Post by OZYMANDIAS on Dec 16, 2021 19:24:27 GMT -5
REINE, 1994
“Poppa, where do the Gods live again?”
It always amused me, a wild tale of immortal beings that rode into battles on the very skies themselves. One boasting the power of thunder, another the power of illusion, sons of the greatest God to oversee the lands.
The story of the Norse Gods.
Oh, what a time it was. Youth on my side and a mind open to options and possibilities. Endless stories and tales of these fantastical, amazing beings filled my days, and my Father was a plethora of knowledge on the matter.
“Have you ever seen Odin? Or the mighty Fenrir? Or any of the Viking heroes?”
My Father was a strong man, a vigilante fisherman and a monarch to the small village of Reine. But to give him credit, his strongest feat was his patience, and dealing with the nuisance of a son pestering him endlessly!
“Only those who have made it to Valhalla, have seen the Gods. That is where they rest, that is where they remain. On a good clear night, perhaps when the stars align just right, you may be able to see the shine of the mighty Mjolnir. Or hear the hooves of Hela’s stallions.”
It was all fictional, stories and myths created to possess the minds of those foolish enough to believe it, or those to obsess over it. I never saw myself to be a soft-minded child, always pursuing the truth, always yearning to learn and grow. But the stories of the greatest beings resorting in the heavens above me… it enamored me.
“One day I wish to see the Gods myself, Poppa. I want to see Thor and his powerful hammer, or Baldur and his giant hammer, or even meet the beautiful Frigga.”
“One day, you will get to meet them, son. But until then, we must save those images for our dreams. Because unlike our dreams, important things happen while we are awake.”
I will never forget that moment, the slight squeeze of reassurance on my arm. The playful wink in his eye, the smell of the morning tea on his breath. My Father, Karl Magnus, the greatest man I ever met.
He was right, of course. He always was. One day I would live to see the God’s themselves, one day I would come face to face with the almighty. I just didn’t know it at the time, but the God I would see is not of Norse history, not of Earthly origins in fact.
Replace Thor’s beard with tentacles and Odin’s golden armor with green scaled skin. Then you might envision the scenes I have borne witness to. What they lack in comparison, they mirror in identity. A fierce and powerful deity, immensely impressive and incomparable to any mortal walking the lands. We find our inspiration and our path is carved based on these beings.
“Are there any other Gods out there, Poppa? Any other Gods we haven’t found yet?”
“Oh yes, many many Gods. Each country and nation have their own versions. They have their own beliefs. What sets them apart from us is that they worship their Gods very differently to us. We worship the rains, some worship the sunshine. We worship the wind at our sails, some worship the crops in their fields. No God is right or wrong, no God is better or worse. They are just our guiding lights.”
That stuck with me the most.
Our Gods are there to guide us, regardless of shape or form. Regardless of size or stature. Our Gods are what define us, they are what enlighten us. From Thor to Odin, from Ra to Anubis, from Poseidon to Zeus, from Cthulhu to Raijin.
Our Gods make us.
I have pledged my life to my God, to break the corruption on these lands and end the suffering of the weak, and cull those that remain. Only the strong shall persist.
Arata Asakura has pledged his life to his Thunder God, Raijin. To fight for him, to honor him in battle, to stand by his God in his mission.
Both of us will clash again for the umpteenth time. Arata and Ozymandias have become synonymous with battle and bloodshed, our trial and our wars are transcending time.
From victories over the Gaijin Killer on Proving Ground, to his embarrassing defeat at Clash for the Cup, I fail to see why Asakura sees things going any differently this time. His persistence to chase this meaningless belt around my waist baffles me, considering the knowledge and truth that is glaringly obvious.
Arata Asakura cannot defeat the great Ozymandias.
“Some of these Gods consider themselves Kings and Queens… how does that work? What is the difference, if you are already a God?”
“Son, it makes all the difference. A God of a being of power, of might. Someone or something that just transcends our very realm of understanding. Something above us all. A King or a Queen stays on the ground, to help their people, to guide their people. Royalty is rewarded with love and praise, while gossip is rewarded with worship and admiration.”
“Then what is better Poppa? Which one is best?”
He smiled at me, his goofy, Dad smile. His beard splitting as his lips widened.
“What’s best you ask me? Why not both!”
“Wow, yeah… I wonder if I will ever be a King someday. That would be so cool.”
“My son, you can be anything you want. Do you hear me Baldur? I don’t doubt for one second you will be a King of the people one day, and perhaps they might even begin to see you as a God if you earn that too.”
A goofy little kid, caught up in the fantasy of it all. The dreams and wild imaginings of youth. Baldur Magnusson, a King of his people. A God to the world.
Funny, as I sit her eon my throne now, awaiting a message from the Great Almighty, it leaves me with a feeling of emptiness. A feeling of, ‘what comes next?’
A God grows hungry, forever starved. What better way to feed the appetite, than devouring another. I am a representative of the Great Old One… once I feed him the messenger of Raijin, once I consume Arata for the final time, then I might ascend myself.
Ozymandias, King of Kings.
Chosen Warrior to the Great Dreamer.
Breaker of Shoguns.
