Rubicon: The Finale - II - The Lone Legatus

[The Sky King]

*Part V - “The Lone Warlord* "War is cruelty. There is no use trying to reform it. The crueler it is, the sooner it will be over." -William Tecumseh Sherman LOCATION: Maynard Hetfield's Mansion. Las Vegas, NV. TIME: 9:17am

It was a boiling morning. The heat of the sun was almost unbearable as it bore down upon Nevada and across the glittering sands of the Mojave Desert, scorching all who dare to stand in the piercing rays it shot down. The heat formed a nigh-on impassable barrier for anyone who dare to walk through it or so much as sat below it. The very heat radiated from the sands below, forming a wispy trail which rose from the sands to the cloudless sky. However, one man sat defiantly under the rays, staring ahead across the vast, glittering plains that surrounded the city of Las Vegas which stood strong in the desert, the sounds of honking horns, distant yelling and even the small chirps of casinos radiating from the behemoth, a testament to the strength of the city and the resolve of the people within it. Wearing nothing but a white t-shirt and a pair of torn, dirty, sand-covered jeans torn in several places and holding a can of Red Bull tightly in one hand was Mister Luck, sat deep in thought as his tired eyes, lacking all but the most basic signs of life, looked ahead over the Mojave desert. while sat on a wooden bench near the edge of a rocky outcropping at the rear of his house, as if he were its emperor. The heat provided a perfect comparison towards the iciness that he allowed to engulf his heart following his meeting with Zack's parents. His mind had taken to flittering over thoughts that had occurred to him ever since that fateful day, those thoughts being about his sole weakness, about the only fear that had ever come into play when it came to his climactic match with Oblivion: Zack's kidnapping. The very thing that had forced him to confront those who wept for his safe return, the same people who failed to see the consequences it held for Luck himself should he walk out of the capital as the loser. Thoughts roamed his mind, but not one of them was a positive thought. Not one of them was the thought of bringing back something positive from that frankly horrific experience. The reason being that Luck despised the very thought of himself, the perfect opponent, the one who exposed Oblivion's dark side, the one who combined with his foe to make the perfect duality, having a weakness. Luck knew, in the back of his mind, that he needed to shunt Zack aside. He couldn't afford to be focusing on that little scrawny geek when the day of battle arrived, nor could he take his eyes off of the prize for one second. The prize of immortality. The prize of becoming a legend for finally putting down the Big Dog and exposing him as nothing more than a human with a God complex. Yet no-one cared about that. No-one even talked about that. No-one gave a shit about Luck possibly making history, nor did they care about just how strong he was rolling into this match. They cared about Zack. Luck found himself becoming less and less concerned with Zack as the days rolled, something that he embraced and wished for. He didn't want to walk into Scars and Stripes worrying about that scrawny little wretch, he wanted to walk in caring about one thing: Mister Luck. You can analyse Luck's attitude all you want, you can look at how he surrounds himself with friends, and you can look at how he was somehow willing to approach Zack's parents and comfort them with tales of how he will rescue Zack, but at the end of it all, Mister Luck is one thing: Selfish. The only man in Mister Luck's life? Mister Luck. The one. The only. The emperor. The Lord. The God. The Man. The caring for his friends is mostly a facade to protect himself. In his eyes, he is the one who everyone needs to care about, sit up and take notice of. Following Zack's kidnapping, he found himself believing this more and more as time passed by. He found it increasingly difficult to care about the Commission. Following his talk with Zack's parents, their crying burrowed into his brain and made him little more than annoyed, their talks of wanting Luck to hunt for vengeance as opposed to victory on their behalf making him almost sick. If Luck was going to hunt for vengeance, then he was going to do it for the time that Oblivion made sure that they laid down the Tag Team Championships to Damaged Goods, and not for Zack. He found himself talking to Dave less and less, preferring his own company. He cared solely about himself. A swift u-turn in attitude, but Luck didn't care. Luck had long seen others as being a burden in this feud. Barely anyone extended a finger to help, no matter what they said. Dave was a regular victim of attacks, while Zack went and got himself kidnapped. Luck was the only person to escape Oblivion's wrath relatively unscathed. If anything, fighting alone would save the others from humiliation and certain destruction. A lone Legatus would provide more of a threat to Oblivion. He had proven so several times when he pulled the strings and forced Oblivion to dance to his sick and twisted beat. When he drove that thought into his skull, Luck came to one simply conclusion: Emperors need to rule alone. Yet in spite of all this, in spite of the opportunity of making history, in spite of his burning rage at being overshadowed once more by a menial event, Luck still found himself inevitably focusing on the one thing out of place in this entire match. Despite the fact that Luck was incredibly similar tactics-wise to Oblivion, and despite the fact that Luck saw himself as the only man to ever have a true chance of putting down the Big Dog, and even despite that Luck loved himself and himself alone, it was still on the mind of Luck, a