Post by The Sky King on May 23, 2011 19:35:37 GMT -5
Hettus awoke as normally as he had the past three mornings. The sun cast an orange glint across the sky, piercing and warming his flesh before dancing on his eyelids, forcing them to open. The birds chirped softly, fluttering from tree to tree. Insects crawled beneath canopies of brown and orange crisp leaves, darting into their homes for fear of the bright new day. The body of the Gaul was starting to swell, and its abdomen had already burst and revealed a vivid pink intestinal ribbon peering from beneath swarthy flesh.
It was a beautiful sight to Hettus. Remained him of the times him and Davus used to stroll around battlefields, laughing at the corpses of enemies who had been piled there and left to rot and decay under the shadow of the Aquila.
He rolled onto his rear, leaning down and grasping a grasshopper darting through the few blades of grass beneath him. With a thumb and forefinger, he crushed the head, killing it instantly before thrusting it into his mouth, grinding into it and swallowing it. It was bitter, horribly so, but the protein did more than enough to provide him with the sustenance he needed to just about survive.
Hettus pulled himself to his feet, wandering over to the dead body of the Gaul whose acrid stench of decaying flesh was becoming unbearable. He couldn’t move him, though. All Hettus could do was sit by and let him rot. Unless..
Within one hour, Hettus had managed to scavenge various scraps of twigs, branches and even strips of ragged bark, enough to completely cover the Gauls body. He set down a small, thick branch he had found, grasping thinner branch and vigorously rubbing the tip against it. After a few minutes in the baking, dawn sunlight, the friction eventually created heat, which created the smallest of flames upon the thick branch. Acting quickly, Hettus picked it up gently before ensconcing it amongst the piles of branches and twigs he had constructed over the Gaul.
It was an honourable funeral for a Gaul. Hettus hadn’t intended it. He just didn’t want to get sick from the wretches stench and disease.
The flames began to flicker and grow, meeting and greeting eachother as they swallowed the wood whole, charring it. A sweet, roasting smell filled the air, a sign of the Gauls flesh stripping away from his bones. He savoured it, licked his lips, but stopped himself. Eating human flesh was what these heathens did, not what a Roman did. No matter how desperate, he must not fall to the level of Whitus, Scotia or the oblivion. He absolutely could not!
He admired the funeral pyre, ignored the urge to throw himself upon it to simply appease his humiliation. A small burning sensation forced up his throat, crawling from the pit of his stomach, but he quickly swallowed it. He would see Whitus and Scotia witness their own downfall soon enough, whether by his hand or by the hand of another cohort, Hettus would see it, and he would be laughing to the heavens themselves once the day came.
The stomach of Hettus rumbled as he watched the funeral pyre flicker and burn with raging flames, the heat pounding at his chest and face like a wall. Throwing up the two blankets he had slept upon and pulling out his Gladius, he walked north, past the funeral pyre. He would simply let it burn out. What if an ember caught a tree trunk, and sparked an undying inferno which swallowed the forest, killing all of the innocent animals?
Hettus shrugged. Life is like that.
===
Back out of his own head and into the thick, vile swamp that is reality, Luck stared down at his breakfast which Zack had cooked. Two eggs over easy forming eyes, a strip of bacon forming a smiling mouth. Luck smiled too, but it was a completely false smile.
Luck appreciated Zacks efforts. They were cute, somewhat. Cute in their complete and utter naivety, but cute nevertheless. At least Zack made the effort, unlike every single fucking fan who sat down on seats, let their brains flow out of their rectum and bawled random, illegible slurs at Lucks direction simply because he chose to wear a suit as opposed to tracksuit bottoms and a tanktop stained with the blood of his wife and some common household beer.
The smile covered up Lucks complete and utter contempt for the human race. It gave him some emotion, but in reality? Luck had none. Hell, if a burglar walked in and snapped Zacks neck before his eyes, he’d probably just ask the burglar to pass the ketchup.
Life is like that.
Lucks heart, which once beat like that of a normal humans, had scabbed over into a black, crusted mass.The only way to even tell it was human was by the two carved slices revealing the red, raw, pulsating organ underneath, slices held for Zack and for Dave. In his eyes, even they were dispensable, but they were the closest he has and has had to family, so he felt like he loved them unconditionally. Dave was especially like a brother to him, while Zack was the cousin you barely see but still think is quite the awesome person to hang around.
“Well, someone looks happy at least!” exclaimed Zack. Luck kept the false smile on his face and nodded.
He hated the human race so much.
“Yes, I am.” He replied calmly, trying to disguise the complete and utter hatred and humiliation which had burnt into his voicebox following Sundays defeat.
“So, forgot about the defeat?” asked Zack. Five words that caused Luck to slam his fork violently into the table, causing another deep crack within the wood, similar to the one he left after feasting with his mother and father weeks prior. The smile remained on his face, but it now resembled that of someone whose mental instability was growing with each and every passing minute. Zack watched Luck, straight-faced and somewhat glumly. Dave, who was sat opposite Zack to the left of Luck, continued eating quietly, shoving a rasher of bacon into his mouth and quickly swallowing it down before raising his head.
“Don’t bring it up, Zack. Don’t fucking do it.” Muttered Dave quietly, his own eyes underlined by thick black bags which indicated a severe lack of sleep. Luck turned to Dave, smiling and nodding. Dave looked at Luck, slightly unnerved. For a moment, Luck felt that Dave knew just exactly was going on in his mind. Maybe he could see it too? See his sanity unravelling. See his sense of morality start to slowly erase. See that his eyes were blank and showed no emotion to match the false smile. Dave turned his head to Zack. “The question is..what do we do about Oblivion?”
“What do we do? Well, what do I want to do? What I want to do is simple..” Luck picked up his knife, slicing it lightly across the varnished wood and leaving a light mark. “..I want to cut his throat and watch blood flow onto the mat.” Dave remained silent. Luck gave a small blink, looking up at Dave and giving an actual smile. “Wouldn’t you like to see that? See that heathens..that parasites blood just flow like a waterfall and baptise us? Wouldn’t you just LOVE to do that to avenge our loss of the gold?”
“I would, but there’s several laws against it.” Chuckled Dave, not realising that Luck was, in fact, deadly serious.
“Sad, isn’t it?” mused Luck. A small rap rapped against the door opposite Luck, who glared at it, as if summoning up a telekinetic force to open it. Luck nodded at Zack who took a quick swig of coffee, wiping his greasy hands off of his jeans and rising to his feet, walking over to the door.
“Luck, I know you’re serious. I know you would legitimately kill the man if you ever got the chance to do so, but I’m trying to be realistic. We need to execute vengeance, and we need to do it without being violent. We need to be a punch to the heart, a mental blow to that fucking rat. I can see it in you, your cunning is starting to come through. This is when you are at your most dangerous, so give us an idea..Something, ANYTHING!” exclaimed Dave. Luck nodded.
