The Warrior, Unbroken (CFTC PPV)
Nov 11, 2021 21:22:35 GMT -5
bennett and Masters of the Tooniverse like this
Post by OZYMANDIAS on Nov 11, 2021 21:22:35 GMT -5
WHERE HE WHO SLUMBERS
SHALL ARISE
“...surrounded by snakes. Surrounded by weasels. Hungry pests, viciously fighting over scraps, lingering long enough so that they might be chosen to feast on the real prize.”
Meredith’s words carry long and far, her voice echoing off the walls around her. As she stands in front of a burning brazier, tossing various accoutrements into the fire and watching them light into flames. A fan t-shirt of TJ Thompson, a signed poster of Swindle Shelldrake, a replica jacket of Mark Hunter’s, an imitation hairpiece of Arata Asakura’s.
Each item catches fire, sizzling and sparking before her.
“We have chanted their names, we have brought identity to their threats, and now we will sacrifice our blood to grant us victory.”
Slowly and meekly, four hooded figures walk forward and stand around the brazier, as Meredith looks at them all. Almost form thin air she brandishes a shining silver blade, and with vorpal efficiency she serrated the palm and the figure to her right, their hand oozing its sweet crimson nectar with ease. Circling the brazier, she performs the same action upon the next person's palm, again opening a wound for the world to revel in. She continues until all four have been sliced, all four are dripping their life essence.
“Children, we stand here before the altar of the mighty and great Cthulhu, to honor his name with our lives. To grant him passage to this realm through us. They give him strength to rise once again. Your sacrifices today will not be forgotten, for you hold the key to the great dreaming city on R’lyeh in your blood. Four mongrels seek to attack us, and four sacrificial wolves will meet them at the door.”
She motions for all four of the hooded figures to drip their blood into the burning brazier, which they do willingly. Their claret oozes and sizzles as it hits the scorched wood within, causing embers to fly up and dance around the sky before them. The cave they are all stood inside dancing with the orange glow of the fire, showcases how bright one can burn.
As the flames dance in tandem with the fresh blood, the arranged followers before this scene begin to chant. A couple dozen or more, robed and hooded also, standing within this vast cave and chanting the same phrase over and over.
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
Meredith motions for the four sacrificial donors to rejoin their collective, standing before this scene but separated by a flowing river of water. Stones guide the way back, but as the hooded figures return to their group a number of loud shots ring harshly through the cave, one by one gunshots deafening all inside.
One, two, three, four.
Stood by the fire is Meredith, a revolver held high in her hand. Behind her, sat atop the makeshift throne, is her warrior, her brother in arms, her Grand Champion.
Ozymandias.
“Finish what they promised.”
With the four figures downed, each cavorting in pain from their gunshot wounds, the collective of hooded figures spring forward and drag them into the river, pulling them underneath the surface of the water. Outmatched, outnumbered, and bleeding profusely, the four sacrificial lambs fight in futility against the angry mob, as they are forced under the icy cold cave water, slowly coming to the demise.
“We are on the precipice of greatness… there is no turning back.”
Meredith watches on with a look of sick satisfaction on her face, as the four blood donors are drowned before her. Their kicking, their thrashing, their last efforts at self-perseverance only seem to entertain her. And behind her, sat on a throne of emeralds and jade stone, the Butcher watches on.
The Butcher understands.
They are too close to stop now.
THREE NIGHTS PREVIOUS
OLD HARBOUR
The oncoming change in weather has the town on full alert, as has been the trend for weeks now. The shift from the high pressure and clear skies of the summer to the gradual and eventual storms of the winter has caused much concern for the denizens of the small fishing town.
Homes have been protected and reinforced, from nailing shutter their loose wooden shutters to sealing their homes to brace against the cold. The seasonal shift is never this drastic or severe, but with the state of the world and the poison that resides upon its surface, Mother Earth is angry.
Congregated in the village inn, Meredith Agnar stands upon a wooden lobster cage and tries in vain to carry her voice across the room.
“...we will see supplies and materials from the mainland early next week, and our wares are prepped and ready to go. We just need to bide our time for a clear sailing opportunity-”
“What do you know about sailing! You only ever leave this rock by means of that fancy yacht of yours!”
“I assure you, I understand what worries and concerns you are all feeling right now.”
“Worry about yourself Missy, sitting pretty in your nice house all stocked up with goods. Who will feed my children if the boats stop coming in!”
“And my livestock!”
“You made us sell all our yield for the year to pay for this bloody mission of yers, and left us with nothing for when the cold arrives!”
“My people, listen to me, things WILL work out. Things WILL be fine!”
“Arra we should have kicked you Agnar’s out back in your Father’s time! Mayor my arse!”
The rabble of the crowd grows louder and louder, to the point where Meredith can only scream to be heard.
“Will you listen up for one bloody minute!!”
That yell seems to shut them up, if only for a brief moment.
“I understand your worries, and yes you are right. I told you to sell everything to the mainlanders. I urged you to build relations with those in Anchorage and afar. I promised you that we would exchange our crops, our wheat and our corn for rich, rewarding ingredients from the mainland.”
She holds a finger up, before the crowd can offer their rebuttal.
“And that is all in place still, we will feast on mutton and lamb and beef this winter, much as promised. We will exchange our corn, wheat and chicken eggs for red meat and fine wines. We will eat fish only when we desire, and not by necessity. The riches of our works are coming… but the weather must break for this to happen.”
More uproar again, as the hungry farmers of the village yell and shout back. They are correct of course, Meredith urged them to produce more income for the village coffers each year. She urged them to sell all their yield from the fields, so much so that their reserves even ran dry. She urged them to become cash rich, a veritable wealthy, yet hungry, fishing village.
And so far that has worked. But what do the people see in return for this hard work? What do they get in place of their crops and their produce?
“I’m hungry now! I want to eat steak now! Now wait another two weeks for the damn rains to make me seize up.”
As the townspeople yell at their Mayor, Meredith can only pause and catch her breath.
“I have ordered the goods from the Mainland… the boats will arrive in the next night or two… and you will all be fed and happy. Our brother Ozymandias has seen to it personally, and funded the deliveries himself. If you have issues, then I can direct you to his home to take it up with him personally.”
She stops for a moment, watching each person to see if their expression changes from anger or suspicion to joy, but alas it doesn't.
“I have used your money to build something for this town, for this village. I have used your incomes to build our future, and set us up for a greater beginning when the Reckoning comes. Before I hear more complaints, because I know damn well not all of you agree with me when it comes to discussion on my God, on my views of the New World or the future of Old Harbour… you can at least agree that I have never put this village behind me.”
She pauses, letting her words sink in.
“I have never hurt this village, or it’s people. I have never sought to cause suffering or punishment for its people. As your Mayor, I have a right and a duty to you people… and my actions and my preparations are only, ONLY, for the good of this town.”
With a touch of emotion in her voice, Meredith pauses to catch her breath. Stood at the rear of the group, a friendly face gives her a nod, motioning her to continue. She looks at this face, staring into his eyes, her friend from so long ago. His expression is buried beneath his metallic mask, but she appreciates her friend being there.
“Old Harbour will prosper. Your hard work this year will be rewarded. And our benefiter, Brother Ozymandias, has seen to it that each household will receive a greater share of the goods coming in too. His income, his own money has been put back into this village, to make Old Harbour what it once was.”
A long time ago the sight of the Butcher walking amongst the people would have sent them running, scared of what he could do, or might do. But her words remind them that they are a community, and they are as one.
“My people… MY people… trust in me that what I am building is for us all. Trust in me that our path leads to something else, something spectacular. And that your future will thrive with the spoils of our Wars… the boats from the mainland should arrive in the next night or two. Until then, return home, rest, and stay safe and warm from the oncoming storm.”
The townsfolk down necessarily applaud for her, nor do they hold their silence either. There remains some rabble and sounds of unhappiness from the crowd, but they disperse and move out at least, emptying through the Inn doors at the front.