true perfectionist. The reason behind this was simple: Luck hated having one of his only weaknesses exploited. He hated having his moves and tactics copied by Oblivion. He didn't hate the fact that it was Zack who was kidnapped. What he really despised was Oblivion believing that he could play a game that Luck himself had pioneered and brought into the Asylum to utilise against his stubborn opponents. In a match which was supposed to be climactic, that would finally end things between both men, Luck felt bitter that he had found himself focusing on another person as opposed to finishing the job he had started many months ago. His mind had taken to stretching itself between two extremes: Fearing reprisals against Zack and believing that he was, quite simply, born to win this match against a foe whom many had previously fought to be undefeatable. Oblivion had taken to copying Luck's own tactics in order to drive himself deeper into his mind. How pathetic, and yet it was working to a small extent. He took a quick swig of Red Bull, giving a small sneer to the unseen Oblivion as Dave Markinson lumbered through the open double-doors at the rear mansion, slowly walking towards the bench upon which Luck was sat. Luck didn't bother turning around. He was distancing himself from everyone, and it was working like a charm. He felt much stronger standing on his own without pillars surrounding him. He felt it separate him from Oblivion, a man who needed his own brother as the referee and who needed to surround himself with the Devils Due just to stand as tall as his opponents. Dave:: "How long have you been out here?" Luck:: "Since one this morning. Just watched the sun rise over the desert. A beautiful sight. I think it's destiny: Me seeing the rising of a new day, a metaphor for a new day soon to begin in the Asylum, a day ruled by me and me alone, and a day when Oblivion finally turns his back on the federation and walks off into the sunset." Dave::[Quietly] "...Okay. I think you better get some sleep, Hetty. I know that you're excited for this match, and I know that Scars and Stripes is going to be your night, but I really, really, REALLY don't see how denying yourself of basic functions needed to live will help you." Luck:: "I'm not doing it to help me win. I just can't sleep. I don't want to sleep. I want to get out there and hunt down my foe. All I want to do is get out there and hurt Oblivion. Nothing more, nothing less." Dave:: "What about Zack? I mean, you do know that part of this match at Scars and Stripes is to beat Oblivion and bring Zack back home, don't you? You do care about that, right?" Luck::[Sharply] "Not really. I just hate the fact that Oblivion believes he has got my weakness exploited by kidnapping Zack. I DESPISE THAT! All I can do is sit here and do absolutely nothing except sit and wait until Scars and Stripes to even do something! It's irritating, and because of it, I can barely concentrate on getting my hands around Oblivion's throat!" Dave:: "We all have weaknesses, Luck--" Luck::[Snapping coldly] "I am better than that, dammit! Weaknesses are for men who aren't willing to push themselves beyond the boundaries of pain and destruction to come to the conclusion that they are simply above weakness!" Dave::[Sighing slightly] "Luck, we're all human--" Luck::[Angrily] "Oh, please! That son of a bitch Oblivion doesn't believe he's human, and neither do I! I am better than that asshole, and I am certainly better than any other common human being! Do you think I want to worry about Zack? I don't! I only care about hunting down that dog and putting him into the dirt!" Dave::[Coldly] "Face facts, Luck: You can't forget Zack. You can't just shunt aside his involvement in this match. Whether you like it or not, Zack is as big a part of Scars and Stripes as much as you and Oblivion are! Forgetting him would be completely and utterly stupid. You can't just pretend--" Luck simply snorted, folding his arms and sitting back into the bench. Luck::[Bitterly] "Yes, I can. I can pretend. I'm sick of everyone believing that this damn match is centered around Zack..Fuck that. The fans either loved the sight of him being held hostage, or loathed it. Oblivion himself probably believe he has me cornered simply because he took Zack away. I wish people would focus on ME. The man who will put down the Big Dog and will end the legacy he has built upon lies and false morals once and for all. But no, instead all eyes are off me and instead either focused on Zack or Oblivion! Do you think he has me cornered? DO YOU?!" Dave:: "He always does. He always thinks that with every single opponent. But the thing is, most opponents that Oblivion has faced have always been approached by him and cornered by him. You are the one who has hunted him, approached him and effectively cornered him. It's just that he likes to have an advantage, and as such--" Luck::[Sharply] "Yeah, I know. He's got Zack, and that somehow immediately puts me at a disadvantage. That's what everyone thinks, isn't it? What complete and utter bullshit. I'm not dependent on Zack, nor am I going to let the thought of him with a gun pointed to his temple stop me from getting to that ring and annihilating that son of a bitch. If Oblivion thinks he has every opponent cornered, then that is just another advantage to me. I'm not just some bog-standard kid who thinks he's the best of the best, and is stepping up for no reason. I'm the front-runner of this federation, the rising star, one of the best in the entire damn business today. Oblivion kidnapping Zack is nothing to me. NOTHING. His copying of my tactics? That hurts--" Dave:: "But even you said it yourself: You fear it slightly. You fear what could happen to him--" Luck::[Bitterly] "No, I don't fear what could happen to Zack. I'm sick of being afraid