“We took the fight to his loved ones. We will continue to do so. He took something of ours that we loved, so we took something of his that he loves. But we're going to continue to do so.” Replied Luck quietly. “Everything held dear to him? We’ll rip it away. Everything he cherishes? We will destroy it. I offer Oblivion nought but ashes, flames and the inevitable signs of his own hubris. It is time, my friend, that we stop fucking around. It is time we stop letting morality hamper our own decisions, it is time that we stop letting emotions get in our way, it is time to remove ourselves from the mortal coil and transcend everything by becoming the next stage of humanity: Emotionless killers with a goal.”
“I wouldn’t say that’s transcending—“
“Then we will devolve and become snakes.” Spat Luck as Zack opened the door. Luck rose to his feet..
===
Hettus’s feet carried him to the eastern edge of the forest, two miles away from the Roman encampment. There was no blazing inferno, no screaming rabbits, no birds bogged down with ash and soot, so he figured that the funeral pyre had not caused the forest to erupt into a very envisioning of the underworld itself. Hettus swallowed back his disappointment and crept forward, his soles blistered, cracked and covered in dirt clogged into his pores by a slick covering of sweat over his body.
He squatted down behind a thick batch of undergrowth, peering through the gaps in the clogged branches and gnarled leaves, keeping his right hand gently stroking the handle of his Gladius. He was waiting for a few Gauls to wander on by so he could pounce on them, kill them, and leave their bodies for the Roman frumentarii to admire. No other reason was needed, he was just going to kill them so he could feel some sense of glory once more.
That, and he knew that the Gauls knew where the best berries and vegetation were, and they loved to patrol past this area to pick them. Hettus had killed several in his days as a Centurion and picked their pockets for the fat, juicy berries they carried with them.
He watched for a few moments, the smell of the mud caking his body starting to fester and cause a rank odour to fill the air. His eyes gave a tired blink as he kept his watch and his guard. Insects danced up his nostrils, into his ears, across his forehead to drink from the beads of sweat constantly forming. He couldn’t flick them off in risks of giving away his position, so instead he allowed them to feast on him.
He waited. Lifes like that. Waiting for that one opportunity to come across. Whether you choose to take it or fail is upon yourself. Facing Whitus and Scotia, Hettus took the opportunity, and had failed.
He bit his bottom lip bitterly, the scars of the battle still lingering on both his body and in his mind.
He quickly crouched down further, watching as a lone Germanic warrior walked across his field of vision. He crept forward slightly, watching as the bulky, leather-plate-clad frame of the warrior bumbled forward. Hettus slowly stepped out, keeping out of the warriors view and keeping close to the edge of the forest. The Gaul was busy lumbering his bulky frame towards a set of shrubs dotted with purple and red berries as Hettus crept forward. His left arm gently edged towards his Gladius.
He heard a rustling behind him. He swiped to the right, darting into the cover of the forest and rolling on his side, his temple scratching with thorns and broken twigs as he did. He quickly eased onto one knee, turning and watching as the Gaul, believing it to be an animal or ancestral spirit, moved forward.
Hettus head slowly turned to his left. A young girl with flowing black hair and dark violet eyes stood, watching him out of both fright and awe. She had probably never seen a Roman before, never mind one who had been cast aside by his own society and left to rot in a forest usually reserved for her fellow Gauls. She remained staring at her. Hettus’s eyes slowly twitched back to the Gaul, watching him glance around his surroundings.
“Wh-Who are you?” she whispered quietly.
“Not an enemy nor a friend.” Replied Hettus quietly, his eyes fixated on the Gaul and his left hand fixated upon the burnished wood of his Gladius.
“….Are you going to hurt Colius?” she asked quietly. Hettus gritted his teeth.
“Yes.” He answered. “If I don’t, he’ll simply kill me first. Lifes like that.”
“..B-but if you do…that’d make you—“ she stuttered.
“Evil. I know, I’ve heard it all before. People used to stand amongst burning buildings and the ashes of their friends, calling me evil when I lead my centuriae forward. They’d throw rocks at us and curse us, even as we stabbed them or nailed them to the cross. Trust me, moralities pretty much out the window. I’m just out here to survive. It ain’t personal.” Replied Hettus impatiently, gently edging forward.
“…But our tribe likes Colius—“
“Then your tribe will know where to find me and where to kill me.” Replied Hettus.
“He’s close to the Gaul named the oblivion, we all are!” exclaimed the young girl. Hettus stopped suddenly, twisting his head and looking back at her.
“Are you serious?” he asked. She nodded.
“Yes! He won’t like it if you do this! He’ll hate you! He’ll despise your very soul!” exclaimed the girl in a frantic attempt to stop Hettus’s soul from spiralling further into moral decay. Hettus simply gave a small smile, edging forward.
“Then tell him that you saw Hettus kill him. Let him know. Your tribe can curse my name all they want. I am not going to rest, sleep nor die until all debts are paid in full.” Spat Hettus.
===
In the doorway stood Ivy, her arms folded and her thin frame shielded by a thick leather jacket. It wasn't this, however, that caught Lucks attention: It was the young girl stood beside her, barely measuring up to her mothers hip. Strangely, she too was clad in a leather jacket over an ankle-length scarlet red dress which hid solid black biker boots, a testament to a mothers influence on her daughter.
Luck looked down at the girl, then at Ivy, cocking an eyebrow. Zack stood away from the door, walking back to the table and sitting to Lucks left, turning his attention to breakfast once more so as to not get involved in what would be, from his experience, fiery family matters.
“Son, I would like you to meet your stepsister.” She said quietly, motioning down the girl at her side. Lucks right eye twitched, a vein pulsing in his forehead.
“A stepsister?” he asked quietly.
“Yes. I figured she’d want to meet her brother. She's only six years old, so I figured you might want to meet her. Although she does watch the wrestling and supports Oblivion—“ she said. Luck snorted loudly, turning his back to them. “But she wanted to meet you! Her name is Ava Hetfield--”
“No, she didn’t. If she did, she would have been here earlier. What is your real reason for being here?” asked Luck.
“…Alright, me and the boys are going on a motorcycle rally—“ she started. Luck threw up a hand, causing her to stop talking.
“Then go.” Spat Luck. “Leave her here with me. I shall take care of her. Or rather, have Zack take care of her. I have business to attend to.”
Ivy snorted, folding her arms. Luck turned around, his eyes reflecting an eerie calmness as they bore holes into hers.
“You know..what you did on Sunday was disgusting. Hurting Cole, kidnapping Annette….I am sure I brought you up in this world better than that. What is going on in that mind of yours? What makes you think that hurting the innocent will somehow fill the hole in your heart and in your mind? Oblivion is your target, not them!” exclaimed Ivy. Ava watched as her mother did so, as if it was a promo she was witnessing on the television screen. Luck walked out from the side of his table, slowly approaching his mother with his hands still clasped firmly behind his back.
