Trial By Fire......
Silence dominated the atmosphere as his eyes opened and he began to see for the first time in what seemed an age. As his eyes blinked open, he tried to remember exactly why his eyes were closed in the first place, exactly why he seemed to be laying down on the cold ground looking up at the ceiling at this moment in time. The last thing he could remember was standing in a darkened room watching Saul at work, crafting something at a table with his massive back to him, that burlap cloak covering him while Ambrosia was seated in a chair facing the wall, her feet against the solid concrete while she laughed to herself and played with a doll, playing “suicide” with it by slicing along the plastic arms with a razor blade and putting on a child-like voice.
Ambrosia: Mommy look, I’m bleeding, isn’t that cool? I bleed from my arms like you do from between your legs.
She even had fake blood at hand to drip onto the doll’s limbs, accidentally spilling some onto her purple and black corset, watching as it trickled down onto the matching skirt she wore with a type of curiosity before her teeth became bared and she frowned, face distorting into a twisted and angry image, the clatter of her combat boots slamming against the wooden floor as she rose from her seat quickly and stared hard at the doll.
Ambrosia: You fucking cunt, see what you did?! You got blood all over me you bitch!
With the hardest throw she could muster, Ambrosia tossed that doll against the far wall, watching as it collided with a loud thud that startled even Saul, the massive creature that spawned this angry female looking over his shoulder to see what the fuss was about before returning to what he was doing, effectively ignoring what was going on. Ambrosia continued to stare in anger at the doll as the force of impact caused a limb to wrench itself from the hole in the plastic torso it once occupied, the Harlequin of Hardcore as Vitriol had “named” her quickly changing her temperament as suddenly as it had seconds before, grinning wildly as she looked toward him and skipping over to her father in an excited manner.
Ambrosia: Whatcha doin’ daddy?
Saul: I’m busy my child, can you wait until I’m finished?
Ambrosia: Aww come on, show me, I’m curious.
Saul: I said leave it Ambrosia, this is of the utmost importance to me.
Ignoring his request and running a hand against her father’s shoulder, Ambrosia tried to lean over him and see what he was doing, causing an almighty roar from The Absolution as he rose from his seat quickly and grabbed his only daughter by the throat, gripping tightly and pushing her against the wall so that her back was firmly planted against the cold, hard concrete. A look of shock became etched onto her face before morphing into that of anticipation and even excitement, beginning to quietly giggle despite the brutal way she was being manhandled by her father, despite knowing the brutal end she will see at his hand if he so desired to kill again at this very moment. As Saul stared into his daughter’s eyes, she quickly dropped the playful tone and began to look down at the floor, more solemn as if one more laugh would really be the death of her but like a naughty child being scolded by its parent, she couldn’t help but force herself to keep a straight face. Vitriol could see the inner struggle as she tried not to find humor in this situation while Saul finally loosened his grip on her and walked back silently towards his chair, sitting down again as his voice seemed to echo in the otherwise silent room.
Saul: Please, allow me the opportunity to finish what I’m working on, this will benefit Divinity in the long term.
Ambrosia had stood watching and listening, lifting her head up from her chest to look at her father then turning to Vitriol and smiling again in amusement. Even now, she still found the whole thing funny but she wouldn’t let on to Saul, instead walking towards the Avatar of Avarice with that big grin, her pale skin looking milky white in the darkened room that only held a dim light in the ceiling. As she walked closer towards him, he couldn’t help but feeling a sort of warmth as if he had grown attached to her since that moment they’d first encountered one another during All Hallow’s Annihilation back in October. He already felt as if Saul Manning was the father figure he always desired so was he seeing Ambrosia as a sort of long lost sister? He wasn’t quite sure but for the first time, he felt something other than the urge to kill, the urge to do harm to others alongside this maniacal female.
Of course, it wasn’t love or a sense of needing to protect her, she could take care of herself, more like at last he’d found people who shared the same desires as he and formed somewhat of a dysfunctional family. Indeed, while other families sat together at the dinner table or spent time pursuing other activities as a unit such as vacations or fishing or whatever else they chose, this “family” engrossed themselves in the activities they enjoyed such as enjoying the absolute terror on the face of a poor victim they’d snatched from the street in order to showcase what they wished to accomplish. It had been something he first discovered that both he and Ambrosia enjoyed when they took his former manager Michelle Richards, strapping her to a steel table in a morgue and threatened her before letting her go for yet another pursuit and attempting to crucify her live on Mayhem. Now of course that mutual love of their sordid entertainment had led them here in this room, Saul reappearing and seeming to feel proud of his daughter and her associate, even so far as to calling them both his children at one stage, a sign that he approved of this masked monster that stood at his young daughter’s side.