THE VOYAGE
“This looming battle weighs on your mind my friend. I can sense when you are apprehensive of a fight to come.”
Meredith always seems to know her friends' blights, whether he is bogged by stress or burdened by frustrations. A lifetime of experiences side by side has given them a sixth-sense of the others suffering, and the others elations. Tonight is no different.
Ozymandias sits quietly on the wooden raft, a small row-boat laden with trinkets and items of decoration and ornamental purpose. They have taken this same voyage many times over the past number of weeks, establishing a base of operations deep within a cliff-edge, and the cave that Meredith discovered seemingly from a dream.
“You should not toil with thoughts on this ‘Shogun’, you have bested him on many occasions already, even with the odds against you. This would-be warrior has had far too many chances to defeat you, far too many opportunities to prove us wrong, and yet each time Arata Asakura has failed. Embarrassingly so.”
Her words are true, despite the snarky tone to them, as Asakura has failed to capture even a momentary grasp of the Grand Championship. Singles matches, multiple odds stacked against him, nothing has assisted Asakura in his path for the gold. Nothing.
“I am sure I could fill your mind with the usual rambling, he will be hungry or he will be looking to avenge his losses… but the fact of the matter remains. Arata is not the man who believed him to be. His persona, this ‘Shogun’ warrior you so desperately hungered to fight in WrestleWorld… his is not this same Arata.”
She is correct again. Asakura once dominated the scene, ruling the roost above Ozymandias as he climbed the ladder. Taking on gauntlets and earning his place in the roster of WrestleWorld he would achieve monumental victories and take their gold for himself. But to wear a belt heralding him as the champion of Europe, the ruler of a desolate wasteland within the WW islands… it felt empty.
Ozymandias wanted more. He wanted a title with a bite to it.
He wanted to break the Shogun. The warrior that knew his prowess, was aware of his abilities, someone that ruled the ring with ease. Asakura attracted a lot of enemies and amassed a large target on his back that time but now? Where does he even land in the growing roster of Project Honor?
“Tara would have been a better foe for you, a vicious warrior seeking retribution and acknowledgement of her skills and talents. A true riser, a true fighter. How Arata stole a victory from her is beneath my understanding… and yet here we stand again.”
Arata has clashed with Ozymandias on occasion, but this is different. In the singles competition, Ozymandias broke Asakura with ease. Proving Ground was not ready for what they saw, and as the Shogun’s body fell limp from the Butcher’s brutal Sinking Faith, the night was over.
He would get another opportunity to avenge his loss in his Clash for the Cup, with nothing more than TJ Thompson and Swindle Shelldrake as his obstacles. And still he failed to achieve a victory, he failed across the entirety of the night.
This is Arata Asakura’s third time facing the Butcher of Reine, his third opportunity to prove his name to the world. His third and final chance to solidify his name as a true fighter, a true warrior… or forever be shamed in the halls of history.
“Watch out for those rocks, the tide is lower tonight and we cannot risk a shallow shore.”
Meredith commands the rowers on their path forward, a smaller crew tonight. Normally Ozymandias would take the oars and row alone, enjoying the distraction of the night along with the brief injection of exercise to his routine. But Meredith is cautious of overworking her friend, almost to a fault.
“Steady forward now, once we turn this cliff edge I will let us know when to turn in. The path is concealed, but I will guide us.”
How she came to discover the hidden cave on the cliff edge is unknown, and despite the many questions her lips have remained sealed. Even the path to the entrance is unknown, seemingly shifting and changing based on the tide and the time of the night they approach. Tonight, they come from a new angle again.
Many years at sea behind him, and yet Ozymandias still doesn’t comprehend how she can read the waters better than he.
“How do you know the path? I cannot see the rocks beneath the surface on this dark night, yet you know exactly where they rest.”
She shoots him a sideways smirk, almost cocky.
“The sea speaks to me, brother. Perhaps one day I can teach you my ways.”
She turns forward and laughs into the air, her breath clear on the crisp, cool night. He would brush this off as tomfoolery however there is a certain magic to Meredith he never quite understood. Her actions, her thoughts, her very presence always felt otherworldly. Oddly unsettling yet remarkably comforting to be around.
It is no wonder she rapidly recruited so many to her cause, who follow her without question. A true Queen, surrounded by loyalty.
“Maybe you truly have been gifted with the sight from the unknown, a blessing from the Elder Gods.”
“Sights and sounds aside, our God has blessed us with this cave and a throne which to worship him from. And blessed you with the power of the Warrior. Aside from that, let us hope he blessed these rowers with open ears, or else we will find ourselves swimming to shore in no time.”
She jests, but she is right. Ozymandias has spent many a night praying to his new God, asking for an audience with her newly devoted. Forsaking the Norse Gods of his past life, he has ventured into the unknown and adopted this Eldritch being as his new protector. His new creator. His new ruler.
Baldur Magnusson was raised on fables and tales of the Norse Gods. He thought the stories to be fantasy, but holding his imagination. Perhaps him and Arata Asakura are not so different in that sense.
The Shogun has spoken to his own Gods, he has vowed to fight for his own Gods, he has accepted the gift of power and courage from his own Thunder God. A blessing from the Gods, of immense power and strength, a Thunder God of Japan to face a Thunder God of Norway.
