Post by Mark Hunter on Nov 11, 2021 15:39:14 GMT -5
HUNTER’S FEAST
The door to his hospital room opened, and his daughters ran to him to hug him. Both Sophie, and Alexa were completely happy to see their father/step-father/whatever he is in one piece and inspiring them to do the best they can. Their arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he couldn't help but to tear a little. Jelena leaned on the wall with her arms folded, and brushed her blonde hair from out of her face. She wasn't all too happy that he’d told her he’d compete again if cleared but she was proud of his determination. However, something more was bothering her. This was the same hospital that gave her brother Steve Martyn the news he’d never wrestle again. Sophie, and Alexa sat beside their father, and hugged onto his arms to comfort him. He needed it. Mark, still showing bruising around the head, was just shaken from the attack on Proving Ground after he put everything on the line, and he was genuinely unsure if what the future held, getting cleared before Clash For The Cup was no guarantee. Sophie broke the quiet mood.
“You did great Dad, we're proud of you.”
The next voice is Alexa’s.
“Yeah! I like the part when you picked them up, and slammed ‘em. You got up, and flipped back to land on him. Also the kick to the face, and the elbows. And, and, and, you kept hitting him, and picking him up.”
Alexa got off the seat, and tried to recreate his moves. She kept running back, and forth doing crazy kicks, and punches while babbling on, and on about her father's highlights. Mark, and Sophie couldn't help but laugh from her antics, and even the clearly worried and distracted Jelena chuckled. It even got up to a point where Alexa did an elbow drop on the floor, and pretended to get the pin. She was so proud to see her father in action. Sophie helped her off the floor, and they both sat down beside him again. Alexa grabbed Mark’s jacket off the chair to wear it herself. She covered the hoodie over her hair, and pretended to do a stance he has down for the crowd in times gone by.
“I'm going to be "The Straight Shooter” Alexa Hunter.”
“That is if you actually make it to the ring. Until then, you're only Alexa Huntington.”
“If you can do it, so can I.”
“Touche.”
Sophie interjects “Anyways, it was a great show overall. Except for the bit where you almost died, and other crazy stuff. But there is still so much I don’t understand. Things like why is Brandon Hendrix such an ass.”
Alexa pipes up “Oh I know why.”
“...Why?”
“He thinks everyone is ISIS.”
“What?” Comes loud and clear from all three others in the room.
“It's obvious. Why else would he be like that to others? He’s deluded and thinks he’s a hero.”
Mark placed his face in his palm as Alexa kept on with her theory. Sophie sat there trying to understand where in the hell she managed to even get to a conclusion. Jelena, although amused by the comment, half looked away, and stared into the outside hall. She needed to leave this place, she just didn't want to be here, the place was the end for her brother and now her partner was here in a similar position. Mark looks at Alexa.
“To be honest, I think you should become the new Head Writer for a wrestling company.”
“But Dad...I suck at writing.”
“In the wrestling business that means the job is yours.”
Sophie… “I'm confused.”
Sophie brushed her long dark hair back, and fixed the collar on her white buttoned shirt. She was more of the fashionable type in the classy yet young aspect. Alexa was the total opposite. Didn’t care and was too young to start caring. Sophie looked around at the hospital room he was assigned to. It was pretty small but pretty cosy at the same time. Magnolia painted walls, plastic lockers around with a television set on the wall. Blue washable flooring, and a couple of uncomfortable chairs to match the uncomfortable bed. Mark's suitcase, and clothes were behind him, and he was ready to leave to bring his family back to the hotel where his brother in law was looking after the twins. He felt better and just prayed that the future tests he had to return for wouldn’t end his career.
“I'm sure you've heard the saying 'Take three shots to give one.' Hmm. I take three THOUSAND shots to give one, but I make that one COUNT. You see Arata and Swindle may have won the battle when they put me in hospital, they may have STOLEN part of me. They'll puff out their chests and parade around as if they’ve actually achieved something, and they'll tell you how PROUD they are of what they accomplished. They'll tell you how GREAT it feels to leave Mark Hunter lying.”
“But they lie. And I know they lie, because I know the hell that I’ll personally put them through. I know that as bad as my head injury is, their bodies are set to be a million times worse. I know that as bad as my bones ache, theirs will be SCREAMING in unbearable agony. I know that no matter what pain I inflict on myself or they inflicted on me, Mr. Shelldrake and Mr. Asakura are set to wake up to a hell that most lack the cognitive capacity to comprehend.”
Hunter's smirk morphs into a scowl.
“Rome was not built in a day. Wars are not won... in a single battle. THIS... is a war of attrition. And history is not written by the winners of battles but the victors of war. And make no mistake about it, my war is far from over. There are few inevitables in this world but death, taxes are the undying wrath of the Mark FUCKING Hunter are among them. And when we write the history – when the Grand title is back around my rightful waist - the likes of Arata and Swindle will be relegated to a FOOTNOTE... a mere after-thought in my legacy.”
“But...”
Mark leans back. In doing so, he reveals that the area around his right eye is still after a couple of weeks covered in bruising.
“But that isn’t enough, that won't mean that I am content. So what more am I to do? Hmmm? I am... to feast. I am to sharpen the talons and strip the flesh from the other sacrificial lamb whose name is… Ozymandias.”
Hunter sneers.
“Ozy. Even your name is weak and loathsome. Are you familiar with the concept of a whited sepulchre? Of course, you're not. You're a neanderthal who is unfamiliar with anything outside of your own narrow mind. A whited sepulchre is a coffin, painted in magnificent gleaming white. It is opulent, splendid and impressive on the outside... but the inside holds nothing but decaying remains, an empty box with an impressive exterior. You, Ozymandias... are a whited sepulchre. Your ego, your muscles, and your bravado make for an impressive exterior, but inside... inside you are hollow. You are a worthless, pathetic nothing.”
Hunter can't help but grin. His lips curling as he speaks.
“And at Clash For The Cup you'll find that all the muscularity and vascularity won't be able to help you when you're in the ring with me. Your bench press can't protect you. Your deadlift can't save you. Realize this now, Ozy: This is the Proving Ground that Mark Hunter has made important. This is where fighters fight. REAL fighters. If you want to go play oiled-up grab-ass with the other 'roided up neanderthals then go crawling back to whatever gym from whence you came.”
“And who am I to say this, you might ask, how can the previous champion say this? Who is this man that weighs over a hundred pounds less than you do and stands almost a foot shorter? I am an evil you can’t comprehend Ozy. And I swear to you by all that is holy and unholy that all your time flexing in front of mirrors and crowds has not prepared you for the pure, unadulterated HELL I have in store for you. You may have the physique of a god, but you will be standing in the ring a GODKILLER. Every weakness you have, I will find. Every tinge of self-doubt, I will exploit. You'll swear that there is a goddamned demon in the ring with you, because... frankly... there will be. You'll watch that promising future you had envisioned slip between your fingers as I gnaw the meat from your bones. You'll wonder how someone so visibly inferior could inflict such immeasurable pain as you scream through a dry throat and make only hollow, whining squeals. Helplessness will wash over you as I strip you of the manhood you sought to build through creatine and push-presses. You will be exposed. You're naked, decaying carcass emptied from its sepulchre. A feast for the Hunter.”