As he looked upon this female walking closer toward him with one hand behind her back as she sometimes did, he never noticed nor seemed to care that she may have been hiding something, all he knew was that his tag team partner was standing before him with her hand rested upon his shoulder and then a crackling noise and the sensation of intense vibration against the back of his neck before he fell to the ground and everything went black. Now here he was in a room that was distinct and nothing like the one he’d occupied before he collapsed to the floor, the white ceiling a stark contrast to the darkened ceiling above in the previous room. He forced himself to sit up, admiring the place in which he now sat on the ground and wondering exactly where he was. He noticed the variety of pots and pans hanging up on hooks along a wall as well as several ovens that betrayed that he was situated in a kitchen although he didn’t know exactly why.
Could it be that he was placed here to murder a chef? He couldn’t be quite sure but upon pushing himself up onto his feet and standing up for the first time since finding himself in this kitchen, he looked around and saw that there were a variety of implements with which he could hurt or maim or even worse to whoever the victim could be. He stepped forwards and found the door that would lead out of the room but taped to that very same exit – the only one out of the kitchen – he found a tape recorder with the words “PLAY ME” upon it. Taking grasp of the device, he tore it from the door and scrutinized it thoroughly, instantly recognizing that this was another of Saul’s tests although for what, he wasn’t quite sure. He thought he’d passed one already when he showed that he could use strategy, brute force and a lack of fear even in the face of such a huge and intimidating man.
Walking away from the door, he noticed somebody already lying on the ground, huddled in the fetus position and wearing rags. Was it a victim already claimed? He couldn’t remember attacking anybody and Saul would never lay waste to somebody and then leave them here……would he? There was no way to be sure and other than staring at the variety of knives and graters lying around the surfaces of the kitchen as a way to try and tempt this monster despite his preference for using his bare hands to inflict pain and suffering on people didn’t seem to answer any questions either. The only thing he could do was look back down at that tape recorder in his grasp and wonder what this may be all about, allowing his thumb to move onto the play button before depressing it. Almost instantly, that familiar deep and commanding voice boomed out from the tiny speaker.
“Vitriol....since October you have been in tandem with my daughter, helping her snatch the Tag Team championships from the grasp of others and also aiding her in defeating Golden Eagle and Roman Steeler for the Bloodlust championship to keep it within Divinity’s grasp. I have watched as you walked through fire and defeated Priest in Highway to Hell V but now a new year brings about a new test. While your hand has brought about wanton destruction throughout MCW, while championships have come easily whenever you felt the desire to take them, they are not the be all and end all. Your outward appearance gives fear to those who look upon you but it’s what is inside that counts and if the inner demon within can also create that terror then all the better for your mission.
I see beyond the mask however and am not satisfied that you are truly the uncaring monster you like others to believe. That is why you will have a trial by fire in the kitchen you are now occupying. On the floor is Wormwood, an old associate who will try to help you discover your deep seated trust issues and see if you can truly lay all of your inner workings aside to survive. For perhaps the first time, you will need to rely on him to stay alive but the key is within you both.”
The tape ended and Vitriol removed it from the recorder, staring intently through the eye holes of that cold steel mask and wondering what it meant. His eyes drifted to the form on the ground, seemingly this Wormwood person who had the key within him, the tape placed on a counter while a knife was gripped tightly within his grasp, inching towards Wormwood and wondering if he was already dead. If he were deceased, it would certainly make it a lot easier to cut and tear into that flesh to get whichever key was inside him, possibly the key to allow him out through the door. Surely one of Saul’s tests wouldn’t be that easy would it? After all, he also said that the key was inside him too so would he have to remove the coveralls and push the blade deep into his own body to get to it?