How cruel the fates that show the reality - Arata’s God is a lie.
Blessed with nothing, enhanced by nothing, Arata is merely a man with a head of delusions. A head of insane thoughts and musings, and this is in comparison to a giant that worships a giant octopus of the sea.
“Looks like we are arriving on time, the sky above us is growing angry and unsteady.”
As Ozymandias ponders the connection between Thor, Raijin and Cthulhu the skies light up with flickers, flashes of anger and power. Perhaps this is Arata, proving him wrong after all? Perhaps this is the Gaijin Killer, finally looking to slay the gigantic beats of fiction? The put down the towering Cthulhu once and for all? To end the reign of the Butcher, standing vigilant over the Proving Ground?
Or perhaps this is all coincidence, and Arata Asakura is still a fraud.
“Turn in now, and row straight for the opening. No turning, no deviations. Rocks close in on us from all sides, we must follow this path given to us.”
Ozymandias looks at Meredith again, her hair flowing in the wind almost weightless, wearing nothing but a loose silken dress as she always does. She stands barefoot in this cold wooden raft, yet the night's crisp air seems to fill her with delight.
Almost as if he were fiction, almost as if Meredith didn’t exist.
Like she was nothing more than a figment of Baldur’s wild imagination.
“You should run the fleet in the new season, lead the trawlers out into the bay. You seem to have a gift for this!”
She cackles, her eyes trained forward still. As they glide along the surface they finally reach the mouth of the cave, and the looming cliff edge before them. With the path ahead certain now, Meredith turns to Ozymandias, but holds her words.
A large crack of light blats the skies above them, followed immediately with a booming roar of thunder.
“It seems Raijin is angry with us… the God of Thunder. If only he were to venture to Valhalla, and see what his competition is.” She cackles, a dry evil laugh. “Perhaps he is calling to us, pleading with us to accept him. Bored and exhausted with his failed protégé… who could blame him. Not even the Gods want Arata Asakura.”
She leans in closer to him.
“The Emerald City would feast on a God-send. A warrior of Japan, blessed by the skies… R’lyeh could use a sacrifice like that. Perhaps this is your final dance with this ‘Shogun’...then what remains will be our gift to the Deep Ones.”
She smiles, the dancing light in her eyes a mixture of joking enthusiasm and pure determination. She would gladly see Arata Asakura sink to the bottom of the ocean, the last of his thunder dissipating in the waters around him.
Not a bad image actually. One that Ozymandias actually quite enjoys.
The Death of the Shogun.
KING OF KINGS
Inside the cave things change drastically. Concealed from the booming night skies outside, this cavern is nicely adorned with burning wax candles and lanterns, guiding their passage to the final area - the throne room.
A new addition to the growing ‘cult’, Meredith has established this cavern to be the new base of operations for her growing family. A safe haven whereby they can praise their God in peace, in safety and in numbers. Jagged rocks and dripping ceilings quickly vanish, as we come to a brighter, more lit opening.
Glow Worms offer an aesthetic passage to the final throne room, a larger open space whereby the cave river abruptly ends in a deep pool, fed by streams and channels from all around it. A perfect place to moor the raft. Makeshift bridges have been erected along the passage, offering easier traversal. And the final, most prominent piece of the cavern, the throne which has been carved into the sheer cliff edge itself.
A throne born from the ground around it.
The ornaments that accompanied them on their voyage have been removed and placed around the cavern, carvings and clay pieces depicting a monstrous figure, idols in which they use to worship their God. To look upon him directly is to cause madness in the eye of the witness, but these tributes are safe for consumption.
“Children, thank you for gathering here. As always, it is a pleasure to see you in the act of prayer and worship, not just a treat for me but a wonderful act of love to the Great Sleeper.”
Not a formal address by any means, no brazier burning or human sacrifices this time. Just Meredith venturing around the room, speaking loudly and throwing her voice. The odds were stacked against Ozymandias the last time they congregated in this cave, outnumbered by the hungry wolves.
Now, it is one lonely sheep, awaiting his execution by the Butcher.
“I have dreamt of R’lyeh, I have envisioned the Emerald City below us, I have felt them calling to us, wishing for us to rejoin them. They grow louder, stronger… We are closer than we have ever been. Our work is heralded by those of the deep, they see what we do for them, they see our efforts and they cry with joy.”
She glides around the room, letting the followers continue in their acts. Some are painting, some are decoration with objects and ornaments, some are simply kneeling as they are deep in prayer.
“Our Warrior continues to dominate in the name of R’lyeh, our brother Ozymandias continues to spread the word of R’lyeh to the disbelievers. Any that doubt or shun our actions, face his wrath. His judgment.”
She continues to move around, almost floating on air.
“Again he must be tested, his golden prize sought after by the weak, by the frail, by the useless. This ‘Shogun’ seeks his time in the light, starved for attention. Desperate for recognition. The pathetic Gaijin Killer, a threat in name only. He has felt the crushing blow of Ozymandias on several occasions, but like any sick dog…he continues to bark. To balk. To cry out for love and attention.”
She continues gliding, this time stopping to peer over the edge of the stone into the black water below.
