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Casting shadows; The harbinger
Topic Started: Nov 30 2009, 10:19 PM (159 Views)
Mortius
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CZW Ultimate Role Player
PROLOGUE



And in the chambers he sleeps
One more agonising defeat
His soul is now tarnished, admonished
Forsaken to the recesses
Gone and forgotten

Time passes fluid
No break to the torture
Of what he once had, and gave without thought
The end draws closer
Self inflicted

Death holds one meaning
Release from the rack
Suffering impatient, endless and hungry
Escape harks internal
Choice is no more

Salvation offers chance
Unmorbid, unthought of
To release the decay and reset the past
Intentions of old
Ring out new

Unexpected emotion
Tethered to Angels
Unworried, uncaring of what he once was
Now a new torture
Decisions of demons

A new dawn approaches
Answers accompany
Forgiveness not wanting, unselfish acts
Awaken from slumber
Harbinger of death


ACT I



The scene opens in a graveyard, whisps of thick grey mist encompass the rotting and fetid green headstones, curling around the names of the dead like so many arms enveloping their kindred. The light has gone from the sky, leaving only the dank shine from an elipsed moon to illuminate the tombs. What can be seen of the grass is thick, wild and untrampled. The mourners of this site now long lying themselves in a cemetary not far away. No one comes here any more, this hallowed ground has now passed from the resting of the beloved to something more... haunting. The graves that lay are purposely avoided, it is an old ground, the kind that children are warned of, the kind that even the adults avoid, believe or no, to trespass here is to temp the wrath of the forgotten. Still there is one that doesn't heed the warnings, one to whom words of recourse are lost upon. If the sleep of the eternal surely awakes to the disturbance of their peace they would rise only to find one that does not fear, and one that would gladly brave the storm to sit amongst them, one who feels at home. Now the shot rests on that man, cross legged on the ground his spine resting against the marker of a man that none now remember, his head bowed and his whole body hidden in a cloak that looks weaved from the shadows itself. Only the slow movement of his body as he breathes betrays the fact there is anyone there at all. Then the silence is broken by a voice, the volume muted in the decaying air, but nonetheless recognisable as the deep velvet tones of Mortius


Darkness is more important than the light, without it there would be no light to distinguish. When darkness falls the light does not cast its shadow, the darkness is absoloute. Though wherever light walks darkness follows. It's presence is constant, and if you let it, it will take you over and show you the dominence it holds. I have been in turmoil for the past time. My soul was wrought at having noone, my life empty. I felt betrayed and hurt. Worst of all was when i realised it was I who had betrayed me, I who had hurt me, i inflicted a harsh punishment and was ready to sentence myself.... but now? Now i have people that have accepted me and shown me that i am important to them. So i faced a decision, look towards the light, or let darkness reign? It finally occured to me the obvious end to my agonising. I am now surrounded by light, but they would be nothing without shadow, so therefore i have given myself over, for those who have accepted me, to the dark. To counterbalance them, to make them whole. Brian Blaze, Mike Monroe and Eddie Rowan. I have made no sacrafice, for i know you are there with me as i do this, walking forward and letting me be the shadow that you cast. It is a grave task, and one i accept. Who am i to deny those who have wretched me back from the breach? Beautiful Agony has a force at hand, a muscle to their backbone. I AM a monster, and i embrace that and everything it means, but i am no longer alone. So i do this now, to abhore what i was, and to embrace what i have become!


Mortius stands from his cross legged position, letting the cloak fall to the floor as he unfolds to his full foreboding height. It is not the Mortius of old, his hair, once vibrant and curled, is now straight and blacker than the night, his eyes seem somehow sharper, more focused, with a determined and powerful soul shining through. Gone too are his attire of which he was so well known, to be replaced by a full length coat of leather, no sleeves, and with alchemists silver adorning the buckles and shoulders, the moons rays making them emminate with an errie glow. His arms are filled with tattoos, fresh, as black as his hair, of demons and unholy symbols. So full are the designs on his skin that they act as the sleeves, barely any flesh without a graphic depiction of what he has personified. his now leather gloved hands clench and unclench as he looks directly into the lens of the camera, his breathing now faster, and less subtle as adrenaline takes him over


I AM MORTIUS! I AM DEATH! To those who would stand before Beautiful Agony i give a warning. I will be there to impede you, to bury you if you make that step. Stray away from that course of action. Because Beautiful Agony is one, and with me guarding the gates, we are UNTOUCHABLE.