Clutching that sharp object, he motioned closer towards Wormwood, unafraid but trying not to make any noise so that the kill could feel even sweeter once he plunges that weapon deep into the bloody recesses of the body. Gradually finding himself leaning over Wormwood’s body, Vitriol grabbed at some of the rags so that he could forcefully thrust as hard as he could with the blade, imagining the squishing sounds as flesh and muscle would become punctured and torn asunder by the constant and rabid attack but as soon as he gripped the rags tightly and lined up the first stab, Wormwood moved. It startled Vitriol in a sense, moving back a step to avoid any type of weapon that may come at him so that he could retaliate but no weapon seemed to be in Wormwood’s grasp. Instead, all that protruded from this horrifically burnt man was a scream of terror and a sudden jolt that allowed him to push himself back against a cabinet, his arms in front of his face begging and pleading for mercy while the Avatar of Avarice stood watching this display of cowardice with a sense of amusement.
Wormwood: P....Please don’t....don’t kill me! I swear, I didn’t do anything, I’m just here to help you pass this test! S…..S……
He couldn’t get the name out but Vitriol knew exactly what he was trying to say, had heard the voice on the tape but was still curious as to what the test was and how he would pass it without harm. He looked around, taking in his surroundings once again to see if there was anything of note and spotting a massive steel door that looked like it could lead to an extra room or compartment – possibly even a freezer – while a vent was fixed along the ceiling, reflecting the room in its metal surface with one end just above human height and out of reach, wide open with no grate or cover and leading towards the room beyond that massive metal door. All he could figure out was that there was a key somewhere but the tape had stated it was within himself and Wormwood so the first big decision of this situation was quick to present itself, walking towards the cowering mess of humanity before him and clutching at the rags, pulling Wormwood closer and staring into the eyes of this creature.
Wormwood came off as a pathetic creature, full of fear at the mere sight of this masked monster who had decimated all and sundry in MCW so far since he first appeared last July. It seemed quite funny that for months people in MCW had attempted to hide their fear of Vitriol behind a veil of false confidence and yet here was this thing, this vile and wretched thing that seemed of little importance and yet at the same time held the key to passing this test. Saul had mentioned him a few times, mentioned how he’d give this man his own trial in the past and melted half of his face and body by dousing him in gasoline and setting him alight and even Saul himself showed a sort of disdain for Wormwood yet still……he required him for certain things such as this task. He moved closer to try and bury that knife deep within Wormwood, cut away the meat from the bone and retrieve that key but the only thing stopping him in this pursuit was the fact that Wormwood just wouldn’t keep still long enough to drive the blade inside.
Wormwood: NO! PLEASE, STOP! THERE’S NOTHING INSIDE ME, DON’T TAKE IT LITERALLY! PLEASE, DON’T KILL ME!!
Vitriol paused, staring deeply at Wormwood and moving the point of the knife away whilst still clutching it in a way that he could quickly use it if needs required. This creature was begging for mercy and for the first time, Vitriol showed it. It was an unusual step but since he had to utilize Wormwood to pass whatever test Saul had in mind for him, there was a need to keep this pathetic man around until at least the task was complete. Then he’d have his fun tearing his every limb from his torso, watching the blood pouring out all over the floor, nothing but unmoving flesh wrapped in rags and devoid of life. Until then though he had to figure out a master plan to escape this place first and then he would take the time he needed to butcher this worthless Wormwood. He continued to stare at this form before him and assess Wormwood, figure out his intentions, Vitriol’s head gently tilting towards his shoulder as he took a sideways glance in an almost child-like manner at this curious piece of human life allowed to live and breathe only for reasons best known to Saul.
There was only one thing he could do and that was keep Wormwood alive for as long as it would take but how would he escape this kitchen? The key was within them? Standing tall and staring down at the cowering Wormwood, he seemed to think nothing else of how pathetic and worthless this human really was. Once he had tried the idea that popped into his mind, he would certainly get rid of this thing that he felt was lower than the lowest in humanity. There was no real reason to keep bottom of the heap trash like Wormwood alive but then again, it was totally on Saul’s wishes and desires and if for some strange reason he wanted this person alive, he certainly wouldn’t fight against that decision. Instead of committing an act of homicide right here and now, he made the choice to walk away, back to that kitchen door which once held the tape recorder stuck to it with black electrical tape and tugged on the handle.
Nothing.