“Mother, I have never forced my ideals on you, and I should fu---…darn well think that you won’t either!” spat Luck, stopping himself from cursing in front of the child. “What is happening between me and Oblivion isn’t a match. It isn’t a competition. It’s war. War between two men. I’m not competing for best-behaved, nor am I competing just to end up with the ‘Runners-up’ trophy. I am going to destroy Oblivion until there is nothing left to destroy. I am going to put my foot on his head and grind downwards until he cries in agony and begs me to stop. I am going to destroy everything and anything that he holds dear, until he is forced to walk away simply because his old, weak heart cannot take the stress of seeing his empire collapse into ash. What I have done to Cole and Annette is nothing more than the beginning of the end for Oblivion.”
“Where is she?” asked Ivy bluntly. Luck smirked.
“Somewhere private. Somewhere where she can’t bother anyone with her hollow words.” Replied Luck. “We’re taking good care of her, because if Oblivion so much as touches the Commission….Well, I find it much more fun to destroy a fragile plate which is in pristine condition, rather than one that has been soiled.”
A small, sick smile grew across Lucks face. Ivy looked taken aback by this. Luck didn’t really care. She was a fan of Oblivion, so he wanted her to know. He wanted her to cry once he had dismantled Oblivion piece by piece.
“Yeah, well, I bet Oblivions gonna kick your ass!” exclaimed Ava defiantly. Zack and Dave slowly turned their heads, watching as a vein throbbed and swelled in Lucks temple. Ivy bit her lower lip, until Luck squatted down in front of her, giving a small smile to cover the emotional void he was experiencing.
“Then if that’s the case, little sis’, you have nothing to fear, ‘cause that means my words will just be words!” exclaimed Luck in a sickeningly-sweet false voice. “Of course, I do wonder why a sister of mine would support my sworn enemy?”
“’Cause he’s so cool! His bike is like the bike Mom rides! And he goes around, beating up the bad guys and he’s kinda like one of us!” exclaimed Ava. Luck nodded somewhat.
“I cannot deny that I have lost touch with the real world, sat here in Las Vegas. Although I do admit, shocking as it may seem, that sometimes I do go out….and eat a hot dog.” Replied Luck calmly, slowly getting to his feet. Zack turned his head to Dave, cocking an eyebrow. Dave returned the confused look: It was no secret that, when Luck wanted to be, he could be perhaps the most genuinely affectionate person in the world towards those he cared about, but he rarely connected with family. His father was nothing more than a business partner, his mother annoyed him with her inane ramblings, while he didn’t even know of any cousins, nephews or nieces in the family. Dave simply gave a half-hearted shrug, thinking that it was all a game.
It wasn’t. Luck was legitimately curious about this new-found addition to the family, like a new-born puppy opening its eyes to the world for the first time. Luck never had a brother or sister, and this was a new experience for him. Upset as he was that she supported Oblivion, Luck knew that her brain was still a fragile mass, ready to be shaped. Luck felt more comfortable knowing that he could easily warp her mind to view things his way, as opposed to the others he encountered daily.
“I find that hard to believe.” Replied Ava. Luck gave a small, almost forced, laugh, turning to Zack.
“Alright, Zack. Me and Dave have training attend to. Go cook up something for her, and make it something she’d like, none of the rich stuff we eat, eh?” asked Luck, winking at Zack. This wave of fresh emotion from an otherwise dead being confused Zack, but he simply nodded.
“…Alright.” Replied Zack. Ivy gave a small sigh of relief, turning to the door. Luck spun around on his heels, turning to face her back.
“Bye….Mom.” said Luck through gritted teeth. Ivy simply grunted before filing out of the door, shutting it behind her.
“Does Mom like you?” asked Ava.
“Not really.” Replied Luck honestly. “She seems to think I’m a lost cause. I followed the life of my own father rather than the life she leads. I prefer money over minimalism, a home over being a vagabond, and I prefer lobster over beans. She just doesn’t like it is all. Well, that and I’m hurting Oblivion. It was an awfully mean thing he did to me. I didn’t hurt him before that, I was simply curious about facing him! He didn’t even reply, all he did was make me and Uncle Dave lose our titles!”
Ava looked up at Luck, who turned and nodded to Dave. Dave gave a bellowing yawn, getting to his feet and cracking his spine.
“Alright…time to train, then.” Yawned Dave. Ava blinked.
“You’re training?” asked Ava. Luck turned to her, kneeling before her and placing his hands on her shoulders.
“Sorry, little sis’, but your brother needs to be strong to face Oblivion. Don’t worry, once I’m done, we can do something you’d like, alright? Until then, Uncle Zack will take care of you. If he stands still for too long, just kick him in the shins ‘til he moves, alright?” said Luck. Ava gave a small nod, and Luck stood up, ruffling her hair. “That’s the spirit.”
Luck forced himself to his feet, turning around and nodding to Dave, cracking his knuckles.
Brainwashing could wait. It was time to push himself beyond the limits.
===
The young girl pattered away nervously, heading towards a destination that Hettus couldn’t really care about. Hettus gently inched forward and out into the open, making sure to keep behind the back of the Gaul who had the field of vision of a pinecone.
The Gaul lumbered towards the undergrowth, giving a loud belch as he strained his stomach. Hettus carefully grasped his Gladius.
He fumbled, the Gladius fell to the ground with a soft clatter in the mud. The Gaul gave a vicious grunt, twisting around, his facial hair bristling angrily and his yellowing teeth baring as he spotted the crimson tunic of his Roman enemies. Hettus simply stared up into the angry bottle-green eyes of his foe.
“DAMN!” he cursed, quickly grasping the Gladius and pulling it up. The Gaul, Colius, reached to his waist, pulling out a broadsword that was twice as long and as thick as the Gladius Hettus wielded. It would have been much easier to dispatch of him sneakily, but now a fight was on. Hettus cursed the gods for his lapse in judgment and concentration.
The Gaul swiped horizontally, and Hettus barely managed to duck under it, stumbling backwards on his tired legs. The Gaul ran forward, ducking his shoulder down and slamming it into Hettus’s chest. Hettus flew backwards, skidding across the dew-soaked grass and leaving a muddy stain as his back slid across it. The Gaul stood over him, jamming the blade down. Hettus managed to roll to the left just before the blade came down, allowing it to bite into nothing more than mud. He quickly got to his feet, slamming his foot into the Gauls stomach. The Gaul stumbled backwards, grunting and dragging his broadsword up as he did. Hettus ran forward, swiping the Gladius, but the Gaul simply held up his broadsword at an angle, blocking the attack.
Hettus gave a despaired yell, taking a few steps back. The Gaul lunged a heavy foot out, but Hettus simply hopped to the left, twisting and swiping the blade down. The Gaul brought his foot down, avoiding the swipe as the blade of the Gladius hit the mud. Hettus pulled it out, stumbling to the side as the Gaul lunged his broadsword forward. Hettus brung his Gladius down, allowing the broadsword to deflect downwards and stick into the mud. The Gaul struggled to pull the blade out, but left himself open enough for Hettus to take a few steps back, catching his breath before running forward, jumping up and slamming his knees onto the Gauls back. The Gaul hit the mud with a thunderous crash, allowing Hettus to simply slip the tip of the blade into the back of the Gauls spine, severing it neatly and offering him a rare merciful death.