At the sound of his last words thunder roars high overhead from clouds unseen, and a downpur of heavy raindrops fall thick and fast, dispersing the mist. The drops bounce off of Mortius, standing stoicly with a look of intense evil on his face, as the seconds pass his hair mats to his face, but still he is unyeilding, his stare burning into the lens, his message clear.



ACT II



The arena is alive with the sound of thousands of raised voices, the real emotion of men women and children who invest their hard earned money and most of all feelings into CZW. The companies sole purpose to take them away from their daily lives, to let them believe in another place where they can spectate on the facets of life, its ups downs, highs and lows, without the drawbacks of having to deal with the problems or decisions that they normally do. The feeling of escapism, CZW is THEIR world, and right now, it's all that exists, them, the ring, and the athletes. Anticipation is high for what might happen next. Unlike most shows when the CZW faithful come to a house show they don't know what to expect, what is certain every time though is shocks, excitement, laughter, anger, the full spectrum of emotions fit into a three hour slot. The men in the ring have a point to make, a story to tell. Wrestling, between the ropes and behind the scenes is these performers lives, played out and showcased for the world to see. No need to analyse too much, only feel the experience, let your breathing stop, let your heart pound, on some occasions even let the tears fall, along with the men that you came to see. Right now the cheers are directed towards Beautiful Agonies Mike Monroe and Eddie Rowan, collectively known as Monrowan. The two favourites ellicit huge reactions wherever they go, and this night is no exception. The two men have just had a glorious match against two up and comers in CZW. Their debut impressive and their feelings of gratitude at having their first match against such a legendary team is evident as both men, wearing red and blue trunks respectively, shake the hands of Monrowan beofore heading backstage. Mike looks around the gathered crowd, letting the adulation of the fans wash over him as he climbs the turnbuckle and signals to them. Eddie goes to the opposite turnbuckle to do the same. Mike then asks for a microphone to be passed and he looks around at the fans, chants of BA starting up, small, but gathering momentum with every second. Mike waits for the chants to abate, which takes quite a while, but finally the wish for the fans to hear his words over-ride their compultion to cheer for their favourites



I wanna take a moment here to address all you people


A cheer erupts once more, but Mike cuts it off as he continues to speak


Last week on Overdrive was all in all a great success for the new Beautiful Agony! The Disasterpiece taking on and defeating two great friends of mine El Pablo and Krimzon Blaze


Without missing a cue the fans erupt once more, even the names of the warriors make their hearts jump and their voices raise


Eddie Rowan here beat a good friend of his... Maynard O'Toole


Eddie smiles and takes a small bow a Monroe continues


But then of course we come to the problem... Brian McNally is one of the BEST DAMN STARS HERE IN CZW!


Another huge response greets this, as, even with his rough edges and gritty attitude McNally has still captured the imagination of the CZW faithful all over the world


And then Cage comes out here, in what was supposed to be a fair fight, which, i have to say to begin with it was, and Cage fought the good fight. But AFTERWARDS, KNOWING that We were all busy backstage he assaults McNally, well, that isn't on, and Cage, i'm here to tell you BEAUTIFUL AGONY DOES NOT LET SHIT DROP!


Boos overtake the crowd as the memory of the attack still plays fresh in their minds


But it's not over Cage, not by a long shot. Why... this week for instance, you take on another in our ranks


The crowd cheers


And oh, the irony, in a cage match no less


The cheers get louder


But enough from me... i think it's time you meet the man himself....