Another try wielded the same result, which made him begin to shove it outwards, again proving futile as he attempted the exit time and time again but came to no result, just that locked door budging only far enough to seemingly bend upon the harsh shoving and pushing that the Avatar of Avarice laid upon it. He paused and turned, facing Wormwood once more as the vent caught his eye again, looking up to see that opening that he couldn’t quite reach before, walking forwards to stand directly underneath it. His hand reached upwards to try and grasp the opening but was still too far to even feel with his fingertips, instead lowering his limb and pausing for a moment to assess the situation. At that moment, the thought crossed his mind. The tape mentioned trust and there must have been a reason for Wormwood to be here otherwise he would be all alone much like the test he received for the very first time not too long ago.
The only way to reach that vent, seemingly the only way out, would be for somebody to lift another person up and inside to crawl through and perhaps get to that room beyond the big metal door. Another look at the door revealed something he’d missed upon his first inspection of the kitchen, something that seemed to strike out at him this time and thrust itself upon his conscience. Several metal canisters stood one next to another at the door, reflected in the steel surface of the door that led to a place Vitriol didn’t know of or see a way into, each one fitted with a device that seemed like a clock or timer. He moved closer and stared at them all, realizing quite quickly that they were gas canisters, a large flame in a square with the word “FLAMMABLE” confirming what he thought all along. For some reason despite observing this, he felt no fear as others might, the word never really entered into his subconscious or thoughts, he felt no fear, that was made obvious when he continued to almost laugh in the face of Priest, a man known throughout his career for intimidation and fear as his main weapons.
For a monster so fearless, Vitriol was even more dangerous and standing here staring at those canisters affected him in absolutely no way at all. It seemed slightly funny, despite the lack of humor in his body at the majority of times, standing there staring at the canisters that were set to explode at any moment if he made the wrong move were kind of similar to Osiris, his own aggressions and past forays into violence leading some to fear him but Vitriol honestly never felt an ounce of it. Why should he feel even one iota of fear for something that wasn’t scary or terrifying? It would be like fleeing from something as harmless as a sheet of paper over some sort of overblown fear that shouldn’t be felt. As far as Vitriol knew, this Osiris seemed to have a history with Saul and Ambrosia in much the same way that Lethal Weapon did but just like with Lethal Weapon, the Avatar of Avarice looked upon his opponent as just an ordinary man that built a career out of seeming terrifying to lesser men but held no qualities that were of any concern. In fact, just like with Lethal Weapon, Osiris was involved in a tag team contest against the two members of Divinity with a less experienced partner at his side.
The fact that Osiris believed his own hype and seemed quick to insult Divinity without knowing the truth, just going by rumor and falsehoods and the type of ill-informed comments that others made over the months yet all fell to both Vitriol and Ambrosia like dominoes. The things said about Vitriol’s height, the mask he wore, the fact he never spoke and preferred his actions to speak louder than any words could. He preferred being the monster that appeared silently behind his victim, dragged them into the shadows without so much as a murmur and then left them lying cold and broken as he walked away still without a word seemed so much better, so much more fun than making noise about what he would do to opponents or other people. It was the so-called “monster” like Osiris and Lethal Weapon and even Priest who talked a big game, claimed they would take another victim and be on the winning side and then failure utterly and completely trying to back track and cover their tracks, trying to make people believe that they didn’t say they would win, only that they’d take a chunk away as a reminder not to mess with them again in future.
It seemed so much better to get on with the task at hand rather than talk and talk without any action, without any meaning behind it all. Osiris seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice from the noise he made about wanting to ravage Ambrosia, trying to hint that Vitriol was nothing but a lapdog despite the hair pulling being her way of restraining him from doing further damage and allowing Kevin Justice’s wife and family to even have him alive in one piece with a neck injury rather than having him delivered to their door in a body bag. Nobody would understand that though because the world seemed to look upon the pair as if they were abnormal, as if they were freaks that didn’t belong in their perfect little society and should be banished to a place where they would never be seen or heard from again. Funny that, the world seemed to run on sex and violence and alcohol and other such practices and yet because Vitriol and Ambrosia looked and acted slightly different, suddenly the world’s wrongdoings were all their fault through daring to be themselves rather than something they were not, typical of the false world in which they had to walk.
