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[The Last of the Giants + Snare for a Hare]; POTW II
Topic Started: Jun 21 2016, 01:46 AM (30 Views)
Indrid Calder
EWA World Heavyweight Champion


Calder sits in a dismal place with a sharp fountain pen in hand, old paper laid out in front of him, yellowing edges, a flickering candle flame lighting the Path for him to scratch out his message. We follow the words as he writes them…

We’ve come so far, Cal.

We’ve fought across fathoms and fed the fields with our blood.

I know the sound of your gigantic bones creaking; the stench of your sour breath wafting into my nostrils, and the force behind fists that are the size of miniature boulders.

I know my enemy, Cal Rayner…and you know yours.

They’ve forgotten you, Cal.

They’ve overlooked you.

They’ve neglected a slavering monster, and they’ve allowed you to starve, leaving your hunger unfulfilled.

No more.

They call you old.

They call you irrelevant.

They call you a prehistoric dinosaur fit for extinction.

No more.

I bear a single gift for you at Path of the Warrior.

An end.

When I finish, they will not forget you.

When I finish, you will be remembered.

When the end comes, the name Dredd will be memorialized in blood across the canvas.

I promise you an end, Cal Rayner.

You will know HATE.

You will feel HATE.

This war we’ve waged?

It ends as it began.

It ends with HATRED.

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You’re a good storyteller, Sinclair the Hare.

You seem to speak as fast as you run, and when you live life that fast, sometimes you trip…and a trip becomes a stumble…and a stumble becomes a fall.

You’re a little confused about the HATE message?

That’s okay.

I’ll elaborate.

HATE is that feeling you got as a child when you trained as hard as you possibly could and there was still that one kid who managed to run a little faster than you.

HATE is that little burning flame in your heart that erupted whenever you were discriminated against for your race, your beliefs, or any aspect of the life you chose to lead.

HATE lives in us all, Sinclair the Hare.

I have a nose for it.

I can sniff it out…kinda like a bloodhound.

It saturates the pores.

It oozes out of the sickened soul.

I can hear the HATE in a man’s heart, Shaun.

The nasty, erratic beating of it…

I heard it in your mentor King Kilminster’s heart when his own woman beat him for his World Heavyweight Championship.

I smelled it on Jurgen when he was denied the chance to compete because his conditioning just wasn’t quite up to par yet.

Some people can hide it fairly well.

They can keep the HATE veiled within, a secret buried under flesh and viscera. But no one can hide their HATE from me, Shaun. I can look inside a person, the transparent glass of their eyes…and I can see the red and black tendrils growing and twisting and breeding with that slow, sweet corruption.

I see the HATE in you, Sinclair the Hare.

And I’m gonna open you up…and I’m gonna let it out…and I’m gonna play it like the finest fuckin’ fiddle you ever did hear.

You think HATE is a waste of energy?

Nah.

You think that only because your mentor King Kilminster has trained you to be the absolute best combat athlete you can possibly be…

But he hasn’t taught you how to harness your HATE.

He hasn’t taught you how to make a tool of it, take it from an obscure cloud that blinds you to a sharp blade to decapitate your enemies with.

It falls to me to teach you that, Shaun. It’s my honor…to show you just how powerful pure, unfiltered HATRED can be.

You have all the energy in the world, Sinclair the Hare.

And I have all the HATEful patience in the world.

It always gives me a good chuckle when I hear the word “emo” thrown at us HATEful ones like a piss-poor insult grenade, a dud that bounces off like an ineffectual potato thrown by someone with the mental capacity of a potato.

You like to use that label on us.

Even lil’ Gracie “Daddy Issues” Goeren has referred to us as “emo”—something I find both hilarious and hypocritical coming from the most angst-driven tweenie to ever lace up a pair of wrestling boots. Newsflash, lil’ Gracie: Emo is short for emotional. You familiar with the word emotional?

It’s balling your eyes out because Daddy was never there for you.

It’s letting all that molten-hot anger build inside that tight little body until it’s practically bursting out of your Mall Kiosk-pierced ears.

It’s fucking and sucking and manipulating to fill up that big, sad hole inside of yourself that your dysfunctional family life left you infected with...

So from where I’m sitting, Gracie Goeren…you’re the most emo little cuntbucket on this entire roster. A regular poster child for all dem’ FEELS. If I get past Sinclair the Hare, rest assured, Gracie…I’ll make you feel a few more emotions. Most of those emotions will involve tears. I’m a firm believer in spare the rod, spoil the child…

But I’ll spoil you anyways, lil’ Gracie.

I’ll spoil you like Daddy never did…

But I digress; the focus is on you, Shaun. Where was I?

Now I remember!

I was going to ask you a question.

Do you know the fastest way to fatally fuck up the fastest man in the EWA?

It’s a simple, straightforward approach.

I’m gonna chop at your legs.

I’m gonna smash my boots into your kneecaps.

I’m gonna tear at your tendons and your muscles and the fibers that hold that vertical base intact…

And I’m gonna cut your legs out from underneath you with patience and a little help from that HATEful hatchet we talked about earlier.

Speed isn’t much use to a legless man, Shaun.

My Path is clear.

It always has been…

I just have to trample you to get there.
Edited by Indrid Calder, Jun 21 2016, 01:49 AM.
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