Castlevania (SuMa vs Horror vs Vendetta #1)

A hell of his own doing(off-cam)

Pain… Every part of his body is in pain. He is lying flat on his back amongst the remains of a table, with glass shards strewn everywhere. He is barely conscious, the iron taste of blood in his tongue. His own blood. A steady stream of it trickles down his forehead, down his nose and into his mouth. His vision is blurred by the crimson hue.

He tries to move. He can’t. His body won’t respond to the impulses his brain sends. He had just taken a 10-foot fall from a ladder through a table laden with light tubes. “Gotta get up. Gotta keep fighting. I can’t stop now…” a frantic thought runs through his mind as he tries to shake the cobwebs out of his head. From the corner of his eye he can see a man approaching him. His opponent. A man by the name of Dreadnaught. He can hear the crowd cheering and rumbling as Dreadnaught lands a stiff kick to the side of his head, the jolt from it sharpening his senses. He tries to bring his hand up to block the next hit but his body still won’t respond.

He sees Dreadnaught say something but the ringing in his ears from the kick prevents him from hearing it. He feels the other man grabbing his hair and pulling his head up. And then he feels something cold on the corner of his mouth. He tries to focus his gaze. But the bloodloss and the pain has brought him to the brink of unconsciousness.

He finally sees what is happening. Dreadnought is holding him by the hair in a half seated position. And on his other hand he has a shard from the light tubes that were shattered by his fall. Suddenly a wave of absolute terror flashes in his mind as he realizes that the shard is the coldness he feels on the corner of his mouth. He stares at Dreadnaughts face and sees the man mouth the words “Smile you motherfucker”... and an instant later searing pain is all he feels. A scream tries to escape his lips, but none comes out. His eyes bulge out as the shard of glass cuts clean through his cheek on the inside and before he can do anything about it, moves to the other side of his mouth repeating the motion there.

Darkness engulfs him. He can feel nothing but pain that burns every other sensation away. Just before he passes out he sees Dreadnaught lift the bloody piece of glass into the air like a trophy… and hears laughter. But not from the man standing above him but from the depths of his own mind.

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SuMa jolts upright from the half-seated half-lying position he had been in, letting out a blood-curdling scream. His hands shoot up to his face, his fingers finding the scars on his cheeks. A Chelsea Grin. “Why must you remind me of this…” He speaks out loud, in voice trembling with pain.

“I didn’t remind you of anything weakling… It is not my fault your mind keeps going back to the moment I was born. I cannot control what you see when you dream… I am merely a spectator” The gruff voice of SuMa responds to him. The two distinct personalities that inhabit the man known to the world as Supreme Machine, Tom the weakling and SuMa the beast.

“I heard you laugh. You were there already weren’t you? You could have prevented that couldn’t you?” Tom’s tone was accusing. He was staring at the mirror that had been laid on the bare corner of the cellar for the sole purpose of giving him someone to look at when he spoke to himself. “I heard your laughter there... “

In the mirror, SuMa chuckled, moving the mask that covered his face to the side and letting his fingers trace the outline of the deep red scars that marked his face. “I was there already yes… But I couldn’t prevent that. I was merely a spectator like I said. These… were the final push that I needed to fully take over. These were the moment that the last of your resistance broke.” He was amused, even proud. “I waited for years weakling… Watching from the back of your mind. Watching and waiting as you kept shoving all the pain and agony to the corner of your mind. I watched through your eyes as you kept smiling to the world despite the constant suffering you went through. I watched and I waited… Until you got a permanent smile.”

Tom was quiet. They’d had this conversation so many times before that he had long since lost count. But when you only have yourself for company, you run out of things to say sooner than you’d think. And SuMa always loved to twist the knife in the wound. The beast that stared him back from the mirror was his own creation. He had tried to stay true to himself, ostensibly living the dream of being a professional wrestler. But no matter where he went and what he did, he kept finding himself in deathmatches and other ordeals that drained him not just physically but mentally. He had wanted to make it in the business so badly that he never complained. He just held his head down and did what was wanted of him. All the while shoving all the doubts, the fears. The pain and the agony to the back of his mind. Out of sight out of mind. Until the day the dam broke.

“I know... “ Tom whispered quietly. There was nothing he could say that hadn’t already been said. That was years ago… and since that day he had paid those that hurt him back a million times over. But he had lost his humanity to the beast. Now he was but a passenger. Watching without the ability to affect anything.

A hell of his own doing.


Castlevania (oncam)

The view opens to show a darkened room lit only by pale moonlight shining from a sole window at the very top of the wall. A silence permeates the space as shadows dance in the flickering light cast by a cloudy sky. A figure can be seen moving in the edges of the light, silently. Until a voice rings out. A gruff, deep voice.

“Long wait approaches it’s end. A seeker of death and an unwitting sacrifice are about to witness the true extent of our might…”

The 6’9’’ 360lbs frame of Supreme Machine slowly appears in the faint spotlight cast by the moon. He stands with his head hung low and his arms relaxed on the side.

“Castlevania. A battleground not for the faint of heart. Locked away in chains for 48 hours and then unleashed on each other. Sacrifices will be made... “

He balls his fists in a measured, determined manner before continuing.

“Ares Vendetta.. .you have sought us out. Taunted us. Beckoned us. Now you have us. And now… Now you will realize the depths of misery you have fallen into. Now you will realize just what it means to get our attention. A preacher preaching of dark things. Making promises of pain and suffering. You preach… what we live.”

SuMa violently flicks his head up,whipping his greasy black mane off his face and cocks his head to the left. The light reflects off his black, coal-like eyes as he just stares at the camera.