Both Monroe and Rowan point towards the top of the stage. The lights go completely off thrusting the arena into darkness, pitch darkess. Lighters start to flare up among the audience as, for the first time in six months the haunting orchestral beginning of 'Tearing the Veil from Grace' by Cradle of Filth starts to play. At the end of the entrance, usually where the guitars kick in the music starts to slow down eerily, the crowd look around each other by the light of the flames when suddenly a burst of lighning EXPLODES on stage and Slipknots Disasterpiece starts to play, on screen the Disasterpiece symbol shows on screen for a few seconds before the letters B A are applied to it


Posted Image


The lights come back up, but are very dim. Mike and Eddie are seen already up at the top of the ramp, having made their way there during the blackout. They stand to one side as Mortius comes out, dressed in his new attire of the sleeveless leather coat, fastened, gloves, and black hair, poker straight. The sight is overwhelmingly creepy as he slowly proceeds onto the stage. He looks over at Monroe and Rowan, and with a barely perceptible nod, acknowlodges them. They look quite off guard themselves at this new Mortius but nod back, Eddie can just be seen putting his hand out to the side where he recieves a sly high five from Monroe as they look at each other with wide eyes and down at the man now heading towards the ring at a stately pace, neither looking towards the fans nor back up the ramp. His focus directed squarely on the ring. He finally reaches it and steps to the apron, lifting one huge leg over the top rope, then the other. He steps to the middle of the ring and looks ahead as the music stops and the lights return to normal. When he speaks it seems that the darness has applied itself to his voice, what once was deep now has a booming quality and the smoothness is evident, but slower, like a veil spreading over each sylabel. There is no microphone in his hands, though his voice still comes through the speakers, the new edge, the dark soul, the raw power eminating from every word, chilling all who listen to their core.


I know there is one who would challange me this day. I say to you repent now, do not make the mistake of coming to this ring. I WILL end you, and derive satisfaction from doing so.


Seconds pass like minutes, only to be met by silence. Even the crowd hold their breath in anticipation of whatever opponent would come, until the chilling voice rings out once more


A wise decisio....


When Worlds Collide by Powerman 5000 plays over the speakers. Spines unfreeze and boos pour down as a man not seen in CZW for nearly half a year, Kris Kamikaze's music plays out. The crowd do not forget though, as they watch in disbelief the man himself comes out on stage, signalling to the fans that he doesn't care for their response, and looking down into the ring at the Demon before him. Mortius, rather than anger at the interruption, has a smile on his face, a smile that carries more intentions in it than any words could describe. The smile does not reach his eyes, with remain cold and sharp, unblinking as he stares at the oncoming Kamikaze. Kris continues down, knowing this is his chance to gain standing in the company, a foothold to a position of glory. Though looking into the eyes of his opponent as he draws nearer stops him in his tracks. Desperation drives him on, or possibly the suicidal tendencies that his name implies. He jumps to the apron, looking around once more to the fans, turning suddenly on the realisation his back was to the monster in the ring. Mortius, however, hasn't moved an inch. Kamikaze steps between the ropes and Mortius unbuckles his coat, taking it off in one fluid movement, underneath is a muscle shirt, skintight, black, with the disasterpiece symbol adorned to the front. His physique shows through, powerful, muscular. He is fully clothed in black and the effect is startling, it seems to encompass him, to be a part of him, a mirror reflection of the soul inside. The bell rings and Kamikaze wastes no time bouncing off the ropes behind and coming off with extra momentum, hitting Mortius with a shoulder tackle. Mortius barely moves, no defence, no retaliation, just the same mirthless smile. Kris looks up to his face and backs off... then bounces on the ropes again and flies in with a leaping back elbow... Mortius takes a step back. Kamikaze is quick to his feet, he leaps back to the ropes and comes in with everything he has with a spinning kick, Mortius staggers back to the ropes, the smile now gone from his face, Kris, realising the opportunity, flies one more time to the ropes.... and runs straight into the boot of Mortius coming the other way. The impact sends him to the mat holding his face, he has no chance to recover however as Mortius grabs him by the hair and drags him to his feet, a look of evil intensity on his face. He lifts Kamikaze, turning him one hundred and eighty degrees in the process, into a reverse suplex position... the crowd either sharply intake breath, or let out some word of sympathetic pain as Mortius lets go of Kamikaze, as he's making his way to the ground Mortius grabs his waist mid fall and drives home a tombstone piledriver, the momentum and impact bouncing Kamikazes skull on the ground, lifting him up once more before coming down on his back. It is obvious to everyone present that his lack of movement is not voluntary, his eyes shut tight as he sleeps the unbidden sleep. Mortius, from his position on his knees, places a hand gently on each shoulder of Kamikaze and looks up at the referee, so shocked at what he just witnessed that he has forgotten to go down for the count. Realising the stare coming from Mortius he shakes himself out of his reverie and hits the mat



