It was obviously cold. Even in the hot Atlanta summer, the area around the Devious Cathedral was cold… very fucking cold. Cyrus began to slow down as the headstone came into view. ‘The Maverick’ Damien Roy. Just as Azraith had stood in front of it not so long ago before his match with Harland.
“Jeeze, old man. You’re getting more visitors in death than you ever did in life. I bet your rolling in your grave, grandpa.”
Cyrus smirked, shaking his head.
“You know… ever since you’ve gone, things just haven’t been the same. Whether you’re the blind ass ninety year old ‘luchadore’, or the cane toting manager of Beowulf, wrestling just isn’t the same without you.”
Cyrus rolled his neck, cracking it on his shoulder.
“You were my first opponent in DIWF. You were the first guy to teach Cyrus O’Haire what wrestling was REALLY all about… and whether I liked you, hated you, watched your back or helped beat you down, you will always be one of my biggest mentors, whether your Veteran ass likes it or not, pops.”
Cyrus squatted, picking at the grass around the headstone. You couldn’t tell what he was picking at, dead grass was the trademark of the graveyard. Maybe he was picking at the life that Damien still had.
“So, Damien. I know you can hear me, where ever the fuck you are. You hear me loud and clear.”
Cyrus looked to the sky.
“Thank you.”
Cyrus stood up, only to catch a glimpse over his shoulder; the dark, shadowy figure of Lord Deviant standing beside him.
“You need to talk to me, Cyrus. About… Azrael.”
Cyrus looked over his shoulder, the figure now gone. Cyrus wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating the visions or if Lord Deviant really was… creepy.
“We’ll have to do this again. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee, Father Time.”
Cyrus turned away from the headstone and the camera immediately cut.
As the camera opened again, Cyrus was sitting on the main stairs of the cathedral, his hands between his open knees. Cyrus looked up, to the second story of the building.
“In order to prepare for the future, you must reconcile with the past, Cyrus. You must go back to your home, visit your mother… your brother… your family. You must come to mends with what has happened to you... your son… your wife. Clear your mind, so that only Azrael is your focus. With a clouded head, the Cathedral can eat at your soul, it can kill you from within… but with one thought, one vision… one goal… the Devious Cathedral can help defeat even the mightiest of enemies.”
Cyrus dropped his eyes to his head.
“I’m an outcast from my family. After what I did… what… happened… they’ll never accept me back.”
“Have you been home since this… incident… happened?”
Cyrus looks up again, at the nothing.
“No.”
“Listen to me, Cyrus. Understand what I’m telling you. In order to prepare for the future… you must reconcile with the past.”
Cyrus leaned up, then stood completely up.
“I’ll be back in a few weeks, Lord Deviant.”
Cyrus grabbed his jacket, walking down the steps. As Cyrus made it to the doors of the Cathedral, he grabbed his head.
Dropped his jacket.
Collapsed to the ground into the fetal position.
Inside his head flashed white images, too bright to distinguish. Then.
Alexia. His wife.
In front of her, was a sharp dressed man with long blonde hair.
The camera faded as a soft voice can be heard in the background.
“What you will see will blow your mind…”
And the faint sound of footsteps, walking away from Cyrus, still collapsed on the ground.