of such menial shit. The words I spoke were nothing more than a cover to protect the feelings of the interested party. I am instead sickened, sickened that Oblivion thinks that kidnapping Zack makes me fear fighting him! I'm sick of him! I'm sick of his arrogance! Does he truly think that he has struck fear in my heart? Does he think that the roar of his motorcycle as it rolls down the ramp instils the coldest fear in the pit of my stomach? Does he think his very appearance is enough to make me bow down to him?" Dave::[Quickly] "But you can't help fearing for Zack, can you? I see it in you, Hetty. I see it in your eyes. You can't help but fear for the people who accompany you!" Luck:: "..Yes. I can." Luck rose to his feet as Dave simply stood there, watching him wearily. Luck::[Quietly] "I can't continue worrying about him, nor can I continue worrying about you or anyone else I surround myself with. I can't continue letting myself get jerked around by this son of a bitch. I'm facing Oblivion on MY terms, and that means putting all of you aside for Scars and Stripes. I walk this road alone. I have chosen it. My onus is to put down Oblivion, not yours and certainly not Zacks." Dave::[In an almost pleading tone] "Hetty, you can't just--" Luck::[Cruelly] "I CAN! I'm sick of this dependency on others, and I'm sick of sitting and watching as those I trust either get eliminated or prove themselves to be nothing more than pawns only useful to throw away in a kings gambit! I'm not going to be dependant on you, or Zack, or anyone for Scars and Stripes! I am going to walk into the nations capital, and I am going to fight Oblivion on my own! By myself! With no-one involved! I am going to beat him on my own! And when that is done, then maybe, MAYBE I will bring Zack back home! But until then, this match is mine and mine alone. No-one elses. I am fighting this battle without any wild card coming into play. Fuck Xplode, fuck Zack and fuck Oblivion, I'M the one they'll be focusing on when the night comes to an end!" Dave::[Sighing] "If that's how you feel. I can't say I condone it, but you're as stubborn as a mule and I'm too tired to argue with you." Luck::[Calmly] "Good. Now if you need me, I'm going to go and train alone in preparation for this match." Dave:: "Don't be stupid. You haven't slept. You probably wouldn't be able to complete anything more than a few sets..C'mon. Get some sleep and we'll train later." Luck swung his head back, draining the entire can of Red Bull in a few swift gulps before letting out a rough belch and throwing it onto the grass, turning to Dave. Luck::[Sharply and confidently] "Fuck that. Weakness is just a state of mind. I am going to train right now, and I won't have you deter me from it. Only people like Oblivion refuse to push themselves to the limit because they falsely belief that they are the best at what they do. You know what? I don't believe I am the best, not yet, but I am sure as hell going to push my body and my mind to whatever extremes I can reach. Zack or no Zack, I am going to put my mind on one thing: Scars and Stripes. I am going to tear my own body fibre from fibre and rebuild it into an unstoppable killing machine that will not bow nor break until Oblivion has put in a box six feet underground where he so rightly deserves. Do you think I should just sit back and reach for mediocrity when Oblivion is defying me by playing a mind game that only I deserve to play? Do you think I should just sit back and do nothing to push my entire body and sense of self to the limit while he wanders around, believing the match to be nothing but a walk in the park simply because he has his own brother as the referee? Do you honestly think that I will listen to anything that either you or Zack say when there is a man out there who has been begging to be hunted by a superior hunter ever since he arrived in this federation and put his foot down? No, there isn't. Dave, I am going to go, and I am going to train until I fall unconscious. I will not stop, Dave, and you cannot say anything. Men like Dante Holly, Xplode, Brett Cross, Marcus Puzzo, Jack Bull..Tired old men who refused to stand and be counted as immortal, men who refused to stand up and go beyond their status, men who refused to stand up and go beyond their very limits and push themselves to the very brink of their life to ensure that they have what it takes to defeat Oblivion. No, I'm better than them. Better than all of them. I am the future of this company, and I am going to show everyone what the true emperor of this company should do: Push themselves to the limit and defeat their opponents through whatever means necessary, and if that means pushing my friends away and whipping my body until it is broken, THEN SO BE IT!!" With those impassioned words, Luck grabbed Dave's right arm, lightly pushing him to one side and stormed forward towards the rear doors of his mansion. His eyelids felt like they had weights attached to them, and his muscles ached and screamed for rest with each and every tendon worn to the very point of breaking, but Luck couldn't quit. Not now. Not when the horns were calling for war. He could no longer sit back and worry about Zack, knowing that is what Oblivion expects and knowing that Luck's fear is exactly why Oblivion took Zack away in the first place. He had to focus on the task at hand: Defeating Oblivion. A task that many had tried but so few had accomplished. There was no room for emotion, no room for fear, and certainly no room for mediocrity. Luck had to make sure that no stone was left unturned before the battle in the capital. If anyone was to defeat Oblivion, it would be none other than a man who was a perfect opponent to him: Mister Luck. A man of his equal. But to do it, he was going to walk this sordid, twisted road alone.