1
.
.
2
.
.
3


A quick count and no wasted time as the referee signals for paramedics, who, having been watching from the back, are already making thier way down. There is no applause, no cheering, a shocked silence leaves ample room for the sound of the stretcher cart on the steel ramp to echo throughout the building. They reach the ring as Mortius is once more buckling up his coat, a grim, unyeilding look on his face watching the emergency medical team apply the neck brace and shuffle Kamikaze gently onto the stretcher before moving it to the cart and making their way with as much haste as humanly possible to the back. With his coat now back on Mortius looks around the audience, the silence now bieng broken by an outbreak of whispers. Mortius ignores them, they do not enter into his world, one lost in dark satisfaction. The whispers stop abruptly at the sound of Mortius' booming voice



Cage Stryker!


What was said, was not a question, was not the beggining of something more, was not even a statement. The two words, simply the name being spoken, carries with it a challenge all of its own, like death himself had read the name from the hourglass.


Your time has come. This week you face not what i was, but what i have become. You witnessed the first to fall to the Mortal Coil. Kamikaze was merely a puppet in a swift explaination as to what to expect when you face me. But for you, there shall be no escape, noone to come down and take you away from my wrath. We meet within the confines of a steel cage. YOUR prison Cage, your tomb. I had this match sanctioned as a way to show my dominance over you, to let you know that Blaze had picked the right man to be by his side, that your coallition was no more. The Hollywood Knights are dead, and i know no other way of proving this than to exact my will upon you. To overpower you, to show you what it means to be in the shadow of the light.


Mortius words are greeted with rapt attention, every person entranced by his voice and his words. So caught up that unbiddingly they breath when he breathes, focusing their entire will on his words as they wash over them


That was why i wanted you Cage. To break your body. But tonight i take the oppertunity afforded me to break your spirit. That however is a task easily undertaken. Shadows are all around you if you take the time to look, take the focus from yourself Cage and see yourself as others see you. You need not look far for examples of your impact upon them. For instance... Reunited we Fall, as you know, was made by the men in the back, not only for the followers, but for you yourselves. To name the opponent you wished to face, out of hate, out of love, out of respect. Not ONE man, Cage, not ONE wanted to face you. Many took the gift of free choice to fulfill their wish of going fror the gold you had around your waist... but not you. But your pride, your arrogance will not let you se that, so i offer you more shadows, listen well. Brian Blaze was given the choice also and his first thought was towards a man he knew to hate him, a man that through the passage of time he no longer knew. He tracked me down, convincing me despite the hatred he knew i held for him, to fight alongside him for what should have been one last time. He done all that Cage KNOWING he had you, knowing he had the World Heavyweight Champion at his disposal, and he picked ME. Let the dark thoughts enter Cage, by now they must be knocking on your unconcious, knowing that not one man wanted to face you and your own partner didn't want you. Stop for a moment Cage, let the truth in, the shadows are there, unbidden, aren't they? Screaming at your soul to stand up and take note. Letting you know what kind of impact you've had here when you're at the top and STILL you mean nothing!


Mortius pauses in his speech, the silence screaming the intention for Cage, who he knows is listening, to take the time, to reflect, to let the message drown him. After some time Mortius looks down at the canvas, and continues to speak