“You will see, my friends...my children, you will see.”
She mutters her final words under her breath, and as she steps down from the temporary lobster cage platform, her demeanor all but changes. Her public address has appeased the townsfolk, but there is still much to do.
They are close. So so close.
TWO NIGHTS PREVIOUS
THE PIER
The storm has come, but it has not yet reached its full potential. Winds howl and rains blow sideways, but the cold snap of the air and the shrill aggression of the elements is subdued. The town of Old Harbour dances in the night sky, the glimmer of lights from each abode flickering in the wind almost, the rain drops distorting the image from the long stone pier.
For a cold wet night however, there is nothing but joy in the air as the ships from the mainland did indeed arrive, intact and ahead of schedule. The fishing folk working the piers arrive with a look of glee on their face, to help unload the rich meats and cheese, wines and produce from the fleet.
Old Harbours' meek offerings of fish, corn, wheat or chicken had grown old on their tongues, so the residents were far more obliged to offer up their annual incomes to Meredith, in return for a veritable bounty of goods in return. She promised them foods and cuisines from the mainland they normally only dream of, but now for this winter they will eat like royalty.
And why shouldn’t they? Thanks to their work and their efforts, Meredith was able to build something truly… awe inspiring for the village. For Old Harbour.
“It’s good to finally see them smiling, and happy. Makes for a good change, I don’t think I could listen to another whine from them or else I would have drowned them in the Bay myself.”
Stood upon the pier, Meredith watches the fishing folk unload the goods onto carts and trailers, bustling past her on the long stony platform. Standing next to her is her friend, Ozymandias.
“The cold winds and wet skies don’t even seem to falter their step. Amazing what red bloodied steaks and some wine can do to raise a man’s spirits.”
Ozymandias is wearing a tightly sealed overcoat, sheep's wool in nature. Meredith on the other hand wears nothing, but her classic black silken dress. A woman numb to the elements, as per usual.
“What ARE you building for them?”
She has mentioned it time and time again, but has kept the secret from Ozymandias all this time. Truthfully, she wishes she could tell him. Truthfully she is dying to show her cards, but she has kept everything as close to the chest as possible.
“You will see, in due time. It will be ready. We are still preparing it, another night or so perhaps.”
As the deliveries fly by them, Meredith turns and links her arm around that of Ozymandias’, guiding him back along the pier towards the town.
“Tell me, friend, do you worry about the fight ahead?”
She looks up to him, but his focus is directly ahead on the town, no sign of him changing expressions.
“Good, that is what I had hoped. It is a foolish endeavor from Indy Darling to grant these rodents this opportunity, especially given their past with you. Each has tried their arm, and each has lost in vain. Why reward these fools with yet another opportunity to embarrass themselves?”
He doesn’t acknowledge anything, but she knows he is listening.
“The townsfolk have been talking about this, you know, discussing your odds. Discussing your options. Rarely do I hear them invested in your affairs, as their minds remain firmly on their trades or their crafts. Farmers will farm, fishers will fish, but it seems the word of your dominance has become a topic of inspiration to them. Almost as if they were your fans.”
She snickers, amused by the prospect. Ozymandias, lets off a longer breath, his metallic mask whistling as he does.
“It amuses you too, no? That you have become a figure for these people, more than a monarch. More than a protector. You have become an idol for them, someone they can look up to and admire. Truly, you have become their Warrior, in many different aspects.”
They take a few more steps, but Ozymandias breaks their silence.
“They should not bother themselves with watching my fights. They should not admire nor encourage what I do.”
“Why not? You don’t enjoy the attention? You don't like the fame that it brings?”
He pauses before making his reply.
“I want them to respect me, and to fear me. If they think I am on their side, if they think I fight FOR them… then they will need to be reminded.”
Meredith smirks upon hearing this, tugging his arm closer to her.
“They fear you… have no doubts about that my friend. And when they see what you can do to those four wishful-thinkers… they will truly see what you are made up of.”
As they walk along the pier, making sure to give a wide berth to the workers passing them with goods, Meredith decides to change the tone of the conversation. The winds howl almost in reaction, knowing she is about to bring up the colder topics.
“TJ Thompson… you have broken him before. You have broken his cohort Petey multiple times. He doesn’t stand a chance against you and all your might… what are your thoughts on him this time?”
Ozymandias turns and adjusts his neck, cracking it as he does so, almost bracing for a fight. His breathing changes too, evident by the tin and whistling sounds escaping his mask.
“I find it insulting that this man, this boy, would get yet another opportunity to stand against me and admire himself as a future champion. A fool, a clown. A parody, the very idea that he might beat me in any capacity is amusing. But the reality is that, should he win, I would need to call him MY champion…”
Ozymandias stops, his voice sounding gruff as he clearly bites his one tongue in anger.
“I do not believe the ‘Beast’ to pose a concern to you. Not in this match, and not in any event. However… snakes must be treated with caution. What of Mark Hunter?”
“The only other person in this match to taste gold, the only other person in this match that might test me in the ring. When I last faced Hunter, I was hungry, I was naïve. I was eager to break him, and make an example of what I was capable of.”
“And what has changed now?”
“...nothing. I did break him, I did make an example of him. And the world sees me for what I am, because of him. Hunter seeks revenge, he seeks justice. He wishes to take the belt back for himself, and herald himself as a conqueror.”
“And, is he? Is he capable of conquering the mighty Ozymandias?”
Silence, apart from the sounds of their footsteps, and the wind blowing between them.
“If he can seize the victory, IF he can take the Grand belt back for himself… then I will have truly and utterly been beaten. I will be broken, and unable to continue. I don’t see Hunter capable of rendering me useless, but if he does… I will accept my defeat.”
Meredith shoots him a puzzled look, and for the first time on their walk back along the pier they properly make eye contact.
“I have not tasted true defeat in so long. It would be a challenge I welcomely accept.”
“You are a strange man, my friend. Openly seeking pain and suffering, all to test yourself further. One that you know will be seeking that is Asakura. You never danced with the Shogun in WrestleWorld, and your match with him in Project Honor was less than climatic.”
“Arata is a fraud. An entertainer. A loud mouth designed to entertain the doltish audience and the moronic fans that support him. His time as a champion in WrestleWorld failed to impress me, but his time in Project Honor as a jobber amuses me.”
Ozymandias side steps with Meredith, moving them both out of the way as a man pushing a cart of wine goes by, rattling in that loud shrill glass-heavy melody as he moves. Before continuing to walk, Ozymandias looks Meredith in the eye once again.
“There was potential in Asakura. There was a threat when his name was mentioned. But like a crying baby, he longs for his mothers milk, and he views this golden belt as that. He is not fit to be a Champion again, he is not fit to lead a roster of warriors. He is a forgotten, failed, fragile ego and he would do best to withdraw from this fight.”
Meredith chuckles, nodding slightly.
“So much for the mighty Ozymandias being a ‘man of few words’, but I understand your thinking. Arata Asakura was once the pinnacle of the wrestling world. He once ruled with a golden fist.”
“He disappointed me in battle, he underwhelmed me with his presence. He is no God, no Shogun. He is but a man, a fragile failed man.”
As they walk along the pier, Ozymandias kicks a loose stone, splashing into the water nearby. They are almost towards the end of this pier, but Meredith is inspired by the splash. By the dark, opaque liquid surrounding them on the cold, frantic night.
“It is funny, is it not, that we worship a God so foul in description, so horrific in nature that people dare not even draw his image. Those tales that mentioned him did so with caution, for fear of waking the slumbering Old One, and losing their mind to his psionic erasure. And now there is another, that copies his visage as a means to intimidate or scare others.”
She kicks another stone into the water.
“‘The Kraken’, the foul beats of the depths. The overpowering, overbearing might of the beast is said to tear vast ships apart, and pull all who enter its domain to the depths where it sleeps… I wonder how the Kraken would fare against the Deep Ones of R’lyeh?”