“It is almost pointless, having to repeat our actions. Having to repeat our crushing victories. Having to endlessly fight off the weak and the lost. Would you not agree, my brother?”
She turns to him, allowing Ozymandias the room. Not particularly on stage nor the center of attention, their conversation appears to float over the heads of those around them. Some listening with open ears, some addressing the conversion with their own reactions.
“I think it is a waste of my valuable time. I have already dominated this fool several times. Arata has fallen from grace long ago, and what remains is a cowering child clutching onto his past. A fallen star, crashing into reality. I will show him what his insolence means, I will show him what I think of his constant pursuit of my achievements… this will be my final time clashing the shogun. No more warnings, no mercy whatsoever.”
Ozymandias begins to pace himself, some of the cultists watching and paying attention, some still lost in prayer. Meredith looks on, as she flits around the room still.
“I was raised to worship the Gods, as was your Mother, Meredith. I was raised to acknowledge those that provide for us, and those that care for us. The bountiful blessing of Frigga, the wonderful safety of Odin. The mischievous and entertaining musings of Loki. But those Gods did not appear before me, those Gods did not speak to me. Those Gods did not guide me.”
He walks forward, watching everyone around him, making sure to linger his eye contact with each and every attentive face.
“Those Gods did nothing for me. Just like Raijin has done nothing for Arata. They had misled me for years, as Arata is still. They fooled me into thinking they would aid me, assist me in battle or life, and instead left me to fend for myself. Just as Arata is, helpless and unbacked. A mere man, a mortal, lost in his fight against a true King.”
Ozymandias picks up a clay model, a rough molding of a city that has been painted pistachio green.
“R'lyeh, the sunken emerald city…the difference between Raijin and Cthulhu is simple… I have seen our God. I have spoken with our God. He has called to me, as you all here have heard. You have heard this call yourselves, or you have bared witness to your friends, your neighbours, your family heeding this call.”
He lifts up the clay statue of the city, high into the air.
“R’lyeh awaits us, and it calls to us. We are blessed by their communication, and their loyalty to our work.” He places the clay statue back down on the rock it once was, and turns around. “It is time for me to continue working, for all of us. I have taken lives, blood, souls and gold as sacrifices for R’lyeh, but yet they need more from us. HE needs more from us, so that we can awake Him from his slumber.”
Ozymandias walks across the road, almost a beeline back towards his throne.
“Our Warrior fights endlessly for us, despite the fools that stand before him. He has beaten and broken their best, he has conquered every Grand Champion before him, he has maintained his role in that title position for longer than anyone else has on record, and still he stands triumphant and undisturbed.”
Meredith walks back towards her friend, watching him as he finds his seat on the stone throne.
“One more fight to go, and our Warrior will no longer require his gold. One more fight and our Warrior will be heralded as their greatest ever to do it. One more fight… as we can deliver a broken Shogun to the sea as a sacrifice. Arata will never be a Champion, but he will be a feast for the creatures of the Deep.”
“I will try to keep him intact, rather than pieces. But I will offer no promises.”
Meredith smirks, and slowly walks over to join her friend. Their voices adjust, so that their conversation is now just for them only.
“It is time I chased my true calling, my true namesake… Ozymandias. Named for the King of Kings, it once represented my pursuit of those false idols, breaker of title bearers with no merit. I have achieved what I set out to do, and more… have I not earned that right?”
“Hmm, it does have a ring to it… the King of Kings. The Supreme Power. The Warrior of R’lyeh. The Tyrant of Project Honor. The immortal, unbreakable, undisputed greatest Grand Champion they have ever seen.”
She chuckles, her usual dry writ.
“I must stop, should I inflate your ego further you might float away.”
“It is true, I have conquered all that Project Honor has challenged me with, and dominated their roster with ease. I have spent far too long at the top of their food chain… it is time for a change.”
“A change? What did you have in mind?”
He looks at her, and even though his mask conceals most of his expressions she can tell he is smirking beneath his metallic mask.
“I have already attempted to break their Legacy Champion… might it be time I finish the task at hand?”
“The Legacy… and wield both their belts at the same time? Why not pursue Havoc and crush his spine again, reclaim all their titles.”
“Do not tempt me with a good time, Meredith.”
She laughs, loudly, a rare and brief moment of humility between the two. Her laughs slowly rolls into a vicious, almost hissing snarl.
“...crush Arata. End his pursuit of the throne. End his saga. Let us feed him to the deep, and then we can shift our focus to whatever comes next.”
Ozymandias nods, in agreement.
“This Shogun must be made an example of. After that, we can break their Legacy, and reclaim it for ourselves. After all, there is none more fitting on the roster to wield that than you...”
He looks at her, as she leans forward to him, almost hovering before his face.
“...the King of Kings.”
Hearing it from her lips, a wave of ecstasy washes over him. He sits back against the throne, his back pressed to the cold stone wall. Their eyes lock, as he repeats it in his head.
King of Kings.
Only one more fight to end his saga, one more fight to seal his fate as the greatest ever to do it. Before he even sets foot in the ring, he will be heralded as the greatest champion in Project Honor history.
A worthy title, an admirable claim to fame. One more dance with Asakura, and his fate is sealed.