Now the wound is open Cage i know you need to hear more, because the darkness is hungry, it needs all it can to fill you from the skin to the bone. I am not one to disappoint that which i have accepted fully myself. So i will feed your hunger. After Reunited we Fall Blaze received message from our opponents of that night that an alliance of old was to be reformed, that Beautiful Agony would rise from the ashes anew and needed Blaze among their score. Blaze delivered an ultimatum, if they wanted him, they had to accept... ME, not you Cage. The only way to get to Blaze was to accept that i came too. They accepted me without thinking, offered me a spot knowing what i was. That is for another time though, tonight the focus is on you. You see Blaze knew then what you have been failing to accept, but maybe are starting to see, that you are nothing, a falling star whos light was weak even at its brightest. But Cage, even a weak light casts a shadow. Then your assault on Brian McNally. A subject i will fall more upon as we progress. Beautiful Agony were preparing backstage, i was alone with my thoughts at the time, agonising over a desicion that has led me to become what you see before you. The only man alert was Brian Blaze, he came to the site of your continued destruction, to help? Yes, but not you, not Cage Stryker, he came to help fight you off of Bryan McNally, a man he barely knows, and he picked him over you. Has the darkness taken hold yet? Is it carousing through your veins, making your skin crawl, making anger fueled adrenaline. Embrace it Cage, embrace the dark mist i know is forming in your mind. I tell you to embrace it, because if you do not... you will not walk out of that cage. You need to face me on equal terms if you have a hope of defeating me Stryker. I accept who i am, i take pleasure in the suffering of others, mental, physical, it doesn't matter. You have to come out not with fire, but with the flickering shadow that the fire casts. Do it so i can prove that even then, even in your darkest hour, you would still fall to me. Have the thoughts entered yet, the betraying thoughts you wish to ignore? The ones that tell you i'm right, you are nothing, a man that has risen above his place, who took oppertunities in a time of crisis to fill the places of the men who left here? Now we have returned, and a reckoning is at hand, the natural order MUST be restored, so you cling foolishly to try and stop yourself from falling, and to what end? To remain where you were would bring only constant defeat, fight all you want, but in your heart you know i'm right. Those thought do not lie Cage, they are the true you, the pure you, without adulteration and delusion. Listen to them. I believe that in your subconsious you are already aware, and have been for some time. You have unwittingly been letting yourself know what you truly are inside. Look at your recent change of name, you now call yourself the ''truthless'' hero. A name even you couldn't fully explain coherently. It arose to you without forebearence of thought. You used it without knowing why, you convinced yourself it was anything but the true reason, a reason decyphered easily from analysis. A hero with no truth... therefore a lie, a sham and a charlaten, by your OWN admission!


Mortius looks back up at the last four words, his eyes shining with delight in his molevalence, he flicks his hair back over his face, showing the full extent of his sadistic expression as he once more begins to talk


Onto another facet to this confrontation... Jesse Montana. A man with his own demons, a man that has fully accepted those demons and exalts in catering to their needs. The sadistic pleasure he derives from the pain and suffering of others matched only by mine. When i demanded this match be sanctioned he could have easily said no, if only for the satisfaction of doing so. Though instead he seen an oppertunity, a chance to unleash a monster on a man he himself wanted to see suffer. He puts himself in the same prison as you Cage, by coincidence? No, even you are not foolish enough to convince yourself of this. You, in front of thousands, tried to cater to your own desires with Krimzon Blaze, without the knowledge or approval of Montana. Do you think that alone bothers him? He is above such as that. No, what made him burn was your assumption to take away HIS power, to consider yourself above his sanctioning. He sees you for what you are Cage, and will help throw you down to the depths where you belong. I was an oppertunity to him, and he wants to be there to see me destroy you. It is a wish i will gladfully grant Montana. After you have been beaten, decimated, broken and i feel i have left you under no illusion as to your place, you will feel the Mortal Coil, i shall choose to leave the cage, and Montana can have the remains


A look of anger passes over the features of Mortius, his top lip curls and he breathes deeply, closing his eyes. He opens them and breathes out sharply, and as quick as it had happened, his face is once again one of dark composure.


There is one more matter that must be addressed. Not to you Stryker, but because of you. Bryan McNally, one for whom i already hold distaste. McNally, when you entered the Beautiful Agony fold you entered with fire, with righteous anger. Speaking words of how YOU were the one that Beautiful Agony had been seeking, how you, in your own way, would be their shadow. You claimed this as a task only you were capable of, and issued a challenge to those in the back to refute your words. What you should have considered however, were the men in the ring with you. You dis-acknowledged me, did not see me as on par with you... anger filled me, and a need to unleash... but i held back, i hesitated to see if you could mark up to your intentions. You faced Cage and was soundly defeated, then humiliated and embaressed. This monster was no more than a fallacy. You outmatched Cage in every way, but still you fell to him with ease. So i have seen the proof of the lie, your words were hollow and meaningless.... McNally, Beautiful Agony is only as strong as its weakest member, and as such are like men among gods as we stand. Try and refute my words, or open up to them, let the shadows take hold, and realise my truth. Maybe then you can live up to the potential of your words. For if you cannot then i will tear you out like the cancer to us that i believe you are. Prove to me i am wrong. For i will prove to you, when i excell where you failed, that it is i who is the strength in Beautiful Agony, that your statement was hollow, fetid, and wrong. Until the day when your burden proves to much though, i will treat you like the rest. I will accept you as kin and stand with you and fight with you. Vengeance will be taken on any and all who attack us. So Cage, my reasons have went beyond Brian Blaze. You thought to make a statement with McNally but all you succeeded in doing was bringing the wrath of Beautiful Agony upon you...