*Part VI - The Glory of War* "Let them hate me, provided they respect my conduct." - Tiberius LOCATION: Maynard Hetfield's Mansion, Las Vegas, NV. TIME: 12:37pm

For Luck, training alone was a sordid blessing. Without the hulking form of Big Dave looming over him, urging him to finish the last rep of a set, and without Zack calling out instructions on the sidelines, Luck could go at his own pace. He had already been training for three hours, something which was unprecedented in Luck's training before. He felt much more energized on his own, feeling as if he was free of the bonds that binded him to weakness. He felt much more on his own terms, and felt his mind preparing himself for a lone battle against Oblivion. He felt untainted by the eyes of his peers. He felt free to train as hard as he could. He felt that he could train far beyond the limit he had previously reached. His body already felt like it had been torn into individual shreds, but he felt more alive than he had ever been. He was fearless. He was ready, willing and able for war with Oblivion, despite the tiny nagging in the back of his head that warned him that stepping a toe out of line and angering the Devils Due by pounding their adored leader into nothing more than bloodied dust might invoke their wrath. He could feel his heart pounding like an iron fist inside his chest, threatening to splinter his ribcage. He wanted to taste the blood on his tongue. He wanted to become the last true hunter in the Asylum, the last superstar who had any modicum of skill, and the last superstar who put everything behind him, from the fans to friendship, in favour of winning glorious battles. With the last thoughts of Zack ebbing from his mind, his muscles strained, tightened, powered on and carried his long-tired body. Ava, Ivy, Amos, Dave, Zack, Josef? They felt like nothing to him at this moment. His mind was focused on one sole thing: Oblivion. Failure would not be accepted at Scars and Stripes. The Devils Due could take as many of Luck's friends and family hostage as they wanted, but they would not stop the tide of war from reaching their shores. Luck had been preparing for this moment for months. He was ready to cross the Rubicon, to write history, to take his rightful place on the throne much as Caesar had done many centuries prior. No-one could stop him now. No-one could halt the tide that was creeping in. Oblivion couldn't hold off the concept of hubris any longer. The day was approaching fast, and time would soon come for Oblivion to face his own personal reaper, and Luck was absolutely delighted at the prospect of donning the dark cowl and carrying the scythe to carve the end of Oblivion into the sand. Despite fatigue rapidly setting in, rolling through his body, he lifted up the barbell once more, completing his fifty-first curl before dropping the weight to the floor with a deafening crash. Luck looked ahead at a large mirror which stood on the floor, safely ensconced between a large cast-iron weight rack and a weight bench that had been set sideways and into the wall, reflecting the fury and the passion that Luck was showing in his training. Luck slowly half-crouched down, walking towards the mirror and glaring at his eyes which glared back at him. Zack had all but completely left his mind, and yet Luck swore that he could see the shadow of his brother-in-arms stood in the mirror, watching Luck as if to pray that he was going to be set free. Luck shot up, standing straight and placed a hand on the mirror as torrents of sweat flowed down his brow, lapping at his stinging lips and heavy eyes. He gave a small narcissistic grin, realising that the reflection looking back at home was one about to be clad in the finest materials as the emperor. First, Oblivion. Tomorrow? The world! Hopeless warriors to smite! Luck::[Inanely] "..You! Get out of my mind right now..I am fighting for myself and myself alone..I walk my own path alone..I need no-one..Not now..You can leavce..Go on..get away..I am the Last Emperor. Go away. Shoo. GO AWAY! This battle is mine and mine alone. No room for error and certainly no room for you. Go. Go on. My path is being constructed in the sands, and it is a path where only one pair of feet can walk. Go on. Go. Go now. This is my lone road, my path to the top, the path which will soon widen and greet a battle between two warriors, one hopeless and one a future emperor. Go. No room for you, Zack. Only warriors may walk my chosen path. Only brave legionnaires who battle to the death, brave legionnaires who encapsulate the glory of Rome and bask in their elite glory and ideals can walk this path. My path. The path to being the emperor. The path to being christened as Augustus. The Last Emperor. Go. Go away. You may step back on the path once you pick up your Scutum and promise to throw yourself into battle. You may step back on the path as a frumentarii once my throne