Time to write a new Legacy. Long live the King.
“Poppa, where do the Gods live again?”
It always amused me, a wild tale of immortal beings that rode into battles on the very skies themselves. One boasting the power of thunder, another the power of illusion, sons of the greatest God to oversee the lands.
The story of the Norse Gods.
Oh, what a time it was. Youth on my side and a mind open to options and possibilities. Endless stories and tales of these fantastical, amazing beings filled my days, and my Father was a plethora of knowledge on the matter.
“Have you ever seen Odin? Or the mighty Fenrir? Or any of the Viking heroes?”
My Father was a strong man, a vigilante fisherman and a monarch to the small village of Reine. But to give him credit, his strongest feat was his patience, and dealing with the nuisance of a son pestering him endlessly!
“Only those who have made it to Valhalla, have seen the Gods. That is where they rest, that is where they remain. On a good clear night, perhaps when the stars align just right, you may be able to see the shine of the mighty Mjolnir. Or hear the hooves of Hela’s stallions.”
It was all fictional, stories and myths created to possess the minds of those foolish enough to believe it, or those to obsess over it. I never saw myself to be a soft-minded child, always pursuing the truth, always yearning to learn and grow. But the stories of the greatest beings resorting in the heavens above me… it enamored me.
“One day I wish to see the Gods myself, Poppa. I want to see Thor and his powerful hammer, or Baldur and his giant hammer, or even meet the beautiful Frigga.”
“One day, you will get to meet them, son. But until then, we must save those images for our dreams. Because unlike our dreams, important things happen while we are awake.”
I will never forget that moment, the slight squeeze of reassurance on my arm. The playful wink in his eye, the smell of the morning tea on his breath. My Father, Karl Magnus, the greatest man I ever met.
He was right, of course. He always was. One day I would live to see the God’s themselves, one day I would come face to face with the almighty. I just didn’t know it at the time, but the God I would see is not of Norse history, not of Earthly origins in fact.
Replace Thor’s beard with tentacles and Odin’s golden armor with green scaled skin. Then you might envision the scenes I have borne witness to. What they lack in comparison, they mirror in identity. A fierce and powerful deity, immensely impressive and incomparable to any mortal walking the lands. We find our inspiration and our path is carved based on these beings.
“Are there any other Gods out there, Poppa? Any other Gods we haven’t found yet?”
“Oh yes, many many Gods. Each country and nation have their own versions. They have their own beliefs. What sets them apart from us is that they worship their Gods very differently to us. We worship the rains, some worship the sunshine. We worship the wind at our sails, some worship the crops in their fields. No God is right or wrong, no God is better or worse. They are just our guiding lights.”
That stuck with me the most.
Our Gods are there to guide us, regardless of shape or form. Regardless of size or stature. Our Gods are what define us, they are what enlighten us. From Thor to Odin, from Ra to Anubis, from Poseidon to Zeus, from Cthulhu to Raijin.
Our Gods make us.
I have pledged my life to my God, to break the corruption on these lands and end the suffering of the weak, and cull those that remain. Only the strong shall persist.
Arata Asakura has pledged his life to his Thunder God, Raijin. To fight for him, to honor him in battle, to stand by his God in his mission.
Both of us will clash again for the umpteenth time. Arata and Ozymandias have become synonymous with battle and bloodshed, our trial and our wars are transcending time.
From victories over the Gaijin Killer on Proving Ground, to his embarrassing defeat at Clash for the Cup, I fail to see why Asakura sees things going any differently this time. His persistence to chase this meaningless belt around my waist baffles me, considering the knowledge and truth that is glaringly obvious.
Arata Asakura cannot defeat the great Ozymandias.
“Some of these Gods consider themselves Kings and Queens… how does that work? What is the difference, if you are already a God?”
“Son, it makes all the difference. A God of a being of power, of might. Someone or something that just transcends our very realm of understanding. Something above us all. A King or a Queen stays on the ground, to help their people, to guide their people. Royalty is rewarded with love and praise, while gossip is rewarded with worship and admiration.”
“Then what is better Poppa? Which one is best?”
He smiled at me, his goofy, Dad smile. His beard splitting as his lips widened.
“What’s best you ask me? Why not both!”
“Wow, yeah… I wonder if I will ever be a King someday. That would be so cool.”
“My son, you can be anything you want. Do you hear me Baldur? I don’t doubt for one second you will be a King of the people one day, and perhaps they might even begin to see you as a God if you earn that too.”
A goofy little kid, caught up in the fantasy of it all. The dreams and wild imaginings of youth. Baldur Magnusson, a King of his people. A God to the world.
Funny, as I sit her eon my throne now, awaiting a message from the Great Almighty, it leaves me with a feeling of emptiness. A feeling of, ‘what comes next?’
A God grows hungry, forever starved. What better way to feed the appetite, than devouring another. I am a representative of the Great Old One… once I feed him the messenger of Raijin, once I consume Arata for the final time, then I might ascend myself.
Ozymandias, King of Kings.
Chosen Warrior to the Great Dreamer.
Breaker of Shoguns.
THE VOYAGE
“This looming battle weighs on your mind my friend. I can sense when you are apprehensive of a fight to come.”
