Post by Mr. C on Aug 23, 2009 23:13:15 GMT -5
XX.
"Because these bastards were not worth Cross’ time, they were demons unleashed by Loki on the worlds at the onset of Ragnarok."
Driving the heel of his foot down, Cross stomped away the existence of one more demon. His furred boot pounded down through the scavenger’s skull, crushing the brittle bones underneath the pale-blue skin of the demon’s face. Without the existence of the framework of his cranium, the beast’s eyeballs shot forward and dangled out of his head, hanging on by skinny threads. The force of the blow drove brains out of the hel-spawn’s ear, shooting the runny red-grey mass outward like a geyser, and the fragments of his skull at the point of impact clawed their way out from inside the cage of the creature’s flesh. Hammer pressed in hard, and ground the demon’s deflated head in to the red snow, making very sure the demon was vanquished. He looked down, and marveled at the beast’s demolition. A scene that would make most turn and heave was a thing of beauty for Cross, it was his life. To some, the vision may be too hardcore, but for him it was what he lived for.
In the background of the scene, amidst the ensuing storm and the wartime casualties and destruction was the beastly Jotun that led the attack, crouched forward, with a massive leash-like chain about his throat. He was leaning in on the half-demolished Mead Hall, but upon closer inspection it was clear that the demon’s massive head had been skewered by one of the vertical posts of the hall. A deep river of gore carved a path through the snow towards Cross, melting its way down towards him. Spitting down on to the death around him, defiling the grave site of all the lives he took in the past hours, he took in the entire scene. Every piece of chaos and bloodshed from the lowly beasts he’d just dispatched, to the massive Frost Giant behind him, and he even took in the visage of his fallen brothers. It was a true scene of Ragnarok, the picture-perfect imagination of the Apocalypse.
Cross saw friends, families, lying slaughtered among the hellish devils that soon paid the price for their deeds. Brett took note of all those he lost here, all of the Midgaardians who knew of their fate, but could not stop it. He tallied up all the kills him and his war-brother Glaeg racked up in the war, all of the beasts who mindlessly followed the prophecies of the Norns. Neither side had control of their destiny; neither side could change their fate. This was not a warzone, a battlefield, or a grave site. It was a gallery of suicide, as everyone walked in to their own deaths. Suicidal or not, though, this was the way Vikings lived, hardened to the core, vicious and forever running headlong in to battle.
Sadly, the lives of Diabolik and Hi Octane are not much different than the peons and cannon fodder that ended their times on Midgaard on this war-ravaged village. They know of their fate, and are too foolish or cowardly to stop it. They know what is to come, but they press the matter further. They mess with the bull, but forget that they’ll soon be up against the horns. And so, they press and they press, knowing all too well that it would mean their demise. So now the two of them will fall before Brett Cross, the newly returned “Norse Hammer” and hardly self-proclaimed “God of Midgaard.” Alone, these two are not much more than mere gnats in Cross’ path. As a combined front, they simply pose a more entertaining challenge, and that word is used in the loosest way possible. But, who’s to say they will even be a combined front?
For one competitor is the current champion, Hi Octane, the winner of the title just a few short weeks ago. But, how did he win? He took the title right out from under the nose of his Brotherhood team mate. His ability to capitalize is admirable at best, but beyond that the act shows a lack of character, a lack of skill and a lack of intelligence. For, Hi Octane had to steal the title from a person who assumedly trusted him. He did not win that title, he did not earn it at all. He stole it, and he stole it from a man who should be his team mate. It’s an act not much different than stealing candy from a baby and makes him look like a pitiful loser which is not actually too far from the truth.
Because, really, what has he ever done for himself? Nothing at all. He always needs to be carried and watched out for. He was aided through his “astonishing” tag-title reigns by Xander X and Chance Fusion, two competitors who made him look far better than he was – and if they were the ones that did it, you can extrapolate how poorly Hi Octane really must be. And if it’s not tag partners that are babying him, it’s his manager, Firepower. Octane sums up to being nothing more than a pathetic, talentless coward. He has nothing going for him, and like the scum on the bottom of Cross’ boot, Octane will be crushed come time for Prestige. In all of Hi Octane’s career, he has done nothing. He’s been in this federation, through its various stages, for nearly as long as Cross, but has accomplished next to nothing, and absolutely nothing by himself. Caving in Hi Octane’s skull with The Hammer Mjollnir will be enjoyable to say the least; it would be a fitting farewell to the faceless bastard.
But, you cannot blame the talentless piss-ant for taking Diabolik’s title, if the moron was stupid enough to allow it, it certainly should have been done. Diabolik, despite being around the business for quite some time, certainly showed that he never learned one iota of ring savvy. He let his guard down, which is surely something that will be taken advantage of in the coming match. And if he smartens up, he’s shown that he’s still not the brightest one out there, so it will be no matter. Diabolik and Octane are both presumably going to rely on speed, if not one another, to take out Cross, but it won’t mean much. Dwarfing both competitors and then some, Brett is by far the largest, strongest, meanest, most determined man in that ring. All other factors aside, when it comes down to raw skills, talents and abilities, even with Diabolik and Octane’s powers combined, Cross would make short work of them.
Because when it comes down to it, they are bogus jobbers, stuck out there with no more use than to have their asses handed to them. And Cross? He’s the ass hander-outer. He’s the man that these companies put out there to destroy all other talent, especially these two chumps. The hardcore title was already his before this match was even booked; it’s a belt that fits him better than any other wrestler in this federation. Hardcore is his lifestyle, its how he was born, how he was raised, how he lives and how he will die – hardcore is all he knows, inside and outside the ring. These two, sure, they love to swing around the chairs and the lead pipes, but they don’t know a damn thing about what they’re doing with a weapon. Brett Cross? He’s used them for his entire life. He knows ways to maim these two they could never even dream of. But the best part is, beyond know-how, experience and life-callings, is that he’s more than willing to do it. It’s a sure-thing to say that Octane is not interested in hurting others, and while the same cannot be said for Diabolik, he does not hold the same capacity that Cross does. This whole atmosphere was made for Brett to thrive in.
Do you need more proof? Look at the last title reign Brett Cross had, where he demolished all in his way to get to the top. Superstars the likes of Chance Fusion, JDV, and the current Asylum Championship contender Sabora. He did not just beat them to get to the Pure Title, he destroyed them, multiple times. And then when he was done, he went on to hold that title for the second longest reign in the company’s history. That, was an impressive feat, something neither of these chumps could hold a candle to. And really, how could they argue otherwise? Use their week-long hardcore title reigns as proof? This match is a joke, and was over before it even began. With ease, Cross is going to break in both of their faces and leave Prestige with his first hardcore title reign.
The dark skies grumbled deep as more dark storm clouds rolled in, dumping more snow on to the scene, Midgaard’s way of quickly burying the bloodshed on its surface. The winds howled about Cross, and as they did, they carried the faint cry of a woman in the area, her words were drowned out by the storm, but the acoustics reached Cross’ ear. Luckily for the maiden in distress, it was a voice that no one could mistake - the village seer was in trouble.