Jake Young on the other hand was a different case, had remained silent so far and yet the feeling was that it could be a case of “like father, like son” in the way that Rayne Young liked to be controversial and annoy people seemingly for no reason at all and thus this may have been passed onto Jake. Vitriol felt a slight idea of what shame must feel like when Rayne Young retired that night in October because while Vitriol’s body was buried by Priest in a foolish idea that he had somehow won, Rayne on the other hand found his career buried when he lost the World title and announced to the world that he had cancer. It wasn’t just Rayne that had cancer, MCW had one and the disease became exclusive to Mayhem during the live draft lottery at the end of November, the night when Vitriol and Ambrosia as the new MCW Tag Team champions would remain on the Mayhem show. Now Rayne had returned to that same show as leader, putting his own seed into a tag team match against the sadistic and brutal champions as if he were either trying to punish them for being so dominant – though they couldn’t help that since it seemed the others that had fallen to them over the months since they debuted just weren’t good enough – and trying to teach them a lesson by putting them against both his son and an old enemy.
Unless of course he was trying to punish Jake and Osiris by throwing them into the lion’s den like a Roman emperor wishing to see blood and death as the lions ripped their opponents apart in a display of violence that would indeed set the precedent for what the rest of 2010 may hold for MCW. Could it really be that Rayne was teaching his own son a form of tough love by putting him against the two that everybody seemed confident about facing and always found a word to say and yet were deep down terrified at the prospect of finding their name listed opposite the Harlequin of Hardcore and the Avatar of Avarice? No matter because he had to try to pass this test of trust and if he could only get inside that vent and see if there was solace on the other side…..
Wormwood: Why are we here? What have I done to you Saul? I thought this test was all for him, not for me, I passed yours!
The whining from Wormwood caught Vitriol’s attention again, turning his head to stare at this creature and walking towards him with purpose. Of course, at the sight of this vicious monster marching toward him, Wormwood cowered and began to plead but Vitriol would have none of it, ignoring him and forcefully picking him up by the rags he wore and dragging him to his feet. Vitriol’s gaze shifted above him, looking directly up as Wormwood did the same, noticing the open vent as the two looked at each other again. This was where the trust had to come into play because who was to say that this idea would go to plan? Without a word, he grabbed at Wormwood’s body and hoisted him up off the ground, the pathetic worm of a man getting the idea and grabbing at the inside of the vent to haul himself inside, finding a safe haven from the kitchen that could explode at any given moment.
This was where the trust had to come to the fore because Vitriol really didn’t know if there was an escape on the other end of that vent shaft, whether there might be and he would be left alone to be blown to pieces and burn in this kitchen while Wormwood saved his own lowly carcass. All he knew was that he had to learn to trust his new partner in crime – at least for this test anyway – and see what would happen. He listened as he heard Wormwood crawling through that tiny area of solid metal, the bumps and bangs as he made his way further in before silence purveyed the room, almost literally since the atmosphere became eerily calm and still as if time had frozen all around him. A gentle humming noise that he hadn’t noticed before had suddenly disappeared, evaporated from the realm of sound with the only noise being that of Wormwood crawling back along the ventilation system and dropping from the hole to land in a crumpled heap before Vitriol’s feet.
Vitriol stared at this creature and then looked as he raised an arm up, holding a key within his grubby fingers, quickly snatched away as the Avatar of Avarice took this precious object and stared at it momentarily, looking at the metal door with interest to see if there would be a lock to open it up and get inside to leave the kitchen but instead, there was nothing. Still, that door did pique his interest and he was extremely curious about what may be on the other side. Turning his head to look at the cabinets made of steel around the room, Vitriol opened one up and grabbed Wormwood, tossing him inside and slamming the door closed before opening yet another, switching on an oven and finding a dry cloth that he could hold over the naked flame. The fire danced upon the cloth as it met and sparked a fire upon that tiny rag, Vitriol watching as the fire took shape and overwhelmed the cloth before he managed to toss it toward the canisters stood before the steel door, the monster not dumb enough to stand there as he ducked into the open cabinet and pulled the door closed, just as a massive explosion rocked the front and a huge bang came upon the other side as if a heavy object had struck the door he was hiding behind for protection.
