Post by Casanova English on Oct 5, 2023 14:04:43 GMT
They know not what they are walking themselves into…
Children really. The whole lot of them.
Combat Unlimited? They wouldn’t know war if it charged their shores and burnt their huts to the ground.
Maybe I can save them.
Maybe I can help them become the warriors they pretend to be. Maybe I can build an army off the back of the man they call Casanova. I’ve seen companies do it in the past – they love to milk a renegade of all its creativity.
Tragic really.
So come my child. Bare your soul – skin yourself raw – sacrifice yourself to the lethal trials.
Casanova English started to lose track on where his cigarette smoke stopped and where the cool air turned his hot breath to thick vapour. His black Timberland boots crunched into the snow as he followed The Detective through the snow covered thicket and into the cave carved into the side of a mountain.
The Detective: Hmm, we might have to wake her up. It’s barely night.
The sun slowly sank over the peak of the mountain as The Detective pulled out a flashlight. The Detective shined a beam of light as he and English walked deeper into the dark cave.
English: What the fuck is this shit?
The Detective: You know I never wanted to peak behind the curtain. I was just int he wrong place at the wrong time… once you meet the underbelly – the true elite of society – you either protect them or you die. The Veil was a weird one… corporate investments – human sacrifices – some say she’s a witch from another time.
English shook his head – surely The Detective was losing it. Years on the job and PTSD was eating away at his brain at an accelerated rate. English wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with the occult – he runs the wrestling version of one after all. Then there is Voodoo, the woman hired by CULT for backstage interviewing actually has a long history with Casanova. She has made him bathe in blood, almost drown himself – suspend himself by hooks in strange rituals she thought could give him the edge – it actually worked a lot of the time. A streak of cold air shot down Casanova’s spine as he flicked his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it. He rubbed his hand together for warmth as he looked down at the perfectly square stone with a carving of antlers elegantly etched into it. The Detective kept the light on it as he spoke.
The Detective: You always need to offer.
He said as he pulled a small knife from his pocket and sliced into his palm. He held the knife out – English rolled his eyes and presented his hand. The Detective sliced aggressively, splitting Casanova’s palm open.
English: Fuck…
The Detective pushes his hand together with Casanova’s and blood trickles down their wrists and onto the stone – it fills in the divot of the carved antlers. Then the wall in front of them comes alive as if it is breathing – slowly the wall splits apart from each other revealing a set of stone steps.
The Detective: Just fucking follow me.
The Detective leads the way up the steps and pushes through the wooden door at the top. The room he enters has small animal carcasses hanging from the ceiling, but surprisingly the smell isn’t that bad.
There she sits – atop a throne – an antler crown from slain animals on her head – chain mail flows from it hiding her face. She wears a pale yellow dress torn and frayed at the bottom. Her bare legs are crossed on the seat of the seemingly golden throne. In front of her sits a large iron cauldron for lack of better word.
Casanova can’t see her eyes – but he can feel them running over his body – head to toe. She raises a hand and outstretched a finger pointing to English before curling it to draw him forward. The Detective pushes English along – he shrugs and walks close to The Veil.
She grabs his hand and lets the blood flow into the liquid inside the cauldron. She tilts her head down looking into the liquid – dropping Casanova’s hand and going into a bit of a trance. The Veil holds her breath – she starts to shake uncontrollably – then she lets out a gasp of air and Casanova can feel her eyes digging through his.
So much violence from such a young age Cassidy. So much pain and trauma to fuel and fest on… you just don’t know when to stop. Never have from what I can see… and I can see far into the past… and I know your future Cassidy.
She called him by his real name, the one his mother and father used. The name he tried to bury decades ago – a past he’s been trying not to let shape him. But the lives his father took haunt him each day – no one escapes their past. She was confirming it all.
You’ve got a killer in your blood. Hatred… but passion. That’s what brings you here isn’t it. You’ve set others on your path of violence, you created a cavern of sin… devil worship in a squared circle. You need me to keep the Lethal Trials alive.
Lucky for you I need a venue to spread our gospel – to keep these fools distracted while we do our work looking for The Great Stone… a stone that can fuel the world – an ancient crystal millions of times more valuable than gold.
I’ve created a home for CULT in the Canadian North – spread far away from the criticisms of straight society which has placed your company in financial hardship. See, dark tourism is hot… you have no idea how far a man in a suit will travel to watch a body be carved up.
English isn’t naive…
English: And what do I have to give up…
Oh Cassidy, I’ve already got your soul.
English looks down at the liquid in the cauldron – and sees himself – old wrinkled – happy – surrounded by blood. Laying among the bodies of the only people he’d call friends.