Blood flowed over the hands of Hettus. He clawed himself backwards, breathing heavily. If this was how he would fight from here on out, how could he ever expect to be a centurion again? He couldn’t. He needed to improve. He needed to train. He needed to discipline himself. He needed for his life to become nothing more than battle.
Hettus sighed, looking down at the warrior and shook his head, quickly jamming his Gladius into his infected forearm, allowing tainted blood and pus to flow. He didn’t grimace or cry aloud, he simply jarred the blade across the wound, cutting it open before quickly sheathing his Gladius, shaking his head.
“..I shouldn’t be making rookie mistakes..” he muttered. He stepped over the body, squatting down and using his left hand to pick several berries. The body remained near him, bleeding out. All the warrior wanted was some food, instead he got death.
‘Lifes like that’ thought Hettus as he shoved some of the berries into the satchel tied to the right side of his waist.
===
Ava had already found herself comfortably at home within the confines of the mansion while the mother ignored her two children. Jonesy, Lucks giant golden retriever, had already bounded down the stairs, pulling himself from a lazy sleep upon smelling a youngster in the house. Ava was sat on Lucks leather couch, watching a recorded DVD of last weeks Sunday Night Vengeance. However, her curiosity couldn't be stoked, least of all while petting Jonesys head.
Zack sat beside her, watching the DVD intently with his arms folded. He had recently received the call informing him of the next card: A Battle Royal with the chance for a World Championship shot wherever, whenever. Zack felt the need to scout the opponents while masquerading it as caring for Ava. However, he knew Luck wouldn't be focused on the opportunity at hand. Rather, he would be focused solely on Oblivion and the possibility of him getting involved. Either way, Zack remained parked in his seat, watching, waiting.
“Where’s brother?” she asked quietly. Zack coughed nonchalantly.
“He’s…gone somewhere to do his training.” Replied Zack. Jonesy gave a small whimper, his ears flattening against his head.
“I know he's training. I want to know where. I want to see brother train.” she demanded with immature bluntness.
“It's none of your business.” Replied Zack sharply.
“Where??” she asked stubbornly. Zack sighed, his own emotions much too rampant to give him so much as an inkling of a spine.
“Alright..What I’m about to show you is strictly confidential. It’s something new to Luck, something new we’re trying. Whatever you do, you must not tell anyone of this, especially not Ivy, alright?” asked Zack.
“Alright.” She replied. Zack gave a deep sigh, rubbing his eyes and getting to his feet. “Follow me. I’m going to show you why every single fan who favours Oblivion over Luck is an absolute fool. An uncaring coward who knows absolutely nothing about the pressure and the training Luck goes through on a daily basis.”
“Why do you call him Luck?” asked Ava.
“It’s respect.” Replied Zack. “I do respect the man, even if he often isn’t the nicest person in the world.”
Zack placed a hand on Avas shoulder, turning right and heading towards the door on the eastern wall, opening it up and allowing Ava to shuffle through into the formal entrance hallway. The sounds of creaking metal became audible from above as Zack pointed to the spiral staircase in front of them.
“Come on.” He said. Both of them started to ascend the staircase slowly, the sounds of shaking, rattling metal getting louder.
“So..his training is tough?” asked Ava.
“He's not just training, but pushing himself to the edge. To fight Oblivion, he can’t just train normally and expect to get the job done. He needs to go above and beyond the call of duty. Some people believe Oblivion to be an immortal, to be undefeatable..Luck isn’t going to be intimidated by that. He’s training himself to battle immortality. He’s training himself to reach the top of the mountain.” Explained Zack as they reached the top of the staircase, turning right and heading down the short hallway and through the door at the end of the hallway into Lucks room.
Zack sighed, standing outside the wooden door which led into his gym. He used the side of his right foot to gentle nudge a cardboard box used to store Lucks old photographs underneath the door, allowing Ava to climb on top of it and look through the window.
Luck had his eyes closed, blood streaming from his forehead as he curled a barbell, his arms shaking in fatigue and pain as he did. Dave was sat on a wooden chair to his left, holding a small stopwatch and occasionally glancing up at Luck. Lucks arms quivered, stopping for a few seconds. He dropped the barbell to the floor, slowly getting on his knees and opening his eyes, not noticing the peering figure in the window.
“Weakness. Hit me.” Commanded Luck. Dave hesitantly looked at him.
“..Come on, man…I don’t want to…Enough is enough..” muttered Dave.
“HIT ME!” yelled Luck. “WEAKNESS IS NOT AN OPTION! I AM GOING TO BECOME STRONGER, FASTER, LEANER AND MEANER! I AM GOING TO BECOME A KILLING MACHINE! I CANNOT BE WEAK! I CANNOT BE HESITANT! I CANNOT EXPECT MERCY TO BE SHOWN ON ME, FOR MY OPPONENTS WILL NEVER SHOW IT ON ME!”
Dave slowly stood up, clutching a wooden Singapore cane. Not enough to injure Luck, but enough to certainly inflict pain. He sighed, clutching the Cane like a bat and gently placed the edge against Lucks forehead, measuring his strike.
“I’m going to make this one of my best.” Said Dave bluntly. Luck gave a small smirk.
“That’s the spirit.” Replied Luck calmly. Dave swung the cane backwards before bringing it forwards, slamming the cane into Lucks forehead with an almighty crack. Lucks head snapped back and flopped to the side roughly, remaining incredibly still as a small river of blood lightly ran from it, down his eyes and to his chin, light drops hitting the floor.
“….Are you alright?” asked Dave hesitantly. Almost robotically, Luck lifted his head, pulling himself to his feet and leaning down, grasping the barbell.
“Twenty curls. Thirty seconds. Start.” Commanded Luck.
Zack coughed, grabbing Avas arm and pulling her down from the box, kicking it away from under the door.
“Why is he doing that?” asked Ava, shaken.
“It’s no longer about winning or losing for him. It’s about becoming the best. Ever since Oblivion forced the Commission to lost the titles, his mind has simply..vanished. He’s become a man with one goal on his mind: To destroy Oblivion. Destroying that sycophant will allow him to become the best. The greatest. I doubt he’s even focused for the upcoming Battle Royal..He just wants to get out there and hurt Oblivion. And to do that? He has to punish himself. Punish himself for every mistake he makes so his body might just overcome the very idea of failure. Punish himself to override his nature to allow him not to consider failure as an option. Every single drop of sweat and blood that pours from his body is going to form the cement which will be used to construct the path to the top of the mountain.” Replied Zack.
“That’s….why Oblivion?” she asked.
“I told you: He took the Tag Team Titles from us. Luck doesn’t want them back, no, he wants to make sure that Oblivions debts are paid in full.” Replied Zack.
“That’s scary..” she whispered quietly.
“No it isn’t. That’s life.” Replied Zack, turning his head to the window and looking at the man whom he considered to have to heart of a lion, the strength of a bear, the will of a wolf and the speed of an eagle.