has been constructed from the bones of Oblivion and gilded with the sinews of Cole Ritter. Only then." Swamped by the madness that had bred upon the fatigue that was filling his body, Luck stuck his tongue through his teeth, giving a sharp laugh before twisting around, walking over to a weight bench that had been set up in the dead centre of the room. Luck sat upon it, his arms flopping heavily by his side as he leant down, grasping a bottle of Highland Spring water and unscrewing the cap, taking a quick gulp from it and swallowing with a deep gasp, coughing loudly and rubbing his lips as he looked over at the mirror. Oh, how he anxiously awaited glory! How he anxiously awaited to find the throne that had avoided him and tempted him for so long! He was finally going to cross the Rubicon and seize it! He was going to cross it using Oblivion's broken body and ego as the raft! And he was going to do it all alone. All by himself. As the Last Emperor should, to provide an example to the lowly warriors, to the mere peasants who stood in his mighty shadow. Luck:: "So it all comes down to this, Oblivion. One final battle. One final battle between both of us." Luck took a quick drink of water once more, staring down at the floor. The odds had always been high when it came to wrestling, but for this match it was all or nothing. Facing Oblivion meant that you had a chance to make history: Beat him and you write your name in permanent ink, but lose and witness your name being erased from the fabric of time. This was the sad gamble that every man whom faced Oblivion had to undergo. Every single man who lost to him rarely got a return match, and it gnawed at them, or simply made them fade into obscurity. For Luck, this opportunity wasn't only about revenge or getting back a friend, this was about seizing the moment. Luck's entire career before this one point had been made on seizing moments, whether it was fighting for a championship or choosing to hop onto a stable that carried him until he decided to hop off and walk on his own feet towards the top of the mountain. Luck looked up, staring at the mirror: His own cold eyes had seen a lot of opponents step his way, but none quite as important as Oblivion. None quite as similar. None quite as deadly. None quite as threatening. Luck could no longer afford to focus on Zack. Luck needed to focus on the job at hand: To defeat Oblivion. Luck had spent far too long looking at Zack, but now it was time to focus on his own destiny. Did that make him heartless? Probably, but Luck wasn't one to truly care. Oblivion had Zack kidnapped simply because he knew it would hurt Luck as much as kidnapping Annette hurt himself. If Luck could no longer feel the fear, could no longer feel the anguish, then he was practically invincible. The reward was so much better than the risk. Even if he lost Zack as a friend and as a close compatriot, then the feeling of defeating Oblivion would heal the wound. To feel Oblivion's reputation and legend crushed below his immortal fist would more than make up for it. Luck::[Venomously] "Only one person can play this game, Oblivion, and it isn't you. You sit there in your leather vest, acting all high and mighty, believing that you can take me on? Practically my own brother, and yet he doesn't know what lurks within my mind. Does he think that Zack isn't dispensable? Does he think that I am such an amateur as to let another dictate my fear? That poor ignorant fool. How I pity him." Luck got to his feet, slapping the sides of his temple roughly. This fight was going to be on equal ground. Oblivion had done everything he could to put Luck on the long odds: His own brother was the referee, he had gotten to dictate the stipulation despite Luck winning the chance too, and it was because of this that Luck had to prove that he was a more dynamic superstar than people believed. They believed Zack was important to him. They were wrong. Zack was dispensable and replaceable. He was a friend, but anyone could buy friends. Zack was just a small part in a grander scheme of things. Luck was already shifting gears towards a cataclysmic change within the federation. As he stood there in his gym, staring at the mirror, Luck had already set the retirement of two wrestlers into course, and he had already managed to twist the strings in such an intricate fashion that at Scars and Stripes, Oblivion would finally open his eyes and realise just who he was messing with. He couldn't just unnerve Luck that easily. Luck was a complicated man to figure out, and Oblivion had certainly failed to decode Luck properly in the run up to Scars and Stripes. All the times he had destroyed opponents, he had destroyed them because they were nothing more than cockroaches, easy to predict and much, much too human to ever believe that they were unstoppable. Luck wasn't that humble. Luck gave a semi-irritated sneer at the mirror, squatting