Mortius moves to the ropes and places his gloved hands on the top, looking up to the stage, beyond the screen, beyond the rooms, directing his final words straight into the heart of Cage Stryker himself


I AM THAT WRATH... I AM THE HARBINGER OF DEATH... I AM MORTIUS... AND YOU...


Mortius backs away from the ropes, keeping the cold stare directed at the back, an intense, almost animalistic look crosses his face as he whispers his last words, carrying in the silence louder than a scream


...are next!


The lights go out so the arena is once more plunged into darkness, lightning hits the four turnbuckles as the sound of thunder rolls high overhead. Then... the lights return to normal, the ring is empty, no trace of Mortius, only the eerie feeling of unease as the crowd look around them, whispers begin to break out as the shadow cast over the crowd starts to abate, the noise level then starts to raise as if everyone in the room is waking up from a nightmare, realising that normality had returned.


ACT III

The scene opens in an empty room, empty through choice. The room however seems used, not derilect, the walls are bare, though fresh, encrusted with newly dried paint. The room is not betrayed by sound, wether from the outside or closer at hand. Silence so thick it presses on the ears, you would not break it for fear of reprucusion, it is a measured silence there by design. The floor is wooden, dark oak, also bare. the wood is unstained, it is dark by nature, infused with shade from its forefathers. Destroyed and mutilated, to spend its afterlife as it spent its life, used by an uncaring and unthinking animal. The room is dark, a darkness not from absence of light, but caused by it. Over the single source, from a point on the roof, is a covering, under the covering light shines brightly, but the covering stops it from illuminating, plunging the room, not into darkness... but shadow. On the floor, sitting cross legged is Mortius, bathing in the shadow, his breathing measured and slow, so as not to instill upon the silence bestowed. His eyes are open, the same strength glowing through, he seems not focused on any object, instead his eyes are focused in introspection, seeing that which only he can, that which we are not privvy too. The silence is broken by a mundane sound, aura in the room destroyed by the clashing of a letterbox and a package hitting heavy on the same wooden floor in the next room. Mortius doesn't start, instead he looks slowly towards the source, his expression becoming one of distaste at the disturbance, he unfolds from his position and moves with purpose out of the door to the hallway, a ripping is heard and the fluttering of discarded paper to the ground. Entering the room once more his expression has become one of vapid interest, looking down at what appears to be a silver case engraved and carved with intricate designs. Though upon closer inspection that assumption is no longer clear, the designs seem to change and move at your stare, as if its soul was not to be glanced at, perhaps not even moving, as no motion can be definetly percieved, no, the carvings remain the same but your eyes can't focus on it, almost in defense your sight will not rest on the engravings, what can be accertained in Mortius' instrest. He sits once more cross legged on the floor and places the box in front of him. His fingers begin searching it, caressing it, every side, every angle, every engraving passes under his touch. As the tips of his fingers brush the sides of the box a ''click'' is heard, breaking the tension that has built up in the room. Mortius lifts his hands and as he does so the top of the box lifts easily with them. Inside there is no blinding light, no souls escape, nothing as spectacular, simply a black, leather bound book. Plain, or at least at first glance, as Mortius pulls the tome from the box letters in silver shine in the light of the hallway from the door left forgotten by the raptured monster. Three words are seen, a few moments are needed to decipher from our vantage point, but then realisation comes to us, and with it a sense of foreboding, and to some, interest. To Mortius it is more, holding the book in his hands has a startling effect, his eyes close, his breathing becomes harsh. He places his left hand over the cover, almost covering it from sight. Finally he removes his hands, and unbiddin starts to read aloud from the first place the book falls open. There is a flicker in the shadow of the room before the words befall our ears from



''The Testament of Shadows''


''...they came. Looking at the scene Ruel proclaimed that the master was at work, to leave lest be caught in the tailwind of destruction. Fesnea nodded and addressed his kin
Brothers, we see before us a miracle, proof of the masters power. Now it is time to return and tell to the faithful of what we have seen
As one the Achim Tzel turned from what was left of the settlement to begin their trek bac....''