His arms quivered weakly. The barbell fell to the floor. Blood dropped from his chin, hitting the hardwood floor which was already starting to congeal with blackened blood.
Luck slowly got to his knees once more.
It was a beautiful sight to Hettus. Remained him of the times him and Davus used to stroll around battlefields, laughing at the corpses of enemies who had been piled there and left to rot and decay under the shadow of the Aquila.
He rolled onto his rear, leaning down and grasping a grasshopper darting through the few blades of grass beneath him. With a thumb and forefinger, he crushed the head, killing it instantly before thrusting it into his mouth, grinding into it and swallowing it. It was bitter, horribly so, but the protein did more than enough to provide him with the sustenance he needed to just about survive.
Hettus pulled himself to his feet, wandering over to the dead body of the Gaul whose acrid stench of decaying flesh was becoming unbearable. He couldn’t move him, though. All Hettus could do was sit by and let him rot. Unless..
Within one hour, Hettus had managed to scavenge various scraps of twigs, branches and even strips of ragged bark, enough to completely cover the Gauls body. He set down a small, thick branch he had found, grasping thinner branch and vigorously rubbing the tip against it. After a few minutes in the baking, dawn sunlight, the friction eventually created heat, which created the smallest of flames upon the thick branch. Acting quickly, Hettus picked it up gently before ensconcing it amongst the piles of branches and twigs he had constructed over the Gaul.
It was an honourable funeral for a Gaul. Hettus hadn’t intended it. He just didn’t want to get sick from the wretches stench and disease.
The flames began to flicker and grow, meeting and greeting eachother as they swallowed the wood whole, charring it. A sweet, roasting smell filled the air, a sign of the Gauls flesh stripping away from his bones. He savoured it, licked his lips, but stopped himself. Eating human flesh was what these heathens did, not what a Roman did. No matter how desperate, he must not fall to the level of Whitus, Scotia or the oblivion. He absolutely could not!
He admired the funeral pyre, ignored the urge to throw himself upon it to simply appease his humiliation. A small burning sensation forced up his throat, crawling from the pit of his stomach, but he quickly swallowed it. He would see Whitus and Scotia witness their own downfall soon enough, whether by his hand or by the hand of another cohort, Hettus would see it, and he would be laughing to the heavens themselves once the day came.
The stomach of Hettus rumbled as he watched the funeral pyre flicker and burn with raging flames, the heat pounding at his chest and face like a wall. Throwing up the two blankets he had slept upon and pulling out his Gladius, he walked north, past the funeral pyre. He would simply let it burn out. What if an ember caught a tree trunk, and sparked an undying inferno which swallowed the forest, killing all of the innocent animals?
Hettus shrugged. Life is like that.
===
Back out of his own head and into the thick, vile swamp that is reality, Luck stared down at his breakfast which Zack had cooked. Two eggs over easy forming eyes, a strip of bacon forming a smiling mouth. Luck smiled too, but it was a completely false smile.
Luck appreciated Zacks efforts. They were cute, somewhat. Cute in their complete and utter naivety, but cute nevertheless. At least Zack made the effort, unlike every single fucking fan who sat down on seats, let their brains flow out of their rectum and bawled random, illegible slurs at Lucks direction simply because he chose to wear a suit as opposed to tracksuit bottoms and a tanktop stained with the blood of his wife and some common household beer.
The smile covered up Lucks complete and utter contempt for the human race. It gave him some emotion, but in reality? Luck had none. Hell, if a burglar walked in and snapped Zacks neck before his eyes, he’d probably just ask the burglar to pass the ketchup.
Life is like that.
Lucks heart, which once beat like that of a normal humans, had scabbed over into a black, crusted mass.The only way to even tell it was human was by the two carved slices revealing the red, raw, pulsating organ underneath, slices held for Zack and for Dave. In his eyes, even they were dispensable, but they were the closest he has and has had to family, so he felt like he loved them unconditionally. Dave was especially like a brother to him, while Zack was the cousin you barely see but still think is quite the awesome person to hang around.
“Well, someone looks happy at least!” exclaimed Zack. Luck kept the false smile on his face and nodded.
He hated the human race so much.
“Yes, I am.” He replied calmly, trying to disguise the complete and utter hatred and humiliation which had burnt into his voicebox following Sundays defeat.
“So, forgot about the defeat?” asked Zack. Five words that caused Luck to slam his fork violently into the table, causing another deep crack within the wood, similar to the one he left after feasting with his mother and father weeks prior. The smile remained on his face, but it now resembled that of someone whose mental instability was growing with each and every passing minute. Zack watched Luck, straight-faced and somewhat glumly. Dave, who was sat opposite Zack to the left of Luck, continued eating quietly, shoving a rasher of bacon into his mouth and quickly swallowing it down before raising his head.
“Don’t bring it up, Zack. Don’t fucking do it.” Muttered Dave quietly, his own eyes underlined by thick black bags which indicated a severe lack of sleep. Luck turned to Dave, smiling and nodding. Dave looked at Luck, slightly unnerved. For a moment, Luck felt that Dave knew just exactly was going on in his mind. Maybe he could see it too? See his sanity unravelling. See his sense of morality start to slowly erase. See that his eyes were blank and showed no emotion to match the false smile. Dave turned his head to Zack. “The question is..what do we do about Oblivion?”
“What do we do? Well, what do I want to do? What I want to do is simple..” Luck picked up his knife, slicing it lightly across the varnished wood and leaving a light mark. “..I want to cut his throat and watch blood flow onto the mat.” Dave remained silent. Luck gave a small blink, looking up at Dave and giving an actual smile. “Wouldn’t you like to see that? See that heathens..that parasites blood just flow like a waterfall and baptise us? Wouldn’t you just LOVE to do that to avenge our loss of the gold?”
“I would, but there’s several laws against it.” Chuckled Dave, not realising that Luck was, in fact, deadly serious.
“Sad, isn’t it?” mused Luck. A small rap rapped against the door opposite Luck, who glared at it, as if summoning up a telekinetic force to open it. Luck nodded at Zack who took a quick swig of coffee, wiping his greasy hands off of his jeans and rising to his feet, walking over to the door.
“Luck, I know you’re serious. I know you would legitimately kill the man if you ever got the chance to do so, but I’m trying to be realistic. We need to execute vengeance, and we need to do it without being violent. We need to be a punch to the heart, a mental blow to that fucking rat. I can see it in you, your cunning is starting to come through. This is when you are at your most dangerous, so give us an idea..Something, ANYTHING!” exclaimed Dave. Luck nodded.
“We took the fight to his loved ones. We will continue to do so. He took something of ours that we loved, so we took something of his that he loves. But we're going to continue to do so.” Replied Luck quietly. “Everything held dear to him? We’ll rip it away. Everything he cherishes? We will destroy it. I offer Oblivion nought but ashes, flames and the inevitable signs of his own hubris. It is time, my friend, that we stop fucking around. It is time we stop letting morality hamper our own decisions, it is time that we stop letting emotions get in our way, it is time to remove ourselves from the mortal coil and transcend everything by becoming the next stage of humanity: Emotionless killers with a goal.”