down and picking up a black cast-iron kettle bell at his feet, pulling it up and stretching his arms up before gently allowing the bell to fall over the back of his neck, stretching out his triceps. Luck: "Just a few more days, you son of a bitch. Just a few more days. Then we'll see who the true leader is. Then we will sort the legends from the peasants, and then you will finally be put away and laid to rot like you so deserve.." After a few reps, Luck swung his arms up before setting the kettle bell down, stretching and shaking his arms which had began to fill with a piercing pain as the tendons stretched. He walked closer to the mirror, staring into his own eyes. Zack was still in mind, writhing around like a hungry maggot and chewing away at his brain. He swore he could see the shape of Zack stir in the mirror. A maggot in his mind. An image burned into his brain. Moments of weakness and helplessness when he decimated two bodyguards, and forced himself to confront Zack's parents despite him not wanting to. Moments of weakness that he simply could not afford. Moments of weakness that needed to be eradicated so that Luck could become a killing machine which would allow him to get the job done without worrying what was happening beyond the confines of the ring. He gave a savage breath out, staring more at the mirror, his fists clenching tightly, an inhuman rage building in his body, stemming from the sheer humiliation in the realisation that he had been cornered. He, the puppet master! The one who held all the cards! Oblivion had taken Zack knowing that this is exactly how Luck would respond! No more. Oblivion was wrong. Luck::[Sharply] "No more. No more. No more fear. No more distractions. ONLY WAR!" Luck swung his head forward, slamming his forehead into the glass and cracking it roughly. Several of the broken shards which exploded out from the rough impact scratched Luck's forehead, causing a thick, dehydrated blood to flow from his forehead down over his eyes and towards lips. He licked the blood free from his lips, wiping his palms over his face and effectively painting his face a dark crimson color. A human had once been staring into the mirror. The creature staring back was now a warlord. A killing machine that only had one goal in its mind. Destroy Oblivion at any and all costs. Luck:: [Chuckling beneath his breath.] "Look at me..Look at me now..I'm ready to take you on, Oblivion..Zack doesn't matter..not anymore..it's just you and me now..you and me locking horns and battling until time ends..I have no weaknesses for you to exploit..Not anymore.." Whether it was the insanity clawing away at the remnants of what used to be a stable mind, or whether it was just fatigue from the training session settling in as his body slowly began to shut down before it tore itself to shreds, Luck collapsed backwards as if he was a tree that had been felled by a lumberjack, his body falling into a splayed position on the floor. Luck felt every single nerve in his body activate at once, flooding his body with a searing aching sensation that felt somewhat akin to a thumbtack being jabbed into every single pore that covered his body. He could barely move his arms or his legs, and was instead left on the floor, laughing up at the ceiling. Luck::[Screaming with all the breath in his lungs] "I AM NOT AFRAID OF YOU ANYMORE, OBLIVION! I FEAR NOTHING! THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO ME THAT I CANNOT DO TO MYSELF! I WILL WALK TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH WITH YOUR CORPSE ON MY SHOULDERS JUST TO GET THE PLEASURE OF THROWING YOU INTO NOTHINGNESS! IT ENDS HERE, OBLIVION! IT ENDS HERE, AND KIDNAPPING MY FRIENDS WILL NO LONGER SWAY NOR DETER ME! I WILL MARCH THROUGH THE FLAMES OF HELL AND I WILL NOT STOP UNTIL WE ARE BOTH BROKEN DOWN AND BLOODIED! YOU CAN KEEP ZACK, BECAUSE I CARE NOT FOR HIM, BUT FOR THE CHANCE TO TEAR YOUR LYING VOICEBOX FROM YOUR NECK! I WILL NOT STOP! I WILL NOT BOW! I WILL NOT WHIMPER! I WILL MAKE SURE THAT I AM THE OPPONENT WHO FINALLY PUT AN END TO THE COUNTDOWN!...IT ALL ENDS NOW!!" With all the fervour of a madman, Luck laughed so loud that the fixtures began to shake. He could see his eyes curl into a sadistic form of glee, his lips curving to reveal nothing more than shining fangs waiting to be stained in the blood of an eternal foe. It wasn't long before the laughing sharply cut out as Luck, drained from the lack of sleep and fatigue, groaned loudly, his eyes almost closing, head flopping weakly to one side. He gave one final breath, opening an eye. In that one moment, he swore he could feel his cold back upon the soft, spongy mat, the feeling of dirt and dust under his fingernails, he could hear the crowd in utter disbelief, and he could see Oblivion lying next to him, both men lying in a catatonic state, looking at eachother, brothers exchanging uneasy glances as their blows