Meredith always seems to know her friends' blights, whether he is bogged by stress or burdened by frustrations. A lifetime of experiences side by side has given them a sixth-sense of the others suffering, and the others elations. Tonight is no different.
Ozymandias sits quietly on the wooden raft, a small row-boat laden with trinkets and items of decoration and ornamental purpose. They have taken this same voyage many times over the past number of weeks, establishing a base of operations deep within a cliff-edge, and the cave that Meredith discovered seemingly from a dream.
“You should not toil with thoughts on this ‘Shogun’, you have bested him on many occasions already, even with the odds against you. This would-be warrior has had far too many chances to defeat you, far too many opportunities to prove us wrong, and yet each time Arata Asakura has failed. Embarrassingly so.”
Her words are true, despite the snarky tone to them, as Asakura has failed to capture even a momentary grasp of the Grand Championship. Singles matches, multiple odds stacked against him, nothing has assisted Asakura in his path for the gold. Nothing.
“I am sure I could fill your mind with the usual rambling, he will be hungry or he will be looking to avenge his losses… but the fact of the matter remains. Arata is not the man who believed him to be. His persona, this ‘Shogun’ warrior you so desperately hungered to fight in WrestleWorld… his is not this same Arata.”
She is correct again. Asakura once dominated the scene, ruling the roost above Ozymandias as he climbed the ladder. Taking on gauntlets and earning his place in the roster of WrestleWorld he would achieve monumental victories and take their gold for himself. But to wear a belt heralding him as the champion of Europe, the ruler of a desolate wasteland within the WW islands… it felt empty.
Ozymandias wanted more. He wanted a title with a bite to it.
He wanted to break the Shogun. The warrior that knew his prowess, was aware of his abilities, someone that ruled the ring with ease. Asakura attracted a lot of enemies and amassed a large target on his back that time but now? Where does he even land in the growing roster of Project Honor?
“Tara would have been a better foe for you, a vicious warrior seeking retribution and acknowledgement of her skills and talents. A true riser, a true fighter. How Arata stole a victory from her is beneath my understanding… and yet here we stand again.”
Arata has clashed with Ozymandias on occasion, but this is different. In the singles competition, Ozymandias broke Asakura with ease. Proving Ground was not ready for what they saw, and as the Shogun’s body fell limp from the Butcher’s brutal Sinking Faith, the night was over.
He would get another opportunity to avenge his loss in his Clash for the Cup, with nothing more than TJ Thompson and Swindle Shelldrake as his obstacles. And still he failed to achieve a victory, he failed across the entirety of the night.
This is Arata Asakura’s third time facing the Butcher of Reine, his third opportunity to prove his name to the world. His third and final chance to solidify his name as a true fighter, a true warrior… or forever be shamed in the halls of history.
“Watch out for those rocks, the tide is lower tonight and we cannot risk a shallow shore.”
Meredith commands the rowers on their path forward, a smaller crew tonight. Normally Ozymandias would take the oars and row alone, enjoying the distraction of the night along with the brief injection of exercise to his routine. But Meredith is cautious of overworking her friend, almost to a fault.
“Steady forward now, once we turn this cliff edge I will let us know when to turn in. The path is concealed, but I will guide us.”
How she came to discover the hidden cave on the cliff edge is unknown, and despite the many questions her lips have remained sealed. Even the path to the entrance is unknown, seemingly shifting and changing based on the tide and the time of the night they approach. Tonight, they come from a new angle again.
Many years at sea behind him, and yet Ozymandias still doesn’t comprehend how she can read the waters better than he.
“How do you know the path? I cannot see the rocks beneath the surface on this dark night, yet you know exactly where they rest.”
She shoots him a sideways smirk, almost cocky.
“The sea speaks to me, brother. Perhaps one day I can teach you my ways.”
She turns forward and laughs into the air, her breath clear on the crisp, cool night. He would brush this off as tomfoolery however there is a certain magic to Meredith he never quite understood. Her actions, her thoughts, her very presence always felt otherworldly. Oddly unsettling yet remarkably comforting to be around.
It is no wonder she rapidly recruited so many to her cause, who follow her without question. A true Queen, surrounded by loyalty.
“Maybe you truly have been gifted with the sight from the unknown, a blessing from the Elder Gods.”
“Sights and sounds aside, our God has blessed us with this cave and a throne which to worship him from. And blessed you with the power of the Warrior. Aside from that, let us hope he blessed these rowers with open ears, or else we will find ourselves swimming to shore in no time.”
She jests, but she is right. Ozymandias has spent many a night praying to his new God, asking for an audience with her newly devoted. Forsaking the Norse Gods of his past life, he has ventured into the unknown and adopted this Eldritch being as his new protector. His new creator. His new ruler.
Baldur Magnusson was raised on fables and tales of the Norse Gods. He thought the stories to be fantasy, but holding his imagination. Perhaps him and Arata Asakura are not so different in that sense.
The Shogun has spoken to his own Gods, he has vowed to fight for his own Gods, he has accepted the gift of power and courage from his own Thunder God. A blessing from the Gods, of immense power and strength, a Thunder God of Japan to face a Thunder God of Norway.