Mortius turns again to another random page, the papers rustling fills the room, not a breath can be heard from Mortius, engrossed. He begins to read aloud again


''... and on that day shall the true judgement come, not of earthly things but of good and evil.

The shadow has watched and the shadow has judged, what is proclaimed as good shall be put to the test. On that day everyone, everything is equal. Concepts considered vile, feelings considered trecherous, actions considered evil shall not be on this day. Every action shall be judged by intention.

For is it not true that if murder was done with righteous mind then it is not, cannot be bad? And if a gift of charity is given with selfishness, with alterior intention, then it is not, cannot be pure?

he apocolypse shall come, but it is not the final judgement, for he that brings the apocolypse must he himself be judged! On that day all shall be enveloped by shadow, and truth shall be seen, without the illusions of the light, or the blindness of the dark.

All shall melt away and demons and angels will stand together, exalting in the power of the one who decides.

You will know the day is approaching when shadows find champions, ones who ride in his name without feeling or care of consequence. Forebearers who will see fit to judge in their time, and who will deciple themselves, sharing his news, bringing with them power and a sense of purpose

On this day bow, look towards the ground.. Do not pray, only accept. Open your mind, your heart, let him enter and follow his way.

Fire shall bring forth death, shall bring forth ash, shall bring forth land, shall bring forth man, shall bring forth fire. Remember that which is constant.''



Mortius nods, evil glints in his eye and a small tight smile peaches his pallid lips, he turns the book once more at random, every second that passes with the pages seemin to take hold more. As he reads aloud his voice is full of emotion, though dark, terrifying, every sylabal reverberating in the roombouncing back and mingling with the next. Creating its very own echo, a shadow even on the words


''...he sat among the Achim Tzel, all present, all eager to hear his words.


There was a boy once, long ago. Of poor beginnings. Like so many before him he came to work a hard life. Backbreaking labour on the feilds of his landlord.

Every day from sun up to sunset, he would slave with thousands, with only moist dirt to quench his thirst

It came to be that his landlord had word of trouble for his cousin. Seeing an oppertunity not to help, but to seize, the landlord left his quarry and started a trek of wealth and gain

Labour was hard, but the new sun brought with it new strength, and in the time his master was gone the young boy grew stronger, overtaking in his ability everyone around. The overseers in their masters absence were proud of his labour, and would tell passers by

We have the strongest of all the workers in the land, he provides for his master and makes him richer by his two hands every day what it takes two other men

The boy grew proud, and ever stronger, after a month the overseers boasts had grown

We have the most hardworking of all the boys in the land, why in one day with his two hands he accomplishes what it takes four other men

With a glad heart, and the tidings in his mind of treasures his landlord would give him on his return when he learns of the strongest worker, he put in more effort, produced more, grew more

In another month his overseers would stop and tell all that would listen

Our master picks the best in the land, he has one man who with his own two hands does the work of six

The boy, now a man, was glorified among his peers, and envied by his masters rivals. The overseers gave him extra duties, gave him his own team of the strongest, to produce more and more for their master, they knew that diligence was rewarded and the strongest worker could make more strong workers.

So the overseers grew in confidence, but none moreso than the boy from a humble beginning, now a champion among men

In a month the overseers would brag in town

We have the best in the land. Our one worker can do the work of eight, and he has trained three more to do the work of six. Our master is a rich master indeed

One day after dawn a horse of the finest breed, with a coat of the finest material came to the place where the boy, now a man worked. It was his master returned

The man was eager to recieve his rewards. He watched in anticipation as the overseers explained how, in his long absence, they young boy, now a strong man, had made their master wealthy beyond reproach. In silence the man waited as his master approached, he looked down at his hard worker

I have heard tales of you on my travels, i have heard there was a landlord with the finest worker in the world. I come home to find it is one of my own, i was right when i hired you, of good breed and strong will. I have come back from the land of my cousin, it is now my land. You will walk there and start your work again, make my money for me in a more fertile plain. You will be able to work harder, the ground is less hard and the times of the sun a little longer. You may leave tomorrow

At this the man became enraged, he nodded in silence, but that night he went to the men he had trained. With arrogence and pride he spoke

We are the best, we produce more, and yet we get nothing. Come with me and start our own work, make ourselves rich, and show the master he was wrong not to reward us. For what reward is more work, harder tasks?

