Post by aidendeimos on Jun 8, 2018 14:24:51 GMT -8
“Scars...”
A chandelier dangles high above his head, long ivory antlers weaving in between one another, only to to go back towards the sky. Small flames lit the ceiling, flickering as they move in the slight breeze. Aiden Deimos makes his way over to fireplace that is carved into the concrete walls that surround him. He bends at the knee and ignites the flames, a red glow immediately covering his face as the fire begins to grow bigger and bigger. He smirks in the light as he softly makes his way back to a black leather couch that sits in the middle of the room. Aiden leans back, his pale bare skin feels cool as it comes in contact with the leather.
Scar lay fresh and new against his pale and cold skin. It's pink shininess was shocking. He described the scars as his teacher, he said they taught him not to get caught next time, they taught him to run faster and to carry a spare dagger. He refused to cover it, he said it was a badge of shame for his failure. One day, I thought, that scar will look old and he will wear it as a badge of pride instead, an old battle wound from the daring days of his youth.
He leans forward as the camera runs, a single bead of sweat growing along the base of his brow. He chuckles as he begins to speak. “It seems like California Wrestling Division either underestimates my capabilities or really wants to be on my good side. They decided that on my way to taking this place over, that I will be facing a wannabe tough guy., Mr. Dax Beckett. I really don’t know what to say to you. You seem to the type of guy that can really take a beating. A man that soon be able to take my fist down his throat like a true man.” He chuckles under his breath as he wipes away sweat that has now began to glow from the fire light.
“I understand the fear that you may have of the unknown. Just like many people that walk this earth, your fear is understandable. I urge you to look past your friends and family. Don’t think about next week, focus on me. If you walk into that ring without 100% focus, you will be hur and next week will never comet. You see I like a fight, I enjoy the thrill of getting punched in the mouth. I love the metallic taste in my mouth as blood begins to rush down my throat. I really love watching as the anger fills my opponent, yet they know that the outcome is inevitable. That they will fall.” He shifts in his seat, leaning back as if he was in a place of peace as he looks deep into the camera. Not trying to hide any emotion. Not trying to mask his excitement.
“I don’t care about looking tough, I don’t care about what people think of me,, because at the end of the week they canvas we fight on will be covered in your blood. The sweet thrill of taking my time picking you apart limb by limb. Unlike many men in this industry, I don’t want to dominate a match and end it in seconds. Where is the thrill, where is the sacrifice? You see, no matter how much they deny it, no matter how much they try to cover their faces, only to look in between their fingers. Society loves violence, they love carnage, they love destruction, and they love watching people be broken.”
“I won’t just be breaking you physically, I will break you mentally. Pushing you to your limits, hurting you in ways that even your darkest nightmares can’t imagine. I will make you beg for the end. But don’t worry, when I’m done I will let your family join in on the fun. And they too will be able to sit in the hospital bed right next you.” He looks at the camera and picks it up in one hand, standing to his feet as he makes his way around the table to a steel door. He reaches out and grabs ahold of the cold metal handle, turning it, and pushing the door inward. He walks into the room with the camera leading the way.
Everything is black, he stands in silence as he takes a deep breath in. A musky smell filling his lungs, a slight aroma of metal causes a smile to come onto his face as the light from the front of the camera lightens his face. He reaches up with his hand and grabs ahold of a thin piece of thread, jerking it downward and turning the lights on. A slight hum comes from the bulb, after what must be a long time of laying idle. He turns the camera around and pans the room. Weapons are seen bolted to the walls, everything from the classic kendo stick and steel chairs, to a literal kitchen sink, still covered in blood from when he bashed in his former tag team partners face with it after a loss. He turns the camera back toward himself, his thumb flashing across the lens as he does. “I am frequently called ‘one of those hardcore freaks’ and it couldn’t couldn’t be more right. The problem isn’t that I am one of those hardcore freaks, but that I am an imaginative hardcore freak, that doesn’t take lightly to failure. You must understand the man that you are walking into the ring with. You must understand the dangers that the administration of CWD have put you in. You must understand this…this is your end. I am your end. Dax each one of these items represent a battle that I have entered. They exemplify the carnage that comes with facing me, not in a wrestling match, but a fight. So, enjoy your time with your family.”
“Because you may hope and pray for that pretty piece of hardware, but the only weight you need to worry about. Is the ten pounds of blood that run through your veins, and I will gladly leave, forever stained in the mat. Like everyone else I love violence, and who better to brutalize than...you.”