fail to fell the other. He could see the fear in Oblivion's eyes as he now knew that Luck feared nothing, that Oblivion could literally do nothing that would distract Luck from hunting him down. Luck reached out weakly, he could hear the echoing, ethereal jeers in his ears as he slammed a hand over the hand of Oblivion, giving a small, tired grin. Luck::[Tiredly, Inanely] "..My brother..my equal..this place right here...Scars and Stripes..Washington..this place will be our tomb..Ad Victoriam..Ad Mortis.." Luck watched as the hallucinations faded away. The hand he was holding was that of Dave's, whom had presumably heard the collapse. Luck felt his body heave upwards as he was lifted effortlessly, laid across Dave's shoulders. Dave::[Bitterly, Somewhat Angrily] "No more, Hetty. You're resting. Whether you still care for us or not, you are going to fucking sleep." Luck::[Quietly] "...My equal..my brother born from another's womb....On Washington's soil shall be our tomb....we have fought for months....and here...we die...and we take eachother to the grave..but you! YOU! YOU SHALL BE FIRST!" Luck clawed at nought but thin air, the desire to dig his claws into Oblivion overriding his common sense and his sense of awareness, his desire to kill being the only remaining function in his mind. Dave sighed, clasping his thick arm tighter around Luck's body. Dave:: "An equal? A brother? What the fuck is wrong with you?" Luck::[Laughing breathlessly] "...Don't you realise?....Won't you ever realise?...We have so much in common, you and I....I want to kill you, my brother...my enemy....no-one else deserves that honor but me..the most perfect opponent you have faced.....Dear Oblivion....You know it's true! I am the darkness that consumes your heart....We have faced eachother so often...I feel like your brother...I want to be the one to put an end to the countdown...Roma Caput Mundi...and I will be the emperor.." Too drained to continue his mindless, inane rambling, Luck fell unconscious upon Dave's shoulder. Dave:: [Giving a deep sigh.] "The sad thing is that you're right. You two have a lot in common..Too much in common to allow you to exist in the same federation. Maybe this wasn't about a rivalry after all. Maybe this was about searching what little soul you have, my friend, to find the light that lurks in the darkest and dankest pits of it. Maybe you have found it in Oblivion. Maybe you haven't. No matter what the result, though, I pray that you put this bastard down for God, or else it may very well be the end of what little sanity still swims in that head of yours, and your brother won't be there to save you."

*Part VII - To Arms* "In my dreams I hear again the crash of guns, the rattle of musketry, the strange, mournful mutter of the battlefield." - Douglas MacArthur LOCATION: Maynard Hetfield's Mansion, Las Vegas, NV. TIME: 2:01pm

Having been placed in bed by Dave and forcibly locked into his room, Luck remained laying in bed, motionless and quiet as he stared up at the ceiling, his limbs barely managing to twitch. Luck's body felt akin to a roaring inferno, burning with the fury and passion of ten thousand suns. Heat was pulsating through every single fibre of muscle that held his body together. He could only look up at the darkness that engulfed him, little more than a haze descending over his tired eyes. He tried to move his arms, but they ached so much that he was practically paralyzed, forced to lay there without being able to move. His body wasn't responding to the commands that his brain attempted to input. Yet, in spite of this, he gave a small grin, nodding in triumph. He had done what he had set out to do: Push his body beyond its natural limits. Only one more thing was left to do. Luck had already experienced the only horrors that Oblivion could ever unleash upon him, and now it was time to push himself away from his friends and fight Oblivion as a lone soldier. By training alone, he had committed himself to fighting alone, the way a battle to the end should be fought.By fighting alone, and preparing to fight alone, Oblivion's last true advantage over Luck had been wiped from the face of the Earth. The leverage he had once held in kidnapping Zack crumbling into the wind like dust. All Oblivion could do was stand and watch as Luck removed the chaff from the wheat, overcoming the obstacles that had been set in place against him. Even though he had descended into madness and shunned his friends, what was left for Oblivion to do? He couldn't kidnap anyone, it wouldn't phase Luck. He couldn't launch a brutal attack, it wouldn't stop Luck. He couldn't rev his motorcycle and unleash the roar of a metal beast while staring down the ramp with cold eyes, it wouldn't intimidate Luck. He couldn't bring in another change to the stipulation, it wouldn't distract Luck. Slowly but surely, the pieces were falling into place. Luck's head slowly turned