believe. No one was happy all of the time, and no one cared that much, right? Or was that just a distorted reality of one man. One man who loved nothing but himself. The marijuana cured the anxiety, the fear of the change that awaited him. If he did leave, he traveled at night, where the darkness was still able to save him. He could indulge in its cloak, and figure out the place he was forced to call home. But there wasn’t one thing that proved his theory for the overall good of the city. There wasn’t any proof. But as his boots scraped along the ground, he continued his voyage to find more about the place he’d quickly become the outcast of. His black hat pulled down, he ventured on in to the night. “The truth will set you free.” Styles chuckled as he worked his way across the deserted main strip. No one ever came out in the night, unless their trash bins had fallen over… that would’ve fucked up the entire scenery of the place. Once in a while he’d find one of the do-gooders up late, watching TV or playing on the computer, other than that it was a ghost town at night. He was still lost in the reality of this place, and lusted for the reasons why he’d been cast to a place where he was so out of turn. Deep down he knew exactly what had happened. This was payment for his lack of delivery. Brenton Cyrus’ soul had been harder to obtain than originally thought. Every night he retuned to the same spot, the same house, the same metaphorical crossroad. A vast stone church sat before him, it’s structure built with strength, which lay exposed to those who believed. It was a sign of purity, and resembled that of the Roman’s; which Styles had spent some time in, centuries ago. He reflected on the power the stone gave off, feeding the god-fearing people of the town their every drop of righteousness. Styles knew better, he knew there wasn’t any sort of God… or else he would’ve shown himself to save a man three nights prior. Williams had been his given name, and he had pleaded for the almighty to save him, at least until the blade ran through his heart. He hadn’t been killed for a purpose, well actually, maybe he had. Styles could remember the joy he took out of deflating that man’s faith. There was always time for a hunt. Thousands of years had passed, Johnny’s appearance forever changing, but his blood lust remained. The power of the spirit, the justification of the conqueror; He was the judge and jury, merciless within his own right. If there were a God, it would be him; He was the seven deadly sins rolled up in to flesh and blood. His mind raced, as a smile crept along his face, the thought of this strong building crumbling to the asphalt excited him. His blood boiled as he pictured the pastors burning alive within the stone entrapment, screaming for the almighty to spare them. To spare their lives for the faith they had entrusted in a glorified legend. Only SBK had risen from the dead wearing a crown of thorns. He could only picture the church burning for a little longer before it faded from his mind, he thought he could smell the charbroiled skin, but he chuckled at his imagination. Striding away, he flicked his cigarette to the lawn, only wishing it would ignite, sending hell straight to the townspeople. But he knew there would be a time, and a place. There always was. He had killed Julius Caesar, Lincoln, and numerous others throughout time, he was a hell of an adversary to hope. He always played the same role, and did it to absolute perfection. Death, misery, destruction… there were far too many names to describe his work. He was tired of resurrecting the hard-on he had for himself, as he continued back to his small dormitory style room, his run in with the church had stifled his memory to where he could almost recognize the hate he had for it, but he was still confused about where he was. His slate had been wiped clean, memory and all, in order to write his destiny. He hadn’t the slightest clue of what he needed to do, but he was almost positive it would come in bits and pieces. He had originally wanted to head back to what he was forced to call home, kill off the rest of the herbal relaxation, but he caught an urge; and urge that watered his mouth, and caused his entire body to be thrown in to a whirlwind. He wanted to kill tonight, to sacrifice someone to the greater “good.” He couldn’t explain the feeling, besides an ecstatic moment of finally finding out what he did best. He was a killer, plain and simple. He was the destroyer of natural beauty, Hurricane Katrina wouldn’t have held a candle to him. He wanted a drop-dead blonde, or brunette; maybe even a redhead, as much as they disgusted him. He didn’t understand the sudden urges, as they crushed his mind with such force they almost sent him in to shock. Too much information within the last couple days had confused him. He wasn’t sure who he was anymore, or what he was. He felt as if he had needed a plan, some sort of ritualistic manner he could follow, but it was almost as if the information was bred in to his mind. He knew how to extract the victim, and the kind of force it would take. His mind raced as he found a house that seemed familiar. He had seen it before? In his dreams? Nightmares? The woman on the computer was beautiful, even though it was 3 a.m. She smiled as she wrote up a message, looked to be Myspace, Styles confirmed as he peered through the window. Probably cybering with some fucking fat fuck on the other end, pretending to look like Randy Orton.” SBK muttered, as his anger rose, wishing he could kill whoever was on the other line instead. SBK knew what he had to do. He smiled over the thought of fucking this bitch, then cutting her throat, to let her bleed out, just like Chuck Matthew’s talent. He wanted to hear her scream for her God, beg for forgiveness. SBK loved this part of the hunt, but tonight wasn’t the time. He knew he could do it within a couple days, take his time rather than rush with the details. This would be a release for him, he knew it; He wanted to see her eyes as the life slipped away. He was already hard, an erection had built over the conquest at hand, and at that instant he knew there wouldn’t be any reason to turn back. He hoped she had a lover, that way he could kill two birds with one stone, literally. “Oh, sweetheart, you’ll have your day, I promise you that. Hopefully sooner than later.” He said, as he broke his glance from the woman, and turned back towards the road. He was ready; every sense was burning with sensation as he strolled down the road, licking his lips in anticipation. He knew he’d have the right moment soon, as he lit up, and strolled back along the deserted roads. The air was crisp, and cool, but it still seemed warm to him. His breathe mixed with the smoke, and formed a large cloud that hovered above him before dispersing in to every which way. He would go home to rest tonight, as much as he didn’t want to, his sleep was crucial to the bigger picture. He looked forward to the excitement brewing within the next couple days. He would send that town in to a downward spiral, cracking the foundation of their every belief. Doubt would be burned in to their mind, destruction chiseled in to their retinas. He was a demon in the land of angels, too much to do with so little time. 