She snickers again, unlocking her arm from Ozymandias’s as they finally approach the end of the pier, and turn to walk parallel to the village on their voyage home.
“He amuses me, you know. A long, lanky figure with delusions of grandeur. A man boasting a fearful name, an ominous threat of overpowering domination… yet he has already lost at the hands of Asakura. Already tasted defeat to Mark Hunter. Lost to lesser foes again, with only a mere couple of wins to call his own.”
Ozymandias side-eyes her, wondering where she is going with this.
“A boy, a bright-eyed eager boy, much like TJ Thompson, simply raised his hands and joined Darling’s team of jobbers. And was lucky to seize a close victory. A fresh young upstart, excited to get his career going, and has faced bitter defeat against former ‘greats’. His main claim to fame in Project Honor is that he defeated Asakura…”
She pauses, rubbing his thumb across her lip as she smiles.
“The ‘Hipbeast’ makes me laugh, a foolish foolish idiot far out of his depth. At least he knows that he is a comedy act. But Shelldrake? Is he truly so ignorant that he is unaware that he is in this match as cannon fodder? Does he believe he is in this fight for anything other than to be a patsy?”
She stops herself from kicking another loose rock, and instead bends down to pick it up. Eyeing it up before she tosses it into the water, Ozymandias instead asks her for the stone.
“A great conquest requires many fallen soldiers. A defeat over your foe is one thing, a grand battle with a field of fallen enemies is another. Thompson and Asakura pose no concern to me, Hunter is the only one of them truly capable of holding a golden belt again. But I do not see him capable of taking mine. As for this last pawn, Shelldrake…”
He looks at the stone, summarizing its shapes and curves before effortlessly snapping it in half and tossing both pieces on the floor.
“He doesn’t deserve his own moniker. He is no kraken. He is a false idol, a wannabe. But if he desires to see a true monster of the deep… then I will gladly send his remains to R’lyeh.”
Meredith and Ozymandias exchange a moment, looking into one another's eyes before Ozymandias extends his arm once again, only for Meredith to accept. The storm blows all around them, with everyone else rushing to and fro. But for these friends, this storm is a symbol of change. A moment of peace.
A harsh onslaught, to wash away the failures of the past.
ONE NIGHT PREVIOUS
THE CAVE
A small rowing boat navigates its way around the sharp, shallow jagged rocks on the cliff face facing out towards the Pacific Ocean. An enormous wall of limestone, porous enough to allow streams of water to escape its very surface, each of its ‘pores’ gushing out life from within. Atop this vast cliff sits Meredith’s previous homage to the sea, her last tribunal piece to her God… the lighthouse.
Built on the cliff edge versus at sea level, her ideology behind it is that she did not seek to steer ships away, but instead guide something to shore. Something vast, something great. Lit by a large burning brazier of copper and bronze, Meredith’s efforts have been rewarded with a beautiful sight for all upon to sea to enjoy, and a place of escape and serenity for those within the village.
Her tribute to the Great Old One.
“One of my finest ideas, perhaps, is having that lighthouse erected to honor the seas. Every time I look at it I just…”. She practically shivers with delight. “Our God will see his beacon when he arises, and he will know Old Harbour awaits him. I relish that moment.”
They continue rowing forward, Ozymandias on the oars and Meredith sat at the bow. She guides him through a channel of shallow rocks, and thankfully a slight lull in the winds allows them a smooth passage.
“This cave you have mentioned...how have I not seen it before? I have travelled these waters for years.”
She turns to him and smiles, the wind lightly catching her hair and lifting it.
“It must have been delivered to us, a gift perhaps.”
They exchange glances but Meredith turns away, allowing Ozymandias to row in silence. As moments pass them by and they circle the cliff edge, a small opening appears on the rocks surface. A passageway into the cliff itself, too small for a large vessel, but tight enough that their little raft can make it inside with room to spare. Ozymandias grows concerned as they approach, his eyes darting to the rising tide and the inner darkness of the cave.
“Do not fret my friend, even if the waters should rise to meet us, there is room for us inside. Trust my guidance.”
Her words of reassurance seem to quell his suspicions, but alas he rows forth. As they enter the cave he realizes what she says is true, for after a narrow passageway the enormity of the cave becomes apparent. Vast walls or jagged edges, looming ceilings with precarious rock formation dangle above them, stalactites pointing towards them like vicious fingers from the dark.
“My friend… I am honored to present you something spectacular today.”
She pulls a lantern from a box on the boat, lighting up the paraffin to sending waves of dancing light across the room. The row forward, the ocean behind them and now just a sea river flowing before them. Within a short distance they come to a stop, before a large looming wall. Jumping out, Ozymandias pulls the boat onto dry with ease and helps Meredith to make her exit.
“What is this place?”
“This will be the gathering place for our tribe. This will be where we rebuild the collective. This is where we will honor him, and call to him in R’lyeh.”
She walks ahead of him, guiding him forward, eager to show him something.
“The four that oppose you are volatile. They are unpredictable. They are a pack of mongrels, uncoordinated and sloppy. However… should they unite against you, then I fear for our chances.”
Her words seem to anger the Butcher, his breathing pattern changing, evident in his wheezing mask.
“I do not bring you here to taunt you or anger you my friend, I grow concerned with the possibilities of what be. This place… is where we can adjust the odds back in our favour.”
She leads him to an area that looks to be carved rock, man made. Inscriptions upon the wall are illegible, at least to modern dialogue however the images, the etchings they see before them…
“Is this… this is… !”
His excitement is met with shock, met with confusion as he looks at the images. Meredith smiles as she holds the lantern closer, for a better look at what it shows. A crude image of the sea, an emerald green island amidst it, and a monstrous figure of wings and anthopoidic features above it all.
Cthulhu.
“This is his throne room, brother. This is where they call to him, where they worshipped him many moons ago. This is where we begin.”
She moves forward, pulling a distracted beast by the hand until they find one more feature, the final piece of her surprise. A chair, carved from pure rock, blending into the wall behind it.
“This is his throne. This is where you will sit.”
“His throne? I do not follow, his enormity would not fit in this cave.”
“No brother, not the Great Old One… this throne is for his Warrior.” She pauses, smiling with glee. “...you. This is your throne. Sit upon it, and take your place as his chosen Warrior."
For the first time in a while, Ozymandias falters, almost nervous, afraid perhaps. Reluctantly he finds his way to the seat, and sits in it. His looming throne, fit for a King.
"Tomorrow we will adorn this cave with light, with offerings and delights to honor our God. Tomorrow we will address you finally, as his chosen Warrior. Tomorrow, we will adjust the odds to our favour, gifting you the strength and power to fight the four dogs barking at your heels.”
He looks at her, not quite understanding what she means, but remains quiet.
“Tomorrow… we will sacrifice the lives of those who protest against us, who shout and caw at us, who naysay our mission or our goal. Tomorrow… they will be sent to R’lyeh, to give us strength, and to curse the four pillars standing before us.”
She cackles, breaking into a sick smile, as she watches Ozymandias sit in his throne. A beast, a warrior, a predator, a goliath. Everything his opponents consider themselves, all rolled into one.
The Warrior, Ozymandias.
THE CALL
The final night, the last moment of solitude before the gauntlet begins. Ozymandias against the throng of Indy Darling’s finest. The Grand Champion, against the hungry. The starved.
Victorious in battle against most thus far, dominant in his field, on the precipice of being hailed as the greatest champion to ever reside within Project Honor, he knows what needs to be done. He knows that mercy and restraint have no place in this fight. He understands that blood must be spilled, bones must be broken, and lives changed forever more.
Ozymandias, entering the ring as the Grand Champion, leaving as the greatest Champion on record. One more fight, one more gauntlet, then he can finally lay his challenge to the Legacy, and make that his own. The twin gates of R’lyeh are vast and mighty, but each requires a key.
Two golden keys.
Ozymandias has one, he needs the other. He cannot lose what he has worked so hard to attain, he cannot slip or fall at this last hurdle. Shelldrake, Hunter, Thompson, Asakura.