How cruel the fates that show the reality - Arata’s God is a lie.
Blessed with nothing, enhanced by nothing, Arata is merely a man with a head of delusions. A head of insane thoughts and musings, and this is in comparison to a giant that worships a giant octopus of the sea.
“Looks like we are arriving on time, the sky above us is growing angry and unsteady.”
As Ozymandias ponders the connection between Thor, Raijin and Cthulhu the skies light up with flickers, flashes of anger and power. Perhaps this is Arata, proving him wrong after all? Perhaps this is the Gaijin Killer, finally looking to slay the gigantic beats of fiction? The put down the towering Cthulhu once and for all? To end the reign of the Butcher, standing vigilant over the Proving Ground?
Or perhaps this is all coincidence, and Arata Asakura is still a fraud.
“Turn in now, and row straight for the opening. No turning, no deviations. Rocks close in on us from all sides, we must follow this path given to us.”
Ozymandias looks at Meredith again, her hair flowing in the wind almost weightless, wearing nothing but a loose silken dress as she always does. She stands barefoot in this cold wooden raft, yet the night's crisp air seems to fill her with delight.
Almost as if he were fiction, almost as if Meredith didn’t exist.
Like she was nothing more than a figment of Baldur’s wild imagination.
“You should run the fleet in the new season, lead the trawlers out into the bay. You seem to have a gift for this!”
She cackles, her eyes trained forward still. As they glide along the surface they finally reach the mouth of the cave, and the looming cliff edge before them. With the path ahead certain now, Meredith turns to Ozymandias, but holds her words.
A large crack of light blats the skies above them, followed immediately with a booming roar of thunder.
“It seems Raijin is angry with us… the God of Thunder. If only he were to venture to Valhalla, and see what his competition is.” She cackles, a dry evil laugh. “Perhaps he is calling to us, pleading with us to accept him. Bored and exhausted with his failed protégé… who could blame him. Not even the Gods want Arata Asakura.”
She leans in closer to him.
“The Emerald City would feast on a God-send. A warrior of Japan, blessed by the skies… R’lyeh could use a sacrifice like that. Perhaps this is your final dance with this ‘Shogun’...then what remains will be our gift to the Deep Ones.”
She smiles, the dancing light in her eyes a mixture of joking enthusiasm and pure determination. She would gladly see Arata Asakura sink to the bottom of the ocean, the last of his thunder dissipating in the waters around him.
Not a bad image actually. One that Ozymandias actually quite enjoys.
The Death of the Shogun.
KING OF KINGS
Inside the cave things change drastically. Concealed from the booming night skies outside, this cavern is nicely adorned with burning wax candles and lanterns, guiding their passage to the final area - the throne room.
A new addition to the growing ‘cult’, Meredith has established this cavern to be the new base of operations for her growing family. A safe haven whereby they can praise their God in peace, in safety and in numbers. Jagged rocks and dripping ceilings quickly vanish, as we come to a brighter, more lit opening.
Glow Worms offer an aesthetic passage to the final throne room, a larger open space whereby the cave river abruptly ends in a deep pool, fed by streams and channels from all around it. A perfect place to moor the raft. Makeshift bridges have been erected along the passage, offering easier traversal. And the final, most prominent piece of the cavern, the throne which has been carved into the sheer cliff edge itself.
A throne born from the ground around it.
The ornaments that accompanied them on their voyage have been removed and placed around the cavern, carvings and clay pieces depicting a monstrous figure, idols in which they use to worship their God. To look upon him directly is to cause madness in the eye of the witness, but these tributes are safe for consumption.
“Children, thank you for gathering here. As always, it is a pleasure to see you in the act of prayer and worship, not just a treat for me but a wonderful act of love to the Great Sleeper.”
Not a formal address by any means, no brazier burning or human sacrifices this time. Just Meredith venturing around the room, speaking loudly and throwing her voice. The odds were stacked against Ozymandias the last time they congregated in this cave, outnumbered by the hungry wolves.
Now, it is one lonely sheep, awaiting his execution by the Butcher.
“I have dreamt of R’lyeh, I have envisioned the Emerald City below us, I have felt them calling to us, wishing for us to rejoin them. They grow louder, stronger… We are closer than we have ever been. Our work is heralded by those of the deep, they see what we do for them, they see our efforts and they cry with joy.”
She glides around the room, letting the followers continue in their acts. Some are painting, some are decoration with objects and ornaments, some are simply kneeling as they are deep in prayer.
“Our Warrior continues to dominate in the name of R’lyeh, our brother Ozymandias continues to spread the word of R’lyeh to the disbelievers. Any that doubt or shun our actions, face his wrath. His judgment.”
She continues to move around, almost floating on air.
“Again he must be tested, his golden prize sought after by the weak, by the frail, by the useless. This ‘Shogun’ seeks his time in the light, starved for attention. Desperate for recognition. The pathetic Gaijin Killer, a threat in name only. He has felt the crushing blow of Ozymandias on several occasions, but like any sick dog…he continues to bark. To balk. To cry out for love and attention.”
She continues gliding, this time stopping to peer over the edge of the stone into the black water below.
