Preparations... (match RP in CW)

From the desk of The Reason, written in blood and bound between sheets of human flesh: it is a diary that would make the Necronomicon ex Mortis look like the movie prop it actually is. Below is an excerpt, written about Underground and, more importantly, “Jenova”:

Jenova... an interesting concept to think about. She ended up revealing herself at the end of her match with Lucy Wylde, and it is an irony to consider that this former UltraViolent Champion would be placed across the ring from the Ultimate in UltraViolence: The Empty.

Ultimate in UltraViolence: it has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? This woman, this Magdalena Lockhart, has positioned herself nicely in the path of my arcane abomination. She thinks this new guise will fare well against The Empty? It is a laughable consideration, to say the least.

If anything, her identity is no better than that of a copycat, a cheap carbon copy of a monster made of malice. This black mist, her Black Mass spinning heel kick: they are better off in a random western teenage horror movie. It’s a joke and I question Carnage Wrestling’s motive for putting such a weak-willed creature against The Empty.

She even wears this mockery of a mask that can be this attempt to be Mitaxia too. What lack of originality this person possesses, and then there is whatever might be possessing her.

To sacrifice this “Jenova” to The Hollow, perhaps she will find the strength to come into this reality and show the world what it is to contain true darkness. After all, darkness is the absence of light; how can there be light unless there is darkness, or vice versa? When the light of the cosmos shone into the deepest places, The Void was created in retaliation, and The Hollow was born of his desires for a mate: the Adam and Eve of evil.

But this woman, Maggie Lockhart: her evil is an abomination in the face of my great master and mistress. They call for her demise like a dog baying for fresh meat from its master’s bone, ripping at sinew and gristle to get at the sweet meat.

Oh, I wasn’t writing about a dog taking a piece of chicken. I was talking about the hound tearing into its master to take meat from his bones! How could I write such a silly thing without clarification!

Of course, my lord and master reads my passages; he approves of everything, lest he strike me down and give The Empty the power of The Reason. There is no likelihood of this transition of power, and I can take comfort in The Void’s skillful and wise judgment.

The Hollow picked me, fed me, gave me my great power, and The Void has accepted me unto his own; I am free, I am powerful, I am forever.

As Man cannot do anything if not for The Reason; the decisions they make hinge upon what they must consider, and they always consider The Reason.

Picking the vessel was child’s play, as he begged for The Reason to make him better.

I made him great; The Empty is the better for it.

And now, whether she wants to be called “Jenova” or Maggie Lockhart, this feeble woman will be called a blood stain on the canvas as the essence of Jenova becomes one with The Empty.

I’m excited for the pay-per-view now. It will be a mess.

I’ll ensure that The Empty reminds her what it is to be UltraViolent…

What it is to be a champion...

---

His diary was no opus, least of all what The Reason wrote about this upcoming match against the one now known as Jenova, but it was a glimpse into what he thought of it, and her. Sitting in the Little Gym of Horrors, as he lovingly called it, he enjoyed the smell of death and decay as he started sadistically at the many faces of the departed that hang from the ceiling above.

No longer were The Reason, The Empty and the vessel hiding in Fort McHenry, but there was a new hideout, a new lair for The Reason to waylay the vessel’s will to The Hollow’s desire. Within, he was able to feed his own needs while breaking the will of others, as he found many a broken being to wrench the mind from the body, creating a slave and “drone”, if you will, to The Hollow’s service and The Void’s great honour.

The vessel sat, chained within a jail cell, their new home an abandoned prison that has since disappeared from the grid: a blessing from The Hollow and of The Void. Every night was a screaming match with angry spirits; every day was a fight with himself of whether to eat or sleep. In the middle of the day, as if to keep him on a tight schedule, these monstrous little people, for lack of a better phrase, would drag him by his chains to what The Reason constantly and consistently calls a gym: a bunker deep underground, where all the rituals to both The Hollow and The Void were performed.

This day was no different. Once again, stripped down to bare skin, the vessel was dragged to the gym, to meet with The Reason as he closed his skin-bound book.