“I wouldn’t say that’s transcending—“
“Then we will devolve and become snakes.” Spat Luck as Zack opened the door. Luck rose to his feet..
===
Hettus’s feet carried him to the eastern edge of the forest, two miles away from the Roman encampment. There was no blazing inferno, no screaming rabbits, no birds bogged down with ash and soot, so he figured that the funeral pyre had not caused the forest to erupt into a very envisioning of the underworld itself. Hettus swallowed back his disappointment and crept forward, his soles blistered, cracked and covered in dirt clogged into his pores by a slick covering of sweat over his body.
He squatted down behind a thick batch of undergrowth, peering through the gaps in the clogged branches and gnarled leaves, keeping his right hand gently stroking the handle of his Gladius. He was waiting for a few Gauls to wander on by so he could pounce on them, kill them, and leave their bodies for the Roman frumentarii to admire. No other reason was needed, he was just going to kill them so he could feel some sense of glory once more.
That, and he knew that the Gauls knew where the best berries and vegetation were, and they loved to patrol past this area to pick them. Hettus had killed several in his days as a Centurion and picked their pockets for the fat, juicy berries they carried with them.
He watched for a few moments, the smell of the mud caking his body starting to fester and cause a rank odour to fill the air. His eyes gave a tired blink as he kept his watch and his guard. Insects danced up his nostrils, into his ears, across his forehead to drink from the beads of sweat constantly forming. He couldn’t flick them off in risks of giving away his position, so instead he allowed them to feast on him.
He waited. Lifes like that. Waiting for that one opportunity to come across. Whether you choose to take it or fail is upon yourself. Facing Whitus and Scotia, Hettus took the opportunity, and had failed.
He bit his bottom lip bitterly, the scars of the battle still lingering on both his body and in his mind.
He quickly crouched down further, watching as a lone Germanic warrior walked across his field of vision. He crept forward slightly, watching as the bulky, leather-plate-clad frame of the warrior bumbled forward. Hettus slowly stepped out, keeping out of the warriors view and keeping close to the edge of the forest. The Gaul was busy lumbering his bulky frame towards a set of shrubs dotted with purple and red berries as Hettus crept forward. His left arm gently edged towards his Gladius.
He heard a rustling behind him. He swiped to the right, darting into the cover of the forest and rolling on his side, his temple scratching with thorns and broken twigs as he did. He quickly eased onto one knee, turning and watching as the Gaul, believing it to be an animal or ancestral spirit, moved forward.
Hettus head slowly turned to his left. A young girl with flowing black hair and dark violet eyes stood, watching him out of both fright and awe. She had probably never seen a Roman before, never mind one who had been cast aside by his own society and left to rot in a forest usually reserved for her fellow Gauls. She remained staring at her. Hettus’s eyes slowly twitched back to the Gaul, watching him glance around his surroundings.
“Wh-Who are you?” she whispered quietly.
“Not an enemy nor a friend.” Replied Hettus quietly, his eyes fixated on the Gaul and his left hand fixated upon the burnished wood of his Gladius.
“….Are you going to hurt Colius?” she asked quietly. Hettus gritted his teeth.
“Yes.” He answered. “If I don’t, he’ll simply kill me first. Lifes like that.”
“..B-but if you do…that’d make you—“ she stuttered.
“Evil. I know, I’ve heard it all before. People used to stand amongst burning buildings and the ashes of their friends, calling me evil when I lead my centuriae forward. They’d throw rocks at us and curse us, even as we stabbed them or nailed them to the cross. Trust me, moralities pretty much out the window. I’m just out here to survive. It ain’t personal.” Replied Hettus impatiently, gently edging forward.
“…But our tribe likes Colius—“
“Then your tribe will know where to find me and where to kill me.” Replied Hettus.
“He’s close to the Gaul named the oblivion, we all are!” exclaimed the young girl. Hettus stopped suddenly, twisting his head and looking back at her.
“Are you serious?” he asked. She nodded.
“Yes! He won’t like it if you do this! He’ll hate you! He’ll despise your very soul!” exclaimed the girl in a frantic attempt to stop Hettus’s soul from spiralling further into moral decay. Hettus simply gave a small smile, edging forward.
“Then tell him that you saw Hettus kill him. Let him know. Your tribe can curse my name all they want. I am not going to rest, sleep nor die until all debts are paid in full.” Spat Hettus.
===
In the doorway stood Ivy, her arms folded and her thin frame shielded by a thick leather jacket. It wasn't this, however, that caught Lucks attention: It was the young girl stood beside her, barely measuring up to her mothers hip. Strangely, she too was clad in a leather jacket over an ankle-length scarlet red dress which hid solid black biker boots, a testament to a mothers influence on her daughter.
Luck looked down at the girl, then at Ivy, cocking an eyebrow. Zack stood away from the door, walking back to the table and sitting to Lucks left, turning his attention to breakfast once more so as to not get involved in what would be, from his experience, fiery family matters.
“Son, I would like you to meet your stepsister.” She said quietly, motioning down the girl at her side. Lucks right eye twitched, a vein pulsing in his forehead.
“A stepsister?” he asked quietly.
“Yes. I figured she’d want to meet her brother. She's only six years old, so I figured you might want to meet her. Although she does watch the wrestling and supports Oblivion—“ she said. Luck snorted loudly, turning his back to them. “But she wanted to meet you! Her name is Ava Hetfield--”
“No, she didn’t. If she did, she would have been here earlier. What is your real reason for being here?” asked Luck.
“…Alright, me and the boys are going on a motorcycle rally—“ she started. Luck threw up a hand, causing her to stop talking.
“Then go.” Spat Luck. “Leave her here with me. I shall take care of her. Or rather, have Zack take care of her. I have business to attend to.”
Ivy snorted, folding her arms. Luck turned around, his eyes reflecting an eerie calmness as they bore holes into hers.
“You know..what you did on Sunday was disgusting. Hurting Cole, kidnapping Annette….I am sure I brought you up in this world better than that. What is going on in that mind of yours? What makes you think that hurting the innocent will somehow fill the hole in your heart and in your mind? Oblivion is your target, not them!” exclaimed Ivy. Ava watched as her mother did so, as if it was a promo she was witnessing on the television screen. Luck walked out from the side of his table, slowly approaching his mother with his hands still clasped firmly behind his back.
“Mother, I have never forced my ideals on you, and I should fu---…darn well think that you won’t either!” spat Luck, stopping himself from cursing in front of the child. “What is happening between me and Oblivion isn’t a match. It isn’t a competition. It’s war. War between two men. I’m not competing for best-behaved, nor am I competing just to end up with the ‘Runners-up’ trophy. I am going to destroy Oblivion until there is nothing left to destroy. I am going to put my foot on his head and grind downwards until he cries in agony and begs me to stop. I am going to destroy everything and anything that he holds dear, until he is forced to walk away simply because his old, weak heart cannot take the stress of seeing his empire collapse into ash. What I have done to Cole and Annette is nothing more than the beginning of the end for Oblivion.”