to the upper-right, looking on top of a small chest of drawers beside his futon. On top of it sat a gilded frame, holding a picture of Luck in happier days, with his arms around Zack and Dave, a picture taken on a Hawaiian holiday years prior, where all three men could still smile brightly. He needed to let go. He needed to actually transcend emotion as he had bragged about previously, but he had never managed to fully achieve. He was afraid of Zack getting hurt and he was afraid of losing, thus making this entire ordeal little more than a needless flash in the pan. If he could just forget, then Luck could go on with focusing on Scars and Stripes, where Oblivion would be waiting for him, believing Luck to be nothing more than a simple pawn ready to be crushed beneath the fist of a man who believed he was the puppet master when in fact he was nothing more than a well-crafted puppet. In his head, Luck's words rang true: He wasn't just a pawn, nor was he a simpleton. Luck had successfully exposed Oblivion for what he was: An immoral wrestler who walked around like he was the best there is, was and ever will be. A wrestler who stood high on his own morals which were, in fact, blacker than the deepest abyss. He had lured Oblivion into playing a game that he had no true experience in, and Luck had made dance like a puppet on strings. Yet, Luck was more of a master puppeteer than what could ever be seen on his pale surface. At Scars and Stripes, Luck would reveal a second puppet that would finally lead to the end of Oblivion himself. It would be a move that would change the very foundations upon which the Asylum was built on. In this new empire, an emperor was needed. Luck was the only one to pull the strings, and in Luck's empire, there was no room for Oblivion. There was no room for fear. It was time to let go. No more. No more fear. Fear played such a crucial role in other wrestlers losses against Oblivion. Luck wasn't just another wrestler, he was the last bastion of hope left in a dwindling occupation where skill was needed. He was going to be the man to carry the federation ahead on his shoulders. He couldn't do it while fearing his opponents. He couldn't care for Zack anymore. He couldn't find himself waking up and worrying about him. He had to fight for himself, not anyone else. Luck had to fight Oblivion on his own terms, not on Oblivion's terms. Luck leant up, an act which took the final remnants of strength from his near-broken body, taking the photo frame and set it face-down on the chest of drawers, hiding the smiles and the happiness. He needed to make sure that there were no more doubts left uncovered before Scars and Stripes. Did it make him a monster? Probably, but earning immortality came at a grand price, and Luck was willing to pay for it no matter what. He would do anything to beat Oblivion. He would even carry a knife with him into the ring and cut Oblivion's throat if it meant being able to put him down for the count. He was going to fight until his final breath just to stand above Oblivion and walk out of Washington D.C as the victor. Luck::[Quietly] "Forgive me, but I simply cannot win with you." By hiding the photograph from view, Luck had finally eradicated what little stood between him and certain victory, but at a cost that would certainly alienate his thoughts towards Zack for perhaps the rest of his life. But Luck never was a man to just let the odds go against him. He was a master puppeteer, a man who always wanted to pull at the strings to make sure that the odds were in his favour. By shunning Zack, he now stood on truly equal terms with Oblivion, with no emotional bonds tying him down, and no fears stood in his path. Luck was a man who would do anything to win, even if that meant shedding what little made him a human being. There was nothing left for Oblivion to manipulate now. No more shifting the odds towards his favour. No more posturing for the fans. No more pretending that he held all the cards and knew all the answers. No more believing that taking advantage of an opponents imperfections would grant him an instant win. Luck had finally began to remove his own weaknesses and pile up his own strengths, leaving Oblivion to do little more than hastily execute tactics that would fail at Scars and Stripes. Even with Xplode as the referee, the game was over for Oblivion: What more could he do, short of actually killing Luck? This was going to a battle to the bitter end, and if Luck was going to go down, then he was going to do so by himself, on his own times and he was going to take Oblivion with him. With that final thought, Luck set his head down and closed his eyes. For Luck, Sunday was approaching, but for Oblivion, it was the end that was approaching, and little did Oblivion know that the man who held the daggers and the strings was not himself, but the soulless, brilliant, ruthless being known as Mister Luck.