Four names ahead of him, four more strikes against their records, four more wins on Ozymandias’ rise to the top.
As the next night begins, the cave is adorned with lights, with merriment, with jewels and gleaming glass ornaments to worship and honor their God. Meredith has brought forth her flock, her robed followers and ‘cultists’, to join Ozymandias as he officially takes his throne.
The dark empty cave of the night before has been transformed into a mess hall of sorts. A wonderful, wicked dedication to the dark ones of the deep.
As drinks flow and wine is consumed, Meredith stands before Ozymandias on his seat.
“Are you ready?” He simply nods, no words again. With a slickly smirk, she nods back. “Then let us begin.”
Before them, in the middle of the cave sits a burning brazier, the fire lighting the room immensely. Meredith approaches, standing on a higher ground to observe the entire room.
“Children, friends, family… thank you for joining us tonight. We gather, not just to show our admiration for our eternal Slumbering God, but to finally honor and award our brother Ozymandias with his true title, his true lineage…. The Warrior or R’lyeh.”
They cheer, a delighted eruption.
“For some of you, this day has been a long time coming. This moment is the beginning of what we have all waited so long for, worked so tirelessly to get to. For others, your minds need more convincing, your train of thought needs redirection. That is ok, that is what we hope to do here tonight. To unite us, all, as one.”
She waves her hand through the air, addressing each and every person before her.
“A great war looms ahead of us, and our brother Ozymandias will be tested. He faces no one, but four pillars of strength. He walks into this fight at a great disadvantage, wearing the mark of a Champion, but also drawing all threats unto him. Our Warrior, our fierce and loyal protector, needs no help from us. He needs no aid, no assistance, no pity or concern. He is valiant, he is powerful and he is unstoppable.”
She motions to a pile of random items on the floor, apparel and merchandise from the Project Honor stalls it seems.
“Fake trophies, clothing and imagery to praise and cause fanfare for his opponents. Ozymandias does not need this! He does not need fanfare, admiration or cheers from mindless fans! He only needs his arena, his opponents, and his mission.”
She motions for people to come forward, and they stand around the fire watching her as she grabs some of the items.
“The Beast, TJ Thompson. A member of the clown squad alongside the previous thorn in our side, Lil Petey. A showboating, fresh-faced pest. A nuisance. The Butcher has already decimated this fool, when the fight comes… nothing will change.”
She tosses one of the merchandise items into the fire, watching it burn.
“Arata Asakura, the Shogun. The pinnacle of failure and disappointment, a once great warrior reduced to nothing but a crying child. A broken man, a former challenge. He is no benchmark, he is only in our way now.”
She tosses another item into the fire, watching it burn too.
“Swindle Shelldrake, the Kraken. A stretched out rat, a misled fool, a wishful dreamer. To say he is not a good performer would be an injustice, his place in this world is there. To spoil and cheer to the dumb, to slander his foes and shill his name to the brainless. But to place him in this fight, standing against the greatest Champion of all time? Insanity.”
She tosses some Shelldrake merch into the fire as before.
“Mark Hunter, the Straight Shooter. The former holder of that belt around Ozymandias’ shoulder, the former Grand Champion, the former great warrior. Reduced to… nothing. A fool that clashes with Asakura, a fool that intervenes when it is not his moment to do so, a fool that continues to dream and fantasize about his chances of once again raising the golden belt high above his head.”
She tosses the last of the merch into the fire.
“Hunter is a fool. Asakura is broken. Shelldrake is lost. Thompson is outmatched. These four men will enter the ring, enter into combat with our great Warrior, they will come forth with nothing, absolutely nothing, to offer Ozymandias, only their lives. With the strength of Cthulhu flowing through his veins, only the Butcher will remain, standing over their corpses.”
The final tone is sharp, nasty from her lips, as she almost snarls while speaking. Behind her Ozymandias sits on his throne, almost lounging, his golden belt strapped over his shoulder.
“We will make a pledge to the Great Old One, to offer support and strength to our brother, should he ever need it. We offer praise, loyalty and devotion to his efforts, so that we alone will be the ones to bear his weight. He is targeted, he is outnumbered, but he is not outmatched. Simply surrounded by the weak, by the frail, surrounded by snakes. Surrounded by weasels. Hungry pests, viciously fighting over scraps, lingering long enough so that they might be chosen to feast on the real prize.”
Meredith’s words carry long and far, her voice echoing off the walls around her. As she stands in front of the burning brazier, watching the various accoutrements melt and light into flames. A fan t-shirt of TJ Thompson, a signed poster of Swindle Shelldrake, a replica jacket of Mark Hunter’s, an imitation hairpiece of Arata Asakura’s.
Each item burning, weak and fragile, sparking before her.
“We have chanted their names, we have brought identity to their threats, and now we will sacrifice our strength to grant us victory.”
Slowly and meekly, four hooded figures walk forward and stand around the brazier, as Meredith looks at them all. Almost form thin air she brandishes a shining silver blade, and with vorpal efficiency she serrated the palm and the figure to her right, their hand oozing its sweet crimson nectar with ease. Circling the brazier, she performs the same action upon the next person's palm, again opening a wound for the world to revel in. She continues until all four have been sliced, all four are dripping their life essence.
“Children, we stand here before the altar of the mighty and great Cthulhu, to honor his name with our lives. To grant him passage to this realm through us. They give him strength to rise once again. Your sacrifices today will not be forgotten, for you hold the key to the great dreaming city on R’lyeh in your blood. Four mongrels seek to attack us, and four sacrificial wolves will meet them at the door.”
She motions for all four of the hooded figures to drip their blood into the burning brazier, which they do willingly. Their claret oozes and sizzles as it hits the scorched wood within, causing embers to fly up and dance around the sky before them. The cave they are stood inside dancing with the orange glow of the fire, showcasing how bright one can burn.
As the flames dance in tandem with the fresh blood, the arranged followers before this scene begin to chant. A couple dozen or more, robed and hooded also, standing within this vast cave and chanting the same phrase over and over.
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
Meredith motions for the four sacrificial donors to rejoin their collective, standing before this scene but separated by a flowing river of water. Stones guide the way back, but as the hooded figures return to their group a number of loud shots ring harshly through the cave, one by one gunshots deafening all inside.
One, two, three, four.
Stood by the fire is Meredith, a revolver held high in her hand. Behind her, Ozymandias watches on, unperturbed by what has just happened.
“Finish what they promised.”
With the four figures downed, each cavorting in pain from their gunshot wounds, the collective of hooded figures spring forward and drag them into the river, pulling them underneath the surface of the water. Outmatched, outnumbered, and bleeding profusely, the four sacrificial lambs fight in futility against the angry mob, as they are forced under the icy cold cave water, slowly coming to their demise.
“We are on the precipice of greatness… there is no turning back.”
Meredith watches on with a look of sick satisfaction on her face, as the four blood donors are drowned before her. Their kicking, their thrashing, their last efforts at self-perseverance only seem to entertain her. And behind her, sat on a throne of emeralds and jade stone, the Butcher watches on.
“These lambs were lost to the wolves long ago. Speaking aloud before me, protesting our goals and our mission, doubting our path forward. Whether it is in the Inn, in the fields or in this cave… if you do not wish to follow us and heed the Call, then you must decide. Stay, or leave.”
The folks remain silent, looking to her from their concealed garments.
“...good. We must cull the weak so that the herd can continue. We must break off the thorns in our side. The souls did not see the light of where we were going… but now they can aid us in their sacrifice. For R’lyeh. For Cthulhu. And…”
She turns around to look at Ozymandias, locking eyes with her friend.
“...and for our Warrior, the great Ozymandias.”
The congregation repeats after her, “For our Warrior”, and slowly they exit the water to dry land again. The fire crackles, spitting and splitting timber as it burns, the remaining followers standing in silence, listening to the embers dance. In the water, the lifeless bodies of four float there, defeated, deceased.