One of the overseers overheard this and went to his master, at this late hour relaxed in his finery. The landlord nodded and asked for all his workers to be roused and present

In a short time the landlord went out of his house in fromt of a sea of faces. Among them the man who looked with secret distain on his master, who began to speak

I have heard that the strongest in my throng has been enraged by me, has tried to go behind my back and steal from me. A man whom i have clothed, fed and housed since he was young. He believes i was wrong not to reward his hard work. That a tool should get merit when it serves its purpose. He is the strongest among you, he makes me more than any other in the world and yet he betrays me. I am not an unfair man however, and i have heard his words and listened well. He shall have his reward

A roar of approval from the throng meet this, and the boy, now a man sighs outwardly as the overseers approach. He smiles with confidence as they each grab his arms and legs, lifting him bodily, finally holding him face down in front of his master. The cheers stop and the crowd go silent. The master looks down at the struggling body, his best among the world. More overseers approach with all of the masters weaponry. He looks to them and picks out a sword of the finest gilt. Steel folded a hundred times, jewels and finery encrusted into the blade. The best of all his weapons

Watch now as you see this man recieve his reward. He who would betray his master. He shall not die by any other means but my hand, by my best weapon

A shadow passed over the scene as he lifted the sword high, pointing down, and with fatal impact brought it down through the head of his best.

He wipes the blood on the cloth of the dead and sheaths his finest sword

Take this as a lesson, i did not sacrifice my greatest today, i punished a man who thought above his station, that is my right

They assembled nod in agreement and disperse back to their homes

The master himself picks up the body of his best and places it over his shoulder, he walks to his stable and places it reverntly down turning to his overseers

He is to be buried with the pigs and his name shall never be mentioned from this day. The landlord then retired to his home for the night was still young...''



Mortius closes the book and looks up pensievly before placing the book back into its engraved silver case. The lid goes back in with a click, and somehow, the shadows in the room seem less deeper. Mortius looks straight ahead and begins to speak, his booming voice encompassing every inch of space in the room, so that the words could very well not be being spoken by him, but could be coming from anywhere. No beginning, no end, a wall of sound, an assault to the senses


I do not know who sent me the Testament of Shadows, though it was obviously someone who has seen the decisions i have made and is letting me know i am not the first. I am eager to read on from leather to leather, to find the messages, the meanings, the truth. But right now i must stop and consider. The parable i have just spoken has reminded me greatly of you, Cage Stryker. You and Jesse Montana. You cannot have failed to see the similarity yourself. Montana is your master, and while he was gone you worked to the top, this gave you undue arrogance and pride. And when he returns and puts you in your place, tells you that you mean nothing to him you try to go it alone, go over his head and make his decisions. Let me ask you Cage, upon reading that who do you think was the evil in the story? The master? Why? Because he killed his best simply for wanting what he earned, but is it not possible that the punishment was just? That the man had excelled at what he was supposed to do? Does that give him a right to expectations? Of course not, his was a betrayal, and the master showed that even his best worker was still a worker, equal in his eyes and punishable the same as the rest. Or perhaps you agree with that and think that the master was right in what he done and that the judgment was fair? If that is the case Stryker then you admonish yourself, and the punishment, sick and severe, is justified. What has this to do with me though? Well i seen myself in that tale, didn't you? I was the instrument of the landlords judgment. His best weapon. It is true, Jesse Montana has the power to make any match he sees fit, to punish you my any means. But instead he sends one man... one monster, his best weapon. Because he knows i will finish the job, and excell in doing so. Your punishment will be severe, even torturous, you will scream, there will be blood, and when it flows rich and fast i will delight in continuing. You see i do not have a conscience the way you think of it. I will not think enough is enough. I will keep going, because i derive pleasure from doing so. When you scream i will hit harder, when you break i will see if you shatter. Whatever way you choose to see it Cage, you WERE the evil here, the one in the wrong. You will be punished and when i finish... Montana will bury you with the pigs!


The camera slowly fades from the colourless shade of grey to black, fading out on Mortius, his hands once more caressing the box from the unknown

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