“Where is she?” asked Ivy bluntly. Luck smirked.
“Somewhere private. Somewhere where she can’t bother anyone with her hollow words.” Replied Luck. “We’re taking good care of her, because if Oblivion so much as touches the Commission….Well, I find it much more fun to destroy a fragile plate which is in pristine condition, rather than one that has been soiled.”
A small, sick smile grew across Lucks face. Ivy looked taken aback by this. Luck didn’t really care. She was a fan of Oblivion, so he wanted her to know. He wanted her to cry once he had dismantled Oblivion piece by piece.
“Yeah, well, I bet Oblivions gonna kick your ass!” exclaimed Ava defiantly. Zack and Dave slowly turned their heads, watching as a vein throbbed and swelled in Lucks temple. Ivy bit her lower lip, until Luck squatted down in front of her, giving a small smile to cover the emotional void he was experiencing.
“Then if that’s the case, little sis’, you have nothing to fear, ‘cause that means my words will just be words!” exclaimed Luck in a sickeningly-sweet false voice. “Of course, I do wonder why a sister of mine would support my sworn enemy?”
“’Cause he’s so cool! His bike is like the bike Mom rides! And he goes around, beating up the bad guys and he’s kinda like one of us!” exclaimed Ava. Luck nodded somewhat.
“I cannot deny that I have lost touch with the real world, sat here in Las Vegas. Although I do admit, shocking as it may seem, that sometimes I do go out….and eat a hot dog.” Replied Luck calmly, slowly getting to his feet. Zack turned his head to Dave, cocking an eyebrow. Dave returned the confused look: It was no secret that, when Luck wanted to be, he could be perhaps the most genuinely affectionate person in the world towards those he cared about, but he rarely connected with family. His father was nothing more than a business partner, his mother annoyed him with her inane ramblings, while he didn’t even know of any cousins, nephews or nieces in the family. Dave simply gave a half-hearted shrug, thinking that it was all a game.
It wasn’t. Luck was legitimately curious about this new-found addition to the family, like a new-born puppy opening its eyes to the world for the first time. Luck never had a brother or sister, and this was a new experience for him. Upset as he was that she supported Oblivion, Luck knew that her brain was still a fragile mass, ready to be shaped. Luck felt more comfortable knowing that he could easily warp her mind to view things his way, as opposed to the others he encountered daily.
“I find that hard to believe.” Replied Ava. Luck gave a small, almost forced, laugh, turning to Zack.
“Alright, Zack. Me and Dave have training attend to. Go cook up something for her, and make it something she’d like, none of the rich stuff we eat, eh?” asked Luck, winking at Zack. This wave of fresh emotion from an otherwise dead being confused Zack, but he simply nodded.
“…Alright.” Replied Zack. Ivy gave a small sigh of relief, turning to the door. Luck spun around on his heels, turning to face her back.
“Bye….Mom.” said Luck through gritted teeth. Ivy simply grunted before filing out of the door, shutting it behind her.
“Does Mom like you?” asked Ava.
“Not really.” Replied Luck honestly. “She seems to think I’m a lost cause. I followed the life of my own father rather than the life she leads. I prefer money over minimalism, a home over being a vagabond, and I prefer lobster over beans. She just doesn’t like it is all. Well, that and I’m hurting Oblivion. It was an awfully mean thing he did to me. I didn’t hurt him before that, I was simply curious about facing him! He didn’t even reply, all he did was make me and Uncle Dave lose our titles!”
Ava looked up at Luck, who turned and nodded to Dave. Dave gave a bellowing yawn, getting to his feet and cracking his spine.
“Alright…time to train, then.” Yawned Dave. Ava blinked.
“You’re training?” asked Ava. Luck turned to her, kneeling before her and placing his hands on her shoulders.
“Sorry, little sis’, but your brother needs to be strong to face Oblivion. Don’t worry, once I’m done, we can do something you’d like, alright? Until then, Uncle Zack will take care of you. If he stands still for too long, just kick him in the shins ‘til he moves, alright?” said Luck. Ava gave a small nod, and Luck stood up, ruffling her hair. “That’s the spirit.”
Luck forced himself to his feet, turning around and nodding to Dave, cracking his knuckles.
Brainwashing could wait. It was time to push himself beyond the limits.
===
The young girl pattered away nervously, heading towards a destination that Hettus couldn’t really care about. Hettus gently inched forward and out into the open, making sure to keep behind the back of the Gaul who had the field of vision of a pinecone.
The Gaul lumbered towards the undergrowth, giving a loud belch as he strained his stomach. Hettus carefully grasped his Gladius.
He fumbled, the Gladius fell to the ground with a soft clatter in the mud. The Gaul gave a vicious grunt, twisting around, his facial hair bristling angrily and his yellowing teeth baring as he spotted the crimson tunic of his Roman enemies. Hettus simply stared up into the angry bottle-green eyes of his foe.
“DAMN!” he cursed, quickly grasping the Gladius and pulling it up. The Gaul, Colius, reached to his waist, pulling out a broadsword that was twice as long and as thick as the Gladius Hettus wielded. It would have been much easier to dispatch of him sneakily, but now a fight was on. Hettus cursed the gods for his lapse in judgment and concentration.
The Gaul swiped horizontally, and Hettus barely managed to duck under it, stumbling backwards on his tired legs. The Gaul ran forward, ducking his shoulder down and slamming it into Hettus’s chest. Hettus flew backwards, skidding across the dew-soaked grass and leaving a muddy stain as his back slid across it. The Gaul stood over him, jamming the blade down. Hettus managed to roll to the left just before the blade came down, allowing it to bite into nothing more than mud. He quickly got to his feet, slamming his foot into the Gauls stomach. The Gaul stumbled backwards, grunting and dragging his broadsword up as he did. Hettus ran forward, swiping the Gladius, but the Gaul simply held up his broadsword at an angle, blocking the attack.
Hettus gave a despaired yell, taking a few steps back. The Gaul lunged a heavy foot out, but Hettus simply hopped to the left, twisting and swiping the blade down. The Gaul brought his foot down, avoiding the swipe as the blade of the Gladius hit the mud. Hettus pulled it out, stumbling to the side as the Gaul lunged his broadsword forward. Hettus brung his Gladius down, allowing the broadsword to deflect downwards and stick into the mud. The Gaul struggled to pull the blade out, but left himself open enough for Hettus to take a few steps back, catching his breath before running forward, jumping up and slamming his knees onto the Gauls back. The Gaul hit the mud with a thunderous crash, allowing Hettus to simply slip the tip of the blade into the back of the Gauls spine, severing it neatly and offering him a rare merciful death.