The sacrifice was made. Four lives gone, four lives remain. Only the Warrior can walk this path now.
The Grand Champion. The Greatest.
The Butcher understands.
They are too close to stop now.
SHALL ARISE
“...surrounded by snakes. Surrounded by weasels. Hungry pests, viciously fighting over scraps, lingering long enough so that they might be chosen to feast on the real prize.”
Meredith’s words carry long and far, her voice echoing off the walls around her. As she stands in front of a burning brazier, tossing various accoutrements into the fire and watching them light into flames. A fan t-shirt of TJ Thompson, a signed poster of Swindle Shelldrake, a replica jacket of Mark Hunter’s, an imitation hairpiece of Arata Asakura’s.
Each item catches fire, sizzling and sparking before her.
“We have chanted their names, we have brought identity to their threats, and now we will sacrifice our blood to grant us victory.”
Slowly and meekly, four hooded figures walk forward and stand around the brazier, as Meredith looks at them all. Almost form thin air she brandishes a shining silver blade, and with vorpal efficiency she serrated the palm and the figure to her right, their hand oozing its sweet crimson nectar with ease. Circling the brazier, she performs the same action upon the next person's palm, again opening a wound for the world to revel in. She continues until all four have been sliced, all four are dripping their life essence.
“Children, we stand here before the altar of the mighty and great Cthulhu, to honor his name with our lives. To grant him passage to this realm through us. They give him strength to rise once again. Your sacrifices today will not be forgotten, for you hold the key to the great dreaming city on R’lyeh in your blood. Four mongrels seek to attack us, and four sacrificial wolves will meet them at the door.”
She motions for all four of the hooded figures to drip their blood into the burning brazier, which they do willingly. Their claret oozes and sizzles as it hits the scorched wood within, causing embers to fly up and dance around the sky before them. The cave they are all stood inside dancing with the orange glow of the fire, showcases how bright one can burn.
As the flames dance in tandem with the fresh blood, the arranged followers before this scene begin to chant. A couple dozen or more, robed and hooded also, standing within this vast cave and chanting the same phrase over and over.
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
Meredith motions for the four sacrificial donors to rejoin their collective, standing before this scene but separated by a flowing river of water. Stones guide the way back, but as the hooded figures return to their group a number of loud shots ring harshly through the cave, one by one gunshots deafening all inside.
One, two, three, four.
Stood by the fire is Meredith, a revolver held high in her hand. Behind her, sat atop the makeshift throne, is her warrior, her brother in arms, her Grand Champion.
Ozymandias.
“Finish what they promised.”
With the four figures downed, each cavorting in pain from their gunshot wounds, the collective of hooded figures spring forward and drag them into the river, pulling them underneath the surface of the water. Outmatched, outnumbered, and bleeding profusely, the four sacrificial lambs fight in futility against the angry mob, as they are forced under the icy cold cave water, slowly coming to the demise.
“We are on the precipice of greatness… there is no turning back.”
Meredith watches on with a look of sick satisfaction on her face, as the four blood donors are drowned before her. Their kicking, their thrashing, their last efforts at self-perseverance only seem to entertain her. And behind her, sat on a throne of emeralds and jade stone, the Butcher watches on.
The Butcher understands.
They are too close to stop now.
THREE NIGHTS PREVIOUS
OLD HARBOUR
The oncoming change in weather has the town on full alert, as has been the trend for weeks now. The shift from the high pressure and clear skies of the summer to the gradual and eventual storms of the winter has caused much concern for the denizens of the small fishing town.
Homes have been protected and reinforced, from nailing shutter their loose wooden shutters to sealing their homes to brace against the cold. The seasonal shift is never this drastic or severe, but with the state of the world and the poison that resides upon its surface, Mother Earth is angry.
Congregated in the village inn, Meredith Agnar stands upon a wooden lobster cage and tries in vain to carry her voice across the room.
“...we will see supplies and materials from the mainland early next week, and our wares are prepped and ready to go. We just need to bide our time for a clear sailing opportunity-”
“What do you know about sailing! You only ever leave this rock by means of that fancy yacht of yours!”
“I assure you, I understand what worries and concerns you are all feeling right now.”
“Worry about yourself Missy, sitting pretty in your nice house all stocked up with goods. Who will feed my children if the boats stop coming in!”
“And my livestock!”
“You made us sell all our yield for the year to pay for this bloody mission of yers, and left us with nothing for when the cold arrives!”
“My people, listen to me, things WILL work out. Things WILL be fine!”
“Arra we should have kicked you Agnar’s out back in your Father’s time! Mayor my arse!”
The rabble of the crowd grows louder and louder, to the point where Meredith can only scream to be heard.
“Will you listen up for one bloody minute!!”
That yell seems to shut them up, if only for a brief moment.
“I understand your worries, and yes you are right. I told you to sell everything to the mainlanders. I urged you to build relations with those in Anchorage and afar. I promised you that we would exchange our crops, our wheat and our corn for rich, rewarding ingredients from the mainland.”
She holds a finger up, before the crowd can offer their rebuttal.
“And that is all in place still, we will feast on mutton and lamb and beef this winter, much as promised. We will exchange our corn, wheat and chicken eggs for red meat and fine wines. We will eat fish only when we desire, and not by necessity. The riches of our works are coming… but the weather must break for this to happen.”
More uproar again, as the hungry farmers of the village yell and shout back. They are correct of course, Meredith urged them to produce more income for the village coffers each year. She urged them to sell all their yield from the fields, so much so that their reserves even ran dry. She urged them to become cash rich, a veritable wealthy, yet hungry, fishing village.
And so far that has worked. But what do the people see in return for this hard work? What do they get in place of their crops and their produce?
“I’m hungry now! I want to eat steak now! Now wait another two weeks for the damn rains to make me seize up.”
As the townspeople yell at their Mayor, Meredith can only pause and catch her breath.
“I have ordered the goods from the Mainland… the boats will arrive in the next night or two… and you will all be fed and happy. Our brother Ozymandias has seen to it personally, and funded the deliveries himself. If you have issues, then I can direct you to his home to take it up with him personally.”
She stops for a moment, watching each person to see if their expression changes from anger or suspicion to joy, but alas it doesn't.
“I have used your money to build something for this town, for this village. I have used your incomes to build our future, and set us up for a greater beginning when the Reckoning comes. Before I hear more complaints, because I know damn well not all of you agree with me when it comes to discussion on my God, on my views of the New World or the future of Old Harbour… you can at least agree that I have never put this village behind me.”
She pauses, letting her words sink in.
“I have never hurt this village, or it’s people. I have never sought to cause suffering or punishment for its people. As your Mayor, I have a right and a duty to you people… and my actions and my preparations are only, ONLY, for the good of this town.”
With a touch of emotion in her voice, Meredith pauses to catch her breath. Stood at the rear of the group, a friendly face gives her a nod, motioning her to continue. She looks at this face, staring into his eyes, her friend from so long ago. His expression is buried beneath his metallic mask, but she appreciates her friend being there.
“Old Harbour will prosper. Your hard work this year will be rewarded. And our benefiter, Brother Ozymandias, has seen to it that each household will receive a greater share of the goods coming in too. His income, his own money has been put back into this village, to make Old Harbour what it once was.”
A long time ago the sight of the Butcher walking amongst the people would have sent them running, scared of what he could do, or might do. But her words remind them that they are a community, and they are as one.
“My people… MY people… trust in me that what I am building is for us all. Trust in me that our path leads to something else, something spectacular. And that your future will thrive with the spoils of our Wars… the boats from the mainland should arrive in the next night or two. Until then, return home, rest, and stay safe and warm from the oncoming storm.”
The townsfolk down necessarily applaud for her, nor do they hold their silence either. There remains some rabble and sounds of unhappiness from the crowd, but they disperse and move out at least, emptying through the Inn doors at the front.
“You will see, my friends...my children, you will see.”
She mutters her final words under her breath, and as she steps down from the temporary lobster cage platform, her demeanor all but changes. Her public address has appeased the townsfolk, but there is still much to do.