“It is almost pointless, having to repeat our actions. Having to repeat our crushing victories. Having to endlessly fight off the weak and the lost. Would you not agree, my brother?”
She turns to him, allowing Ozymandias the room. Not particularly on stage nor the center of attention, their conversation appears to float over the heads of those around them. Some listening with open ears, some addressing the conversion with their own reactions.
“I think it is a waste of my valuable time. I have already dominated this fool several times. Arata has fallen from grace long ago, and what remains is a cowering child clutching onto his past. A fallen star, crashing into reality. I will show him what his insolence means, I will show him what I think of his constant pursuit of my achievements… this will be my final time clashing the shogun. No more warnings, no mercy whatsoever.”
Ozymandias begins to pace himself, some of the cultists watching and paying attention, some still lost in prayer. Meredith looks on, as she flits around the room still.
“I was raised to worship the Gods, as was your Mother, Meredith. I was raised to acknowledge those that provide for us, and those that care for us. The bountiful blessing of Frigga, the wonderful safety of Odin. The mischievous and entertaining musings of Loki. But those Gods did not appear before me, those Gods did not speak to me. Those Gods did not guide me.”
He walks forward, watching everyone around him, making sure to linger his eye contact with each and every attentive face.
“Those Gods did nothing for me. Just like Raijin has done nothing for Arata. They had misled me for years, as Arata is still. They fooled me into thinking they would aid me, assist me in battle or life, and instead left me to fend for myself. Just as Arata is, helpless and unbacked. A mere man, a mortal, lost in his fight against a true King.”
Ozymandias picks up a clay model, a rough molding of a city that has been painted pistachio green.
“R'lyeh, the sunken emerald city…the difference between Raijin and Cthulhu is simple… I have seen our God. I have spoken with our God. He has called to me, as you all here have heard. You have heard this call yourselves, or you have bared witness to your friends, your neighbours, your family heeding this call.”
He lifts up the clay statue of the city, high into the air.
“R’lyeh awaits us, and it calls to us. We are blessed by their communication, and their loyalty to our work.” He places the clay statue back down on the rock it once was, and turns around. “It is time for me to continue working, for all of us. I have taken lives, blood, souls and gold as sacrifices for R’lyeh, but yet they need more from us. HE needs more from us, so that we can awake Him from his slumber.”
Ozymandias walks across the road, almost a beeline back towards his throne.
“Our Warrior fights endlessly for us, despite the fools that stand before him. He has beaten and broken their best, he has conquered every Grand Champion before him, he has maintained his role in that title position for longer than anyone else has on record, and still he stands triumphant and undisturbed.”
Meredith walks back towards her friend, watching him as he finds his seat on the stone throne.
“One more fight to go, and our Warrior will no longer require his gold. One more fight and our Warrior will be heralded as their greatest ever to do it. One more fight… as we can deliver a broken Shogun to the sea as a sacrifice. Arata will never be a Champion, but he will be a feast for the creatures of the Deep.”
“I will try to keep him intact, rather than pieces. But I will offer no promises.”
Meredith smirks, and slowly walks over to join her friend. Their voices adjust, so that their conversation is now just for them only.
“It is time I chased my true calling, my true namesake… Ozymandias. Named for the King of Kings, it once represented my pursuit of those false idols, breaker of title bearers with no merit. I have achieved what I set out to do, and more… have I not earned that right?”
“Hmm, it does have a ring to it… the King of Kings. The Supreme Power. The Warrior of R’lyeh. The Tyrant of Project Honor. The immortal, unbreakable, undisputed greatest Grand Champion they have ever seen.”
She chuckles, her usual dry writ.
“I must stop, should I inflate your ego further you might float away.”
“It is true, I have conquered all that Project Honor has challenged me with, and dominated their roster with ease. I have spent far too long at the top of their food chain… it is time for a change.”
“A change? What did you have in mind?”
He looks at her, and even though his mask conceals most of his expressions she can tell he is smirking beneath his metallic mask.
“I have already attempted to break their Legacy Champion… might it be time I finish the task at hand?”
“The Legacy… and wield both their belts at the same time? Why not pursue Havoc and crush his spine again, reclaim all their titles.”
“Do not tempt me with a good time, Meredith.”
She laughs, loudly, a rare and brief moment of humility between the two. Her laughs slowly rolls into a vicious, almost hissing snarl.
“...crush Arata. End his pursuit of the throne. End his saga. Let us feed him to the deep, and then we can shift our focus to whatever comes next.”
Ozymandias nods, in agreement.
“This Shogun must be made an example of. After that, we can break their Legacy, and reclaim it for ourselves. After all, there is none more fitting on the roster to wield that than you...”
He looks at her, as she leans forward to him, almost hovering before his face.
“...the King of Kings.”
Hearing it from her lips, a wave of ecstasy washes over him. He sits back against the throne, his back pressed to the cold stone wall. Their eyes lock, as he repeats it in his head.
King of Kings.
Only one more fight to end his saga, one more fight to seal his fate as the greatest ever to do it. Before he even sets foot in the ring, he will be heralded as the greatest champion in Project Honor history.
A worthy title, an admirable claim to fame. One more dance with Asakura, and his fate is sealed.
Time to write a new Legacy. Long live the King.