When he felt it was safe, he pulled aside the door and climbed out, looking around as the kitchen looked like a bomb had exploded within, a shell of its former self. Those canisters were stood on their side or embedded in other parts of the kitchen after being thrown violently by the explosion, fires still raging in places of the room while embers burned and fell all around him, charred remains of the cloth he’d thrown falling and causing markings upon his mask as if it had been charred and damaged although it did feel as if he hadn’t quite shut the door as fully as he preferred. The huge metal door seemed capable of being opened now and he did just that, reaching for the handle and turning it with every strength within him, ash floating around the room as the solid steel door creaked, opening wide while the heat rushed into the room beyond. Looking inside, he discovered that it was nothing more than a cold storage room, a freezer for keeping meat and yet there was one piece of meat on the ground that seemed like it didn’t belong, like it should never have been there in the first place. The body just lay there, still and calm, shaking with cold wearing nothing but gauze on its upper body and underwear on the lower portion, long blonde locks splayed out on the ground.
Vitriol had to look twice, taking note of the body lying half inside the carcass of a pig on the ground looking more like a victim, reminding him of Michelle Richards and how weak and pitiful she was, now this woman was exactly the same Could it really be Michelle back in his life after thinking he had rid himself of her? He wasn’t sure but disappointment washed all over him as he looked upon this sight before him. This woman’s fingers were covered in blood and she seemed almost full of cowardice, those images of Michelle coming to the most prominent part of his mind as he felt intense anger, looking at the steel door he’d opened after so long feeling curious about what may lie on the other side and wondering whether to close it again and leave this person to freeze to death, if indeed they hadn’t done so already. With Michelle still dominant in his thoughts, Vitriol pounded the inside of the door with the bottom of his closed fist, hearing it echo inside this freezer room before stepping forwards and grabbing the pig carcass with both hands and tossing it across the room so that it collided with a wall in much the same manner he may do to Osiris or Jake Young at Mayhem.
Looking down at the obviously female form before him, Vitriol realized who it was, a realization that shocked him. It was Ambrosia, he could be certain of that but at the same time, it didn’t FEEL like Ambrosia. Gone were the harlequin clothes, the demented smile, the makeup and all replaced by a near nakedness, a vulnerability and…..blonde hair. He’s never known until this very moment that Ambrosia was a blonde and this only drove home the images of Michelle and the dissatisfaction he felt at her side. Feeling slightly defeated at this revelation, he shook his head and grabbed at her arms, dragging her across the cold floor of the freezer and into the still warm kitchen where she could at least lie there until her blood and body temperature rose to more natural levels. The only thing that stopped him leaving her in cold storage was the fact that he needed her, he felt driven to protect this woman from the moment they met and be a force to be reckoned with alongside her.
Releasing her limbs, Vitriol watched as she lay prone on the ground then reached up into his mask to retrieve the tape recorder he’d almost forgotten that he’d placed there to ensure it wouldn’t be lost or damaged just in case another tape was lying around, ensuring there was none left for him and then placing the object upon the forehead of Ambrosia. With one last look at her, he walked away, using the key that Wormwood had retrieved and pushing it into the lock of the door opposite the freezer, twisting it and hearing the lock click open. Wormwood rushed out into freedom while Vitriol stared at him and then followed suit, not even caring that Wormwood had paused at an area full of shadow as the Avatar of Avarice walked right past, his footsteps echoing throughout the hallway as he left the area with only Wormwood’s speech ringing in his ears, too careless to bother turning to motion some sort of response.
Wormwood: We did it, we escaped the kitchen.
Pushing through a set of double doors, Vitriol left and allowed them to swing shut before he heard the final part of Wormwood’s conversation.
Wormwood: He passed his test, he used me in the way you said he might and he brought your daughter out of that room to allow her to continue her test too. Did I do well? Am I finally free?
“You did well Wormwood but no.....you are not free. At least.....not yet.”
Keeping An Eye On Things.....
A door creaks slowly open, that echoing sound piercing the very atmosphere like a knife through flesh, tearing apart the calm and almost eerie silence that pervaded the surroundings. Only that creaking sound from the relic of a hinge sounded, followed by a heavy footstep upon wood, then another and finally a third as a shaft of black shows at the slowly opening entrance, the door pushed inward from the outside by an unseen force that walked with heavy feet. With a hint of curiosity, the camera remains perfectly still, watching the old wooden door being pushed open as if the choice was stay and find out what was happening or the person operating the equipment was frozen in absolute fear, too frightened to move from their spot and having to watch and film as that door, that inanimate gateway that had now become something mesmerizing yet terrifying all in the same few seconds of time that had passed, slowly opened and revealed an shadow that almost engulfed the doorway, only broken by the fact that a familiar and imposing figure was lit up slightly from the light shining inside the room in which the camera was situated.