They are close. So so close.
TWO NIGHTS PREVIOUS
THE PIER
The storm has come, but it has not yet reached its full potential. Winds howl and rains blow sideways, but the cold snap of the air and the shrill aggression of the elements is subdued. The town of Old Harbour dances in the night sky, the glimmer of lights from each abode flickering in the wind almost, the rain drops distorting the image from the long stone pier.
For a cold wet night however, there is nothing but joy in the air as the ships from the mainland did indeed arrive, intact and ahead of schedule. The fishing folk working the piers arrive with a look of glee on their face, to help unload the rich meats and cheese, wines and produce from the fleet.
Old Harbours' meek offerings of fish, corn, wheat or chicken had grown old on their tongues, so the residents were far more obliged to offer up their annual incomes to Meredith, in return for a veritable bounty of goods in return. She promised them foods and cuisines from the mainland they normally only dream of, but now for this winter they will eat like royalty.
And why shouldn’t they? Thanks to their work and their efforts, Meredith was able to build something truly… awe inspiring for the village. For Old Harbour.
“It’s good to finally see them smiling, and happy. Makes for a good change, I don’t think I could listen to another whine from them or else I would have drowned them in the Bay myself.”
Stood upon the pier, Meredith watches the fishing folk unload the goods onto carts and trailers, bustling past her on the long stony platform. Standing next to her is her friend, Ozymandias.
“The cold winds and wet skies don’t even seem to falter their step. Amazing what red bloodied steaks and some wine can do to raise a man’s spirits.”
Ozymandias is wearing a tightly sealed overcoat, sheep's wool in nature. Meredith on the other hand wears nothing, but her classic black silken dress. A woman numb to the elements, as per usual.
“What ARE you building for them?”
She has mentioned it time and time again, but has kept the secret from Ozymandias all this time. Truthfully, she wishes she could tell him. Truthfully she is dying to show her cards, but she has kept everything as close to the chest as possible.
“You will see, in due time. It will be ready. We are still preparing it, another night or so perhaps.”
As the deliveries fly by them, Meredith turns and links her arm around that of Ozymandias’, guiding him back along the pier towards the town.
“Tell me, friend, do you worry about the fight ahead?”
She looks up to him, but his focus is directly ahead on the town, no sign of him changing expressions.
“Good, that is what I had hoped. It is a foolish endeavor from Indy Darling to grant these rodents this opportunity, especially given their past with you. Each has tried their arm, and each has lost in vain. Why reward these fools with yet another opportunity to embarrass themselves?”
He doesn’t acknowledge anything, but she knows he is listening.
“The townsfolk have been talking about this, you know, discussing your odds. Discussing your options. Rarely do I hear them invested in your affairs, as their minds remain firmly on their trades or their crafts. Farmers will farm, fishers will fish, but it seems the word of your dominance has become a topic of inspiration to them. Almost as if they were your fans.”
She snickers, amused by the prospect. Ozymandias, lets off a longer breath, his metallic mask whistling as he does.
“It amuses you too, no? That you have become a figure for these people, more than a monarch. More than a protector. You have become an idol for them, someone they can look up to and admire. Truly, you have become their Warrior, in many different aspects.”
They take a few more steps, but Ozymandias breaks their silence.
“They should not bother themselves with watching my fights. They should not admire nor encourage what I do.”
“Why not? You don’t enjoy the attention? You don't like the fame that it brings?”
He pauses before making his reply.
“I want them to respect me, and to fear me. If they think I am on their side, if they think I fight FOR them… then they will need to be reminded.”
Meredith smirks upon hearing this, tugging his arm closer to her.
“They fear you… have no doubts about that my friend. And when they see what you can do to those four wishful-thinkers… they will truly see what you are made up of.”
As they walk along the pier, making sure to give a wide berth to the workers passing them with goods, Meredith decides to change the tone of the conversation. The winds howl almost in reaction, knowing she is about to bring up the colder topics.
“TJ Thompson… you have broken him before. You have broken his cohort Petey multiple times. He doesn’t stand a chance against you and all your might… what are your thoughts on him this time?”
Ozymandias turns and adjusts his neck, cracking it as he does so, almost bracing for a fight. His breathing changes too, evident by the tin and whistling sounds escaping his mask.
“I find it insulting that this man, this boy, would get yet another opportunity to stand against me and admire himself as a future champion. A fool, a clown. A parody, the very idea that he might beat me in any capacity is amusing. But the reality is that, should he win, I would need to call him MY champion…”
Ozymandias stops, his voice sounding gruff as he clearly bites his one tongue in anger.
“I do not believe the ‘Beast’ to pose a concern to you. Not in this match, and not in any event. However… snakes must be treated with caution. What of Mark Hunter?”
“The only other person in this match to taste gold, the only other person in this match that might test me in the ring. When I last faced Hunter, I was hungry, I was naïve. I was eager to break him, and make an example of what I was capable of.”
“And what has changed now?”
“...nothing. I did break him, I did make an example of him. And the world sees me for what I am, because of him. Hunter seeks revenge, he seeks justice. He wishes to take the belt back for himself, and herald himself as a conqueror.”
“And, is he? Is he capable of conquering the mighty Ozymandias?”
Silence, apart from the sounds of their footsteps, and the wind blowing between them.
“If he can seize the victory, IF he can take the Grand belt back for himself… then I will have truly and utterly been beaten. I will be broken, and unable to continue. I don’t see Hunter capable of rendering me useless, but if he does… I will accept my defeat.”
Meredith shoots him a puzzled look, and for the first time on their walk back along the pier they properly make eye contact.
“I have not tasted true defeat in so long. It would be a challenge I welcomely accept.”
“You are a strange man, my friend. Openly seeking pain and suffering, all to test yourself further. One that you know will be seeking that is Asakura. You never danced with the Shogun in WrestleWorld, and your match with him in Project Honor was less than climatic.”
“Arata is a fraud. An entertainer. A loud mouth designed to entertain the doltish audience and the moronic fans that support him. His time as a champion in WrestleWorld failed to impress me, but his time in Project Honor as a jobber amuses me.”
Ozymandias side steps with Meredith, moving them both out of the way as a man pushing a cart of wine goes by, rattling in that loud shrill glass-heavy melody as he moves. Before continuing to walk, Ozymandias looks Meredith in the eye once again.
“There was potential in Asakura. There was a threat when his name was mentioned. But like a crying baby, he longs for his mothers milk, and he views this golden belt as that. He is not fit to be a Champion again, he is not fit to lead a roster of warriors. He is a forgotten, failed, fragile ego and he would do best to withdraw from this fight.”
Meredith chuckles, nodding slightly.
“So much for the mighty Ozymandias being a ‘man of few words’, but I understand your thinking. Arata Asakura was once the pinnacle of the wrestling world. He once ruled with a golden fist.”
“He disappointed me in battle, he underwhelmed me with his presence. He is no God, no Shogun. He is but a man, a fragile failed man.”
As they walk along the pier, Ozymandias kicks a loose stone, splashing into the water nearby. They are almost towards the end of this pier, but Meredith is inspired by the splash. By the dark, opaque liquid surrounding them on the cold, frantic night.
“It is funny, is it not, that we worship a God so foul in description, so horrific in nature that people dare not even draw his image. Those tales that mentioned him did so with caution, for fear of waking the slumbering Old One, and losing their mind to his psionic erasure. And now there is another, that copies his visage as a means to intimidate or scare others.”
She kicks another stone into the water.
“‘The Kraken’, the foul beats of the depths. The overpowering, overbearing might of the beast is said to tear vast ships apart, and pull all who enter its domain to the depths where it sleeps… I wonder how the Kraken would fare against the Deep Ones of R’lyeh?”
She snickers again, unlocking her arm from Ozymandias’s as they finally approach the end of the pier, and turn to walk parallel to the village on their voyage home.