“Ah, you made it,” he says upon seeing the vessel, mockingly making it sound like the man had a choice. “I was starting to get worried that you died.”

The Reason hops off his chair, his shirt missing as he had recently used the gym’s services. The vessel looks at him with weak eyes, sleep deprived for the better part of three days.

“Death would mean I’d get more sleep, at least,” the vessel says bitterly, the pungent aroma not as offensive as it once was.

The Reason laughs at the vessel’s complaint. “It is not my fault that The Hollow must feed upon the souls locked to this forsaken place,” he says, “and their cries of fear, anguish and anger must keep you awake at night.”

The vessel looks at the hanging GCWA North American title belt, as it hangs from the ceiling with the human faces. The Reason notices the vessel’s line of sight and smiles.

“Call it a reminder of the pain you are able to inflict upon those unfortunately set before you,” he says. “After all, you have a tournament to take part in soon, and then there’s the match coming up soon as well; you have a video game monster to destroy.”

“Please,” he says, sarcasm lacing his tone, “let me fight the damn game boss. You’re seriously NOT clever, you stupid fuck.”

The Reason clenches his fist, and the vessel falls to his knees, clutching his chest. The vessel’s breathing becomes labored as The Reason approaches, kicking him in the face before releasing him.

“Watch your potty mouth,” he says with a fake smile, “YOU stupid fuck.”

The vessel wipes the blood from his nose; The Reason’s smile grows menacingly. The imps stand back, fearing their master’s wrath if they were to step in, whether to assist or antagonize the vessel.

“Now,” The Reason says, his tone changing from one of sadistic glee and sarcasm to one of seriousness and business, “you face someone who would call themselves a fellow monster: emotionless, motionless, flawless. SHE is none of those things. Maggie Lockhart is not this ‘Jenova’ whelp, and that’s exactly what she is: an insufferable little whelp who is going to find herself at the bad end of a nasty beating.”

The vessel slowly gets to his feet as he blows a chunk of bloody snot out of his left nostril; it lands on one of the imps. Neither reacts, although the vessel does notice the booger sticking out from the little person’s scant locks.

“She was once an Ultraviolent champion, this woman,” he continues, beginning to pace, as if lecturing a platoon of soldiers on the eve of a massive raid. “She will be a thorn in our sides if we are unable to quell her early on. Also, we must beware this CJ Wylde person. If we are unwise in our approach, he may try to interfere. There would be... complications... if he did interfere, which is why we will have you trained to peak physical form, similar to what you used and had to defeat PerZag at Crescendo IV.

“But you will be fed and well-rested,” The Reason goes on, “and we shall personally see to this: 8 hours every night, 2 large meals a day with multiple opportunities for snacks.”

“You feed me garbage,” the vessel grumbles, his stomach growling and his bowels churning.

“You are fed sweet meat that you choose to forsake,” The Reason rebukes, “and it is forced to go to waste. These children of The Void do so enjoy their scraps, but they do not eat if you don’t, and it shall be enforced.”

There is not a single sound of rebellion that comes from the disheveled pygmy tribe, just watching The Reason with blank, soulless eyes. The vessel looks at them and watches them in disgust.

“What have you done to them?” he growls, stepping forward.

“No more than I had to,” The Reason replies, standing up to the weakened vessel, the former’s body at peak conditioning; the vessel was dehydrated, malnourished and sleep-deprived: all of his own making. “You are in no condition or position to attempt rebellion or insubordination without suffering consequence.”

The vessel takes another step, a little stronger than the last, forward, only for The Reason to throw him into the pool of blood with one hand. The imps drag the vessel back to the surface, drenched in red and coughing heavily. His eyes, bright blue and white, burn in hate as he gazes at The Reason.

“Save your anger for more constructive intentions,” he says, as if to be counter-intuitive regarding the purposes of anger. However, the vessel begrudgingly agrees, getting to his feet.

“Drag him to the treadmill!” The Reason roars to the imps and, once the vessel is on the belt made of human skin and vulcanized rubber, the motor is started and the fire is lit. He is subsequently