“The feeling of glass and steel cutting into your flesh. Have you felt it? The sense of euphoria you get when fingers cut through flesh and meet bone? The pathetic squeal of agony when blood flows freely… Have you felt it Preacher? We have. A path of broken bodies and broken minds has been left in our wake. Men and Women taken to their physical limits and beyond… boastful beasts reduced to gibbering piles of rended flesh and shattered bone. Have you lived that reality Preacher? We have. We bear the marks of those battles. And we still remain. Like force of nature. We can be slowed down but we cannot be stopped. And in your hubris. In your arrogance, you set yourself on our path. And at Castlevania, we will administer your last rites Preacher… We will leave you like the redeemer… hung out to die. Alone. Forgotten. Betrayed. We will spill your blood Preacher. We will make you feel the pain of a thousand deaths until you beg and weep and pray for us to let you out of your misery… because we are destruction personified. We are death made flesh. And you have provoked us.”

With deliberate movements he removes the leathery mask that covers his face, revealing the scarred face beneath. Long ago, you might have called him handsome, the features of an eyecatching man are still there, marred by bones broken and poorly set, flesh torn open and improperly fixed. All that and yet the most striking part is a pair of scars running along his cheeks. A chelsea grin. A glasgow smile. Whatever you call it. The monster slowly traces his fingers across the cheeks while speaking.

“Everything has an origin story Preacher. We do not care of yours but you should care of ours… We came to be from pain. From misery. From VIOLENCE. The first sparkle of our existence flickered to life as glass carved up our flesh. We gazed up through a bloody haze to see a man smiling as he cut us up like we were nothing but meat on a table. And from that moment on we never looked back. We became what you see today. And the man who unintentionally created us… He suffered a fate worse than death. We sought him out years after the fact. We BROKE HIM. We made him face the consequences of his deeds and forced him to realize that all the blood we spilled for a decade was on his hands. And then we laughed as he crumpled, weeping in despair, apologizing… And then we let him out of his misery. We once walked into a confrontation with an entire family of wrestlers, champions and legends. One by one we carved our path through them, leaving a brother and a father. A son and a daughter. A sister and a cousin broken and battered, just to draw out the shining star of the family, get her to fight us. We took her on and broke her. We planted her head first through a cinder block to end her reign on top. These are deeds we have done Preacher. This is the monster you chose to agitate. This… is the fate you will suffer at Violent Delights… This is the outcome of Castlevania.”

He pulls the mask back on and cocks his head to the other side.

“But it is not just us and the Preacher. Yes, there is the unwitting sacrifice. A hatchling looking to be the force we are. “Kill horror kill” the crowd chants. A mewling cub trying to look fierce in the eyes of his peers. Once you might have been someone to dread Horror… a man to be taken seriously. But no more. You are nothing more than a pretender. One who walks a path they aren’t ready to walk. You want blood? We will oblige. You want suffering? We will provide. When Castlevania begins you will realize just how outmatched you are Horror. You beat yourself with a baseball bat to establish your credentials. A parlor trick for a parlor psycho. We need no weapons to draw blood. We need nothing but our hands.”

SuMa grabs his own chest and digs his nails into his own flesh, before dragging his hand down diagonally, leaving deep bloody tracts into his flesh. He raises his hand up and stares at the blood dripping from between his fingers.

“Any fool can draw blood with a weapon. Any fool can kill with a weapon. Only a true monster can do the same with bare hands. If we were capable of such emotions Horror, we might feel pity for you. You are determined to walk a path you are not prepared for. Capable for. You wish to be seen as a monster. A boogeyman who sends waves of dread washing down the spines of everyone slated to be in your path. Yet you do not have what it takes. You do not possess the frame of someone who can live that life… you do not possess the mental faculties of someone who lives that life. Even should you persist… in the end you won’t be nothing more than a mindless brute who will be taken down by the first foe able to outwit you, outlast you, outmaneuver you. You fancy yourself as a monster. You are not. We are.”

His voice betrays no emotion. What he says, he says not as a boast but as a statement of a fact. The stoic nature of his voice seems unsettling, especially when combined with his unnaturally still bodylanguage. Not a muscle moves when he stands there and speaks.

“And at Castlevania Horror… we will show you just how far you are from what you see yourself as. For the first time in your life you will face down a real monster. And when your consciousness fades. When you taste the iron on your lips… when your vision is tinged by the haze of red from your own blood you will see us staring down at you. And what you see won’t be wrath. It won’t be pity. It won’t be joy and it won’t be disgust. What you will see is indifference. Indifference to your fate. Because a true monster does not take joy in what they do. A true monster does not revel in their handiwork. A true monster… does. Once upon a time we cared. Once upon a time we smiled and laughed as we tore our foes apart. Not anymore.”

He wipes the bloody hand across his own chest, the crimson tracts he dug along the flesh getting covered in red plasma that is slowly turning to a deeper red as it dries.

“We have embraced what we are. A force of nature. The destruction personified. Castlevania will be the night that WrestleWorld truly realizes what has been unleashed amongst them. So Preacher. Horror. When you feel your sanity slowly slipping away as hunger and pain creep into your body while chained down, awaiting your execution… remember that you will go down in history as the ones who marked the beginning of our reign of terror. For you… 48 hours in chains is torture. Alone in the dark. No matter how much you think violence and darkness are your allies. No… both of you merely adopted those. We? We were born by violence. Molded by darkness. We are the beast that lurks in the soul of every man and woman made manifest. We are Supreme Machine. And at Violent Delights… at Castlevania… The Preacher will say his last amen… and the Horror will be put to context.”

He remains till for a full minute, just staring at the camera without any expression, any sound, any movement what so ever to disturb the image until it slowly fades to black.