“He amuses me, you know. A long, lanky figure with delusions of grandeur. A man boasting a fearful name, an ominous threat of overpowering domination… yet he has already lost at the hands of Asakura. Already tasted defeat to Mark Hunter. Lost to lesser foes again, with only a mere couple of wins to call his own.”
Ozymandias side-eyes her, wondering where she is going with this.
“A boy, a bright-eyed eager boy, much like TJ Thompson, simply raised his hands and joined Darling’s team of jobbers. And was lucky to seize a close victory. A fresh young upstart, excited to get his career going, and has faced bitter defeat against former ‘greats’. His main claim to fame in Project Honor is that he defeated Asakura…”
She pauses, rubbing his thumb across her lip as she smiles.
“The ‘Hipbeast’ makes me laugh, a foolish foolish idiot far out of his depth. At least he knows that he is a comedy act. But Shelldrake? Is he truly so ignorant that he is unaware that he is in this match as cannon fodder? Does he believe he is in this fight for anything other than to be a patsy?”
She stops herself from kicking another loose rock, and instead bends down to pick it up. Eyeing it up before she tosses it into the water, Ozymandias instead asks her for the stone.
“A great conquest requires many fallen soldiers. A defeat over your foe is one thing, a grand battle with a field of fallen enemies is another. Thompson and Asakura pose no concern to me, Hunter is the only one of them truly capable of holding a golden belt again. But I do not see him capable of taking mine. As for this last pawn, Shelldrake…”
He looks at the stone, summarizing its shapes and curves before effortlessly snapping it in half and tossing both pieces on the floor.
“He doesn’t deserve his own moniker. He is no kraken. He is a false idol, a wannabe. But if he desires to see a true monster of the deep… then I will gladly send his remains to R’lyeh.”
Meredith and Ozymandias exchange a moment, looking into one another's eyes before Ozymandias extends his arm once again, only for Meredith to accept. The storm blows all around them, with everyone else rushing to and fro. But for these friends, this storm is a symbol of change. A moment of peace.
A harsh onslaught, to wash away the failures of the past.
ONE NIGHT PREVIOUS
THE CAVE
A small rowing boat navigates its way around the sharp, shallow jagged rocks on the cliff face facing out towards the Pacific Ocean. An enormous wall of limestone, porous enough to allow streams of water to escape its very surface, each of its ‘pores’ gushing out life from within. Atop this vast cliff sits Meredith’s previous homage to the sea, her last tribunal piece to her God… the lighthouse.
Built on the cliff edge versus at sea level, her ideology behind it is that she did not seek to steer ships away, but instead guide something to shore. Something vast, something great. Lit by a large burning brazier of copper and bronze, Meredith’s efforts have been rewarded with a beautiful sight for all upon to sea to enjoy, and a place of escape and serenity for those within the village.
Her tribute to the Great Old One.
“One of my finest ideas, perhaps, is having that lighthouse erected to honor the seas. Every time I look at it I just…”. She practically shivers with delight. “Our God will see his beacon when he arises, and he will know Old Harbour awaits him. I relish that moment.”
They continue rowing forward, Ozymandias on the oars and Meredith sat at the bow. She guides him through a channel of shallow rocks, and thankfully a slight lull in the winds allows them a smooth passage.
“This cave you have mentioned...how have I not seen it before? I have travelled these waters for years.”
She turns to him and smiles, the wind lightly catching her hair and lifting it.
“It must have been delivered to us, a gift perhaps.”
They exchange glances but Meredith turns away, allowing Ozymandias to row in silence. As moments pass them by and they circle the cliff edge, a small opening appears on the rocks surface. A passageway into the cliff itself, too small for a large vessel, but tight enough that their little raft can make it inside with room to spare. Ozymandias grows concerned as they approach, his eyes darting to the rising tide and the inner darkness of the cave.
“Do not fret my friend, even if the waters should rise to meet us, there is room for us inside. Trust my guidance.”
Her words of reassurance seem to quell his suspicions, but alas he rows forth. As they enter the cave he realizes what she says is true, for after a narrow passageway the enormity of the cave becomes apparent. Vast walls or jagged edges, looming ceilings with precarious rock formation dangle above them, stalactites pointing towards them like vicious fingers from the dark.
“My friend… I am honored to present you something spectacular today.”
She pulls a lantern from a box on the boat, lighting up the paraffin to sending waves of dancing light across the room. The row forward, the ocean behind them and now just a sea river flowing before them. Within a short distance they come to a stop, before a large looming wall. Jumping out, Ozymandias pulls the boat onto dry with ease and helps Meredith to make her exit.
“What is this place?”
“This will be the gathering place for our tribe. This will be where we rebuild the collective. This is where we will honor him, and call to him in R’lyeh.”
She walks ahead of him, guiding him forward, eager to show him something.
“The four that oppose you are volatile. They are unpredictable. They are a pack of mongrels, uncoordinated and sloppy. However… should they unite against you, then I fear for our chances.”
Her words seem to anger the Butcher, his breathing pattern changing, evident in his wheezing mask.
“I do not bring you here to taunt you or anger you my friend, I grow concerned with the possibilities of what be. This place… is where we can adjust the odds back in our favour.”
She leads him to an area that looks to be carved rock, man made. Inscriptions upon the wall are illegible, at least to modern dialogue however the images, the etchings they see before them…
“Is this… this is… !”
His excitement is met with shock, met with confusion as he looks at the images. Meredith smiles as she holds the lantern closer, for a better look at what it shows. A crude image of the sea, an emerald green island amidst it, and a monstrous figure of wings and anthopoidic features above it all.
Cthulhu.
“This is his throne room, brother. This is where they call to him, where they worshipped him many moons ago. This is where we begin.”
She moves forward, pulling a distracted beast by the hand until they find one more feature, the final piece of her surprise. A chair, carved from pure rock, blending into the wall behind it.
“This is his throne. This is where you will sit.”
“His throne? I do not follow, his enormity would not fit in this cave.”
“No brother, not the Great Old One… this throne is for his Warrior.” She pauses, smiling with glee. “...you. This is your throne. Sit upon it, and take your place as his chosen Warrior."
For the first time in a while, Ozymandias falters, almost nervous, afraid perhaps. Reluctantly he finds his way to the seat, and sits in it. His looming throne, fit for a King.
"Tomorrow we will adorn this cave with light, with offerings and delights to honor our God. Tomorrow we will address you finally, as his chosen Warrior. Tomorrow, we will adjust the odds to our favour, gifting you the strength and power to fight the four dogs barking at your heels.”
He looks at her, not quite understanding what she means, but remains quiet.
“Tomorrow… we will sacrifice the lives of those who protest against us, who shout and caw at us, who naysay our mission or our goal. Tomorrow… they will be sent to R’lyeh, to give us strength, and to curse the four pillars standing before us.”
She cackles, breaking into a sick smile, as she watches Ozymandias sit in his throne. A beast, a warrior, a predator, a goliath. Everything his opponents consider themselves, all rolled into one.
The Warrior, Ozymandias.
THE CALL
The final night, the last moment of solitude before the gauntlet begins. Ozymandias against the throng of Indy Darling’s finest. The Grand Champion, against the hungry. The starved.
Victorious in battle against most thus far, dominant in his field, on the precipice of being hailed as the greatest champion to ever reside within Project Honor, he knows what needs to be done. He knows that mercy and restraint have no place in this fight. He understands that blood must be spilled, bones must be broken, and lives changed forever more.
Ozymandias, entering the ring as the Grand Champion, leaving as the greatest Champion on record. One more fight, one more gauntlet, then he can finally lay his challenge to the Legacy, and make that his own. The twin gates of R’lyeh are vast and mighty, but each requires a key.
Two golden keys.
Ozymandias has one, he needs the other. He cannot lose what he has worked so hard to attain, he cannot slip or fall at this last hurdle. Shelldrake, Hunter, Thompson, Asakura.
Four names ahead of him, four more strikes against their records, four more wins on Ozymandias’ rise to the top.