That figure was clad in mostly black, easily disappearing amongst the darkness around it while only a few areas were allowed to be shown, namely the flesh on the throat and hands of this figure and the steel mask glinting gently and looking as white and silvery as the moon on a clear night.
That figure.....was Vitriol.
He stood completely still and calm and silent like Nosferatu preying on another young female victim from the shadows, looking into the room as the camera captured this slightly grainy image, watching curiously as the Avatar of Avarice stepped through the gateway to this room and stood turning his head to one side to drink in that view of the room before slowly moving his head in the other direction, looking to his right and turning his body to face that direction as a guttural and unearthly screech pierced the air and a small lithe figure rushed into the view of the camera. She appeared in a blur of pink and navy blue colored tights under a black PVC skirt, big black combat boots adorning her feet while a black torn fishnet shirt covers her torso with pink and black t-shirt cut to show the fishnet covered navel and with the sleeves also cut off completely to show her pale arms. Her look was completed by a pair of aviation goggles placed on her forehead and creating a barrier between her face and the blonde and pink dreadlocks that hung down towards her shoulders like a cascade or a waterfall reaching down between her shoulders. With that scream continuing, her fists slammed into his chest over and over like an enraged animal, attacking with purpose.
Vitriol did nothing other than stare at her as she continued the pounding, making inaudible noises and screams as she continued this attack, wondering what was going on as this crazy woman tried to attack him with her fists, spotting glimpses of her facial features which gave him the only reason not to grip her throat and choke the life out of her for this outburst, watch her life force drain away like water seeping out of a bath and down the pipes until this woman’s body had nothing, was just an empty shell devoid of a soul. That was the real big surprise because once he saw just that tiny glimpse of her face, he felt shocked, too shocked to react other than to stand there and take the hits. It was definitely her but she didn’t act like the person he knew. Ambrosia wouldn’t attack anybody like this and indeed, even if she wanted to cause harm to him, she could have easily taken him off his feet, felled him in one simple attack and then really hurt him simply for her own pleasure and to watch him suffer.
This was definitely not Ambrosia, in fact the hair and the face was an awful lot like that female he’d found near naked in the freezer of that kitchen where his test had taken place recently. It were as if it was one person and yet at the same time, it wasn’t that person, even if that made absolutely no sense. Could it be that the woman he saw in the freezer close to death and the woman attacking him right now was allowing him the opportunity to finally see the person she was born as, who she’d hidden away under all that makeup and the outfits and the insane giggling? Could it be that finally he was able to see the true Amber Manning?
Ambrosia: You bastard! You fucking left me to die you freak! How could you do that to me?! We’re supposed to be a team, a fucking TEAM!!
He watched her, finally tiring of the attack and beginning to weakly strike his chest as all the energy with which she burst upon him like a tiger waiting to pounce diminished, settling for the occasional rhythmic beating of her hand upon the chest of her fellow Tag Team champion, all the while he felt bemused as he stared from beyond that steel mask. He couldn’t help feeling that she struck a pathetic form, all of the imagery and personality he’d grown accustomed to having been shed like a snake losing its old skin and slithering away. He wasn’t overwhelmed by that feeling by any stretch of the imagination, more like he felt disappointed at the fact that not only was the woman he thought he knew well suddenly acting the way she had in his last two encounters with her, he also felt disappointed that he felt any negative feeling towards her, even if just a tiny portion of him thought of her as pathetic.
He silently hoped and prayed that she would change, go through a metamorphosis back to the Ambrosia he knew rather than the Amber that stood before him with tears in her eyes full of upset and a longing for protection. As she weakly struck his chest and shoulder, he stood and wrapped his arms around her, giving her some sort of comfort and calming her down in a pair of soothing arms, letting all of the emotions and fears she’d felt since finding herself in that freezer melt away from her soul and evaporate into the atmosphere so that she could try and find some of that strength she’d shown since she first began to run riot in Motor City Wrestling. She cried into his coveralls as he held her tightly like an elder brother comforting his upset little sister while unbeknownst to them both, beyond the other side of that camera watching them – the same camera that had been watching that doorway almost hidden from their sight – sat a giant of a man in a burlap cloak and hood, smiling to himself as he watched this secret camera, a laugh escaping him that echoed all around in the tiny room he occupied.....