Hey there Brenton, I can smell the dislike. I can taste the way you loathe me. I’d be pissed too if someone had came in and rip your title away from you. I’d be foolish to stand and apologize, because I see the game here. All of your cronies are expendable; they just haven’t realized it yet. You’re following worships you; they kiss your feet and praise your legacy. You strive on the attention Brenton. You forgot where you fucking came from. You weren’t shit, until you became this prophetic piece of shit you pretend to be. You want your words to be lived upon. Your word is supposed to be something of another level. You want to be a god among men. You’re still mortal. You’re thinking is amazing, and I’ll give you that Brenton. You’ve become one of the best things around, and I’m proud. I’m glad your getting undeserved attention by using my name. But I won’t kiss your fucking feet. That’s what makes me different. That’s what allows me to think freely. You can take your bullshit, word of Brenton, to some other empty minded schmuck, because I know who you are. I know where you came from. This time Brenton, I’ll be the one forgiving. Even you make mistakes. You want my ex-wife? You can fucking have her. Take all that fucking baggage too. But my son, is where I draw the line. Alex will never be like you. He’s got my genes, charisma, and every fucking thing. He’ll learn to treat you like the snake you are. So If I was you I take key to my warning. Because once you go down that path there is no returning. As for you Chuck? I'm leaving my impression within the community. I'm here to let my name live on after I die. It starts with beating the fuck outta you. I bet your pretty pissed off about losing the Universal tag-team titles to Santiago and myself. You wanna know whats really fuck? I don’t even care about the Straps! I don’t need any possessions to make me feel all warm inside. I’ve got my pride, and my image embedded in to every mother fucker’s brain. There isn’t any love anymore for either of you two. I’ve sabotaged everything you’ve planned, and turned in to the East hero. I still say fuck that bullshit. We're both looking for the same thing Chuck. We want to be at the top, and there can only be one. So that leaves the two of us jockeying. That's fine, I can deal with that. I can respect you Chuck, for the work you've put in. I can respect you for being the next big thing coming up through the ranks. But I don't respect you enough to beat me. It's how it is. You think I'm not coming at this with fire? Fuck that, and Fuck you if you believe it. I've lost bro, everyone knows that. But never have I fucking lost when I tried. I've never been out worked. SO what makes you think this will be your time? I’m going to tell you the exact same thing I told you last week Chuck. Don’t try and prevent the inevitable. You know just as well as I do that nothing is going to stop me from my one goal. You know nothing is going to stop me from taking One World Nation by the throat and squeezing the life from it. Once I am through there will be no One World Nation. They’ll all be dead and I’ll stand over the rubble smirking and smiling as my quest will have been completed. The Streak Stopper Manifest complete. That’s what’s happening now. A federation wide domination courtesy of yours truly. I’m not here to make friends or to make enemies. I’m here to prove a point. I’m here to prove that I am in fact the greatest thing you have ever seen or ever will see. Chuck happens to be the example. I will show him the way and once I do all he will be able to do is hang his head. It’ll be the only thing he can do. His neck will be broken. So don’t try and make comparisons. Don’t try and tell me I’m wrong. You can’t stop power. I’m raw power. I’m raw power kicking you in the face. I’m raw power laying you on your back for every young virgin to have his way with. I’m raw power taking you to your limit and breaking your spirit. After this match, Chuck, you will wish that you never became a professional wrestler. You will wish you never cross paths with Brenton. God spares no one, kid, and I apologize in advance. That’s life, cocksucker, and you’re just going to have to get used to it. I control your life. As you walk down the entrance ramp, the bright lights shining in your innocent eyes I want you to remember my words. Heed them as a matter of fact. When you step through those ropes and pace around the ring remember my words. When you see me walking down the entrance ramp remember my words. When you look in my eyes… remember my words. It might be the last thing you ever remember. One World Nation is dead, for the King has returned. WWSD. What. Would. Styles. Do. Faggots.
Last week we all saw a reunion. Not so much. DX Affliction is dead. We'll be remembered, but they are dead. Before becoming overwhelmed with the past, it might be time for a new beginning. Joe Santiago, bailed me out of a jam last week. Something he didn’t have to do. He’s a men I hold utmost respect for. Joe is like a brother to me. And he saved my ass last week. But I couldn’t agree more about us NOT being DX Affliction. The idea is great. The fans may be begging for it. But were just not the same lovable goof balls we once were. We’ve grown out of that image. Were not here to play games. Were here to finish a legacy. Are Legacy’s of being the motherfucking best to ever do it! The tension between CP and Joe. Is between them. I can’t take sides. I won’t. There reasons for fighting are there own, I have nothing to do with it. And will have nothing to do with it. But if there is one thing I will step in the way of, it’s to stop Cyber Punk from putting the blame on Santiago for the accident. He didn’t do it. I have no proof, but Santiago made it clear he did not want to get in the middle of us CP. If anyone should be to blame…It’s me I should have been there for you partna. I should have done better watching you hide. But I dropped the ball and you pay for it. But mark my words CP, I will find who did it. And I will show them NO FUCKING MERCY! Bank on it! -- [ FIN ] -- |