As the next night begins, the cave is adorned with lights, with merriment, with jewels and gleaming glass ornaments to worship and honor their God. Meredith has brought forth her flock, her robed followers and ‘cultists’, to join Ozymandias as he officially takes his throne.
The dark empty cave of the night before has been transformed into a mess hall of sorts. A wonderful, wicked dedication to the dark ones of the deep.
As drinks flow and wine is consumed, Meredith stands before Ozymandias on his seat.
“Are you ready?” He simply nods, no words again. With a slickly smirk, she nods back. “Then let us begin.”
Before them, in the middle of the cave sits a burning brazier, the fire lighting the room immensely. Meredith approaches, standing on a higher ground to observe the entire room.
“Children, friends, family… thank you for joining us tonight. We gather, not just to show our admiration for our eternal Slumbering God, but to finally honor and award our brother Ozymandias with his true title, his true lineage…. The Warrior or R’lyeh.”
They cheer, a delighted eruption.
“For some of you, this day has been a long time coming. This moment is the beginning of what we have all waited so long for, worked so tirelessly to get to. For others, your minds need more convincing, your train of thought needs redirection. That is ok, that is what we hope to do here tonight. To unite us, all, as one.”
She waves her hand through the air, addressing each and every person before her.
“A great war looms ahead of us, and our brother Ozymandias will be tested. He faces no one, but four pillars of strength. He walks into this fight at a great disadvantage, wearing the mark of a Champion, but also drawing all threats unto him. Our Warrior, our fierce and loyal protector, needs no help from us. He needs no aid, no assistance, no pity or concern. He is valiant, he is powerful and he is unstoppable.”
She motions to a pile of random items on the floor, apparel and merchandise from the Project Honor stalls it seems.
“Fake trophies, clothing and imagery to praise and cause fanfare for his opponents. Ozymandias does not need this! He does not need fanfare, admiration or cheers from mindless fans! He only needs his arena, his opponents, and his mission.”
She motions for people to come forward, and they stand around the fire watching her as she grabs some of the items.
“The Beast, TJ Thompson. A member of the clown squad alongside the previous thorn in our side, Lil Petey. A showboating, fresh-faced pest. A nuisance. The Butcher has already decimated this fool, when the fight comes… nothing will change.”
She tosses one of the merchandise items into the fire, watching it burn.
“Arata Asakura, the Shogun. The pinnacle of failure and disappointment, a once great warrior reduced to nothing but a crying child. A broken man, a former challenge. He is no benchmark, he is only in our way now.”
She tosses another item into the fire, watching it burn too.
“Swindle Shelldrake, the Kraken. A stretched out rat, a misled fool, a wishful dreamer. To say he is not a good performer would be an injustice, his place in this world is there. To spoil and cheer to the dumb, to slander his foes and shill his name to the brainless. But to place him in this fight, standing against the greatest Champion of all time? Insanity.”
She tosses some Shelldrake merch into the fire as before.
“Mark Hunter, the Straight Shooter. The former holder of that belt around Ozymandias’ shoulder, the former Grand Champion, the former great warrior. Reduced to… nothing. A fool that clashes with Asakura, a fool that intervenes when it is not his moment to do so, a fool that continues to dream and fantasize about his chances of once again raising the golden belt high above his head.”
She tosses the last of the merch into the fire.
“Hunter is a fool. Asakura is broken. Shelldrake is lost. Thompson is outmatched. These four men will enter the ring, enter into combat with our great Warrior, they will come forth with nothing, absolutely nothing, to offer Ozymandias, only their lives. With the strength of Cthulhu flowing through his veins, only the Butcher will remain, standing over their corpses.”
The final tone is sharp, nasty from her lips, as she almost snarls while speaking. Behind her Ozymandias sits on his throne, almost lounging, his golden belt strapped over his shoulder.
“We will make a pledge to the Great Old One, to offer support and strength to our brother, should he ever need it. We offer praise, loyalty and devotion to his efforts, so that we alone will be the ones to bear his weight. He is targeted, he is outnumbered, but he is not outmatched. Simply surrounded by the weak, by the frail, surrounded by snakes. Surrounded by weasels. Hungry pests, viciously fighting over scraps, lingering long enough so that they might be chosen to feast on the real prize.”
Meredith’s words carry long and far, her voice echoing off the walls around her. As she stands in front of the burning brazier, watching the various accoutrements melt and light into flames. A fan t-shirt of TJ Thompson, a signed poster of Swindle Shelldrake, a replica jacket of Mark Hunter’s, an imitation hairpiece of Arata Asakura’s.
Each item burning, weak and fragile, sparking before her.
“We have chanted their names, we have brought identity to their threats, and now we will sacrifice our strength to grant us victory.”
Slowly and meekly, four hooded figures walk forward and stand around the brazier, as Meredith looks at them all. Almost form thin air she brandishes a shining silver blade, and with vorpal efficiency she serrated the palm and the figure to her right, their hand oozing its sweet crimson nectar with ease. Circling the brazier, she performs the same action upon the next person's palm, again opening a wound for the world to revel in. She continues until all four have been sliced, all four are dripping their life essence.
“Children, we stand here before the altar of the mighty and great Cthulhu, to honor his name with our lives. To grant him passage to this realm through us. They give him strength to rise once again. Your sacrifices today will not be forgotten, for you hold the key to the great dreaming city on R’lyeh in your blood. Four mongrels seek to attack us, and four sacrificial wolves will meet them at the door.”
She motions for all four of the hooded figures to drip their blood into the burning brazier, which they do willingly. Their claret oozes and sizzles as it hits the scorched wood within, causing embers to fly up and dance around the sky before them. The cave they are stood inside dancing with the orange glow of the fire, showcasing how bright one can burn.
As the flames dance in tandem with the fresh blood, the arranged followers before this scene begin to chant. A couple dozen or more, robed and hooded also, standing within this vast cave and chanting the same phrase over and over.
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
Meredith motions for the four sacrificial donors to rejoin their collective, standing before this scene but separated by a flowing river of water. Stones guide the way back, but as the hooded figures return to their group a number of loud shots ring harshly through the cave, one by one gunshots deafening all inside.
One, two, three, four.
Stood by the fire is Meredith, a revolver held high in her hand. Behind her, Ozymandias watches on, unperturbed by what has just happened.
“Finish what they promised.”
With the four figures downed, each cavorting in pain from their gunshot wounds, the collective of hooded figures spring forward and drag them into the river, pulling them underneath the surface of the water. Outmatched, outnumbered, and bleeding profusely, the four sacrificial lambs fight in futility against the angry mob, as they are forced under the icy cold cave water, slowly coming to their demise.
“We are on the precipice of greatness… there is no turning back.”
Meredith watches on with a look of sick satisfaction on her face, as the four blood donors are drowned before her. Their kicking, their thrashing, their last efforts at self-perseverance only seem to entertain her. And behind her, sat on a throne of emeralds and jade stone, the Butcher watches on.
“These lambs were lost to the wolves long ago. Speaking aloud before me, protesting our goals and our mission, doubting our path forward. Whether it is in the Inn, in the fields or in this cave… if you do not wish to follow us and heed the Call, then you must decide. Stay, or leave.”
The folks remain silent, looking to her from their concealed garments.
“...good. We must cull the weak so that the herd can continue. We must break off the thorns in our side. The souls did not see the light of where we were going… but now they can aid us in their sacrifice. For R’lyeh. For Cthulhu. And…”
She turns around to look at Ozymandias, locking eyes with her friend.
“...and for our Warrior, the great Ozymandias.”
The congregation repeats after her, “For our Warrior”, and slowly they exit the water to dry land again. The fire crackles, spitting and splitting timber as it burns, the remaining followers standing in silence, listening to the embers dance. In the water, the lifeless bodies of four float there, defeated, deceased.
The sacrifice was made. Four lives gone, four lives remain. Only the Warrior can walk this path now.
The Grand Champion. The Greatest.
The Butcher understands.
They are too close to stop now.