He reaches toward the camera with his free hand, and after fumbling with it for a moment the screen goes black.
A chandelier dangles high above his head, long ivory antlers weaving in between one another, only to to go back towards the sky. Small flames lit the ceiling, flickering as they move in the slight breeze. Aiden Deimos makes his way over to fireplace that is carved into the concrete walls that surround him. He bends at the knee and ignites the flames, a red glow immediately covering his face as the fire begins to grow bigger and bigger. He smirks in the light as he softly makes his way back to a black leather couch that sits in the middle of the room. Aiden leans back, his pale bare skin feels cool as it comes in contact with the leather.
Scar lay fresh and new against his pale and cold skin. It's pink shininess was shocking. He described the scars as his teacher, he said they taught him not to get caught next time, they taught him to run faster and to carry a spare dagger. He refused to cover it, he said it was a badge of shame for his failure. One day, I thought, that scar will look old and he will wear it as a badge of pride instead, an old battle wound from the daring days of his youth.
He leans forward as the camera runs, a single bead of sweat growing along the base of his brow. He chuckles as he begins to speak. “It seems like California Wrestling Division either underestimates my capabilities or really wants to be on my good side. They decided that on my way to taking this place over, that I will be facing a wannabe tough guy., Mr. Dax Beckett. I really don’t know what to say to you. You seem to the type of guy that can really take a beating. A man that soon be able to take my fist down his throat like a true man.” He chuckles under his breath as he wipes away sweat that has now began to glow from the fire light.
“I understand the fear that you may have of the unknown. Just like many people that walk this earth, your fear is understandable. I urge you to look past your friends and family. Don’t think about next week, focus on me. If you walk into that ring without 100% focus, you will be hur and next week will never comet. You see I like a fight, I enjoy the thrill of getting punched in the mouth. I love the metallic taste in my mouth as blood begins to rush down my throat. I really love watching as the anger fills my opponent, yet they know that the outcome is inevitable. That they will fall.” He shifts in his seat, leaning back as if he was in a place of peace as he looks deep into the camera. Not trying to hide any emotion. Not trying to mask his excitement.
“I don’t care about looking tough, I don’t care about what people think of me,, because at the end of the week they canvas we fight on will be covered in your blood. The sweet thrill of taking my time picking you apart limb by limb. Unlike many men in this industry, I don’t want to dominate a match and end it in seconds. Where is the thrill, where is the sacrifice? You see, no matter how much they deny it, no matter how much they try to cover their faces, only to look in between their fingers. Society loves violence, they love carnage, they love destruction, and they love watching people be broken.”
“I won’t just be breaking you physically, I will break you mentally. Pushing you to your limits, hurting you in ways that even your darkest nightmares can’t imagine. I will make you beg for the end. But don’t worry, when I’m done I will let your family join in on the fun. And they too will be able to sit in the hospital bed right next you.” He looks at the camera and picks it up in one hand, standing to his feet as he makes his way around the table to a steel door. He reaches out and grabs ahold of the cold metal handle, turning it, and pushing the door inward. He walks into the room with the camera leading the way.
Everything is black, he stands in silence as he takes a deep breath in. A musky smell filling his lungs, a slight aroma of metal causes a smile to come onto his face as the light from the front of the camera lightens his face. He reaches up with his hand and grabs ahold of a thin piece of thread, jerking it downward and turning the lights on. A slight hum comes from the bulb, after what must be a long time of laying idle. He turns the camera around and pans the room. Weapons are seen bolted to the walls, everything from the classic kendo stick and steel chairs, to a literal kitchen sink, still covered in blood from when he bashed in his former tag team partners face with it after a loss. He turns the camera back toward himself, his thumb flashing across the lens as he does. “I am frequently called ‘one of those hardcore freaks’ and it couldn’t couldn’t be more right. The problem isn’t that I am one of those hardcore freaks, but that I am an imaginative hardcore freak, that doesn’t take lightly to failure. You must understand the man that you are walking into the ring with. You must understand the dangers that the administration of CWD have put you in. You must understand this…this is your end. I am your end. Dax each one of these items represent a battle that I have entered. They exemplify the carnage that comes with facing me, not in a wrestling match, but a fight. So, enjoy your time with your family.”
“Because you may hope and pray for that pretty piece of hardware, but the only weight you need to worry about. Is the ten pounds of blood that run through your veins, and I will gladly leave, forever stained in the mat. Like everyone else I love violence, and who better to brutalize than...you.”
He reaches toward the camera with his free hand, and after fumbling with it for a moment the screen goes black.