Blood flowed over the hands of Hettus. He clawed himself backwards, breathing heavily. If this was how he would fight from here on out, how could he ever expect to be a centurion again? He couldn’t. He needed to improve. He needed to train. He needed to discipline himself. He needed for his life to become nothing more than battle.
Hettus sighed, looking down at the warrior and shook his head, quickly jamming his Gladius into his infected forearm, allowing tainted blood and pus to flow. He didn’t grimace or cry aloud, he simply jarred the blade across the wound, cutting it open before quickly sheathing his Gladius, shaking his head.
“..I shouldn’t be making rookie mistakes..” he muttered. He stepped over the body, squatting down and using his left hand to pick several berries. The body remained near him, bleeding out. All the warrior wanted was some food, instead he got death.
‘Lifes like that’ thought Hettus as he shoved some of the berries into the satchel tied to the right side of his waist.
===
Ava had already found herself comfortably at home within the confines of the mansion while the mother ignored her two children. Jonesy, Lucks giant golden retriever, had already bounded down the stairs, pulling himself from a lazy sleep upon smelling a youngster in the house. Ava was sat on Lucks leather couch, watching a recorded DVD of last weeks Sunday Night Vengeance. However, her curiosity couldn't be stoked, least of all while petting Jonesys head.
Zack sat beside her, watching the DVD intently with his arms folded. He had recently received the call informing him of the next card: A Battle Royal with the chance for a World Championship shot wherever, whenever. Zack felt the need to scout the opponents while masquerading it as caring for Ava. However, he knew Luck wouldn't be focused on the opportunity at hand. Rather, he would be focused solely on Oblivion and the possibility of him getting involved. Either way, Zack remained parked in his seat, watching, waiting.
“Where’s brother?” she asked quietly. Zack coughed nonchalantly.
“He’s…gone somewhere to do his training.” Replied Zack. Jonesy gave a small whimper, his ears flattening against his head.
“I know he's training. I want to know where. I want to see brother train.” she demanded with immature bluntness.
“It's none of your business.” Replied Zack sharply.
“Where??” she asked stubbornly. Zack sighed, his own emotions much too rampant to give him so much as an inkling of a spine.
“Alright..What I’m about to show you is strictly confidential. It’s something new to Luck, something new we’re trying. Whatever you do, you must not tell anyone of this, especially not Ivy, alright?” asked Zack.
“Alright.” She replied. Zack gave a deep sigh, rubbing his eyes and getting to his feet. “Follow me. I’m going to show you why every single fan who favours Oblivion over Luck is an absolute fool. An uncaring coward who knows absolutely nothing about the pressure and the training Luck goes through on a daily basis.”
“Why do you call him Luck?” asked Ava.
“It’s respect.” Replied Zack. “I do respect the man, even if he often isn’t the nicest person in the world.”
Zack placed a hand on Avas shoulder, turning right and heading towards the door on the eastern wall, opening it up and allowing Ava to shuffle through into the formal entrance hallway. The sounds of creaking metal became audible from above as Zack pointed to the spiral staircase in front of them.
“Come on.” He said. Both of them started to ascend the staircase slowly, the sounds of shaking, rattling metal getting louder.
“So..his training is tough?” asked Ava.
“He's not just training, but pushing himself to the edge. To fight Oblivion, he can’t just train normally and expect to get the job done. He needs to go above and beyond the call of duty. Some people believe Oblivion to be an immortal, to be undefeatable..Luck isn’t going to be intimidated by that. He’s training himself to battle immortality. He’s training himself to reach the top of the mountain.” Explained Zack as they reached the top of the staircase, turning right and heading down the short hallway and through the door at the end of the hallway into Lucks room.
Zack sighed, standing outside the wooden door which led into his gym. He used the side of his right foot to gentle nudge a cardboard box used to store Lucks old photographs underneath the door, allowing Ava to climb on top of it and look through the window.
Luck had his eyes closed, blood streaming from his forehead as he curled a barbell, his arms shaking in fatigue and pain as he did. Dave was sat on a wooden chair to his left, holding a small stopwatch and occasionally glancing up at Luck. Lucks arms quivered, stopping for a few seconds. He dropped the barbell to the floor, slowly getting on his knees and opening his eyes, not noticing the peering figure in the window.
“Weakness. Hit me.” Commanded Luck. Dave hesitantly looked at him.
“..Come on, man…I don’t want to…Enough is enough..” muttered Dave.
“HIT ME!” yelled Luck. “WEAKNESS IS NOT AN OPTION! I AM GOING TO BECOME STRONGER, FASTER, LEANER AND MEANER! I AM GOING TO BECOME A KILLING MACHINE! I CANNOT BE WEAK! I CANNOT BE HESITANT! I CANNOT EXPECT MERCY TO BE SHOWN ON ME, FOR MY OPPONENTS WILL NEVER SHOW IT ON ME!”
Dave slowly stood up, clutching a wooden Singapore cane. Not enough to injure Luck, but enough to certainly inflict pain. He sighed, clutching the Cane like a bat and gently placed the edge against Lucks forehead, measuring his strike.
“I’m going to make this one of my best.” Said Dave bluntly. Luck gave a small smirk.
“That’s the spirit.” Replied Luck calmly. Dave swung the cane backwards before bringing it forwards, slamming the cane into Lucks forehead with an almighty crack. Lucks head snapped back and flopped to the side roughly, remaining incredibly still as a small river of blood lightly ran from it, down his eyes and to his chin, light drops hitting the floor.
“….Are you alright?” asked Dave hesitantly. Almost robotically, Luck lifted his head, pulling himself to his feet and leaning down, grasping the barbell.
“Twenty curls. Thirty seconds. Start.” Commanded Luck.
Zack coughed, grabbing Avas arm and pulling her down from the box, kicking it away from under the door.
“Why is he doing that?” asked Ava, shaken.
“It’s no longer about winning or losing for him. It’s about becoming the best. Ever since Oblivion forced the Commission to lost the titles, his mind has simply..vanished. He’s become a man with one goal on his mind: To destroy Oblivion. Destroying that sycophant will allow him to become the best. The greatest. I doubt he’s even focused for the upcoming Battle Royal..He just wants to get out there and hurt Oblivion. And to do that? He has to punish himself. Punish himself for every mistake he makes so his body might just overcome the very idea of failure. Punish himself to override his nature to allow him not to consider failure as an option. Every single drop of sweat and blood that pours from his body is going to form the cement which will be used to construct the path to the top of the mountain.” Replied Zack.
“That’s….why Oblivion?” she asked.
“I told you: He took the Tag Team Titles from us. Luck doesn’t want them back, no, he wants to make sure that Oblivions debts are paid in full.” Replied Zack.
“That’s scary..” she whispered quietly.
“No it isn’t. That’s life.” Replied Zack, turning his head to the window and looking at the man whom he considered to have to heart of a lion, the strength of a bear, the will of a wolf and the speed of an eagle.
His arms quivered weakly. The barbell fell to the floor. Blood dropped from his chin, hitting the hardwood floor which was already starting to congeal with blackened blood.
Luck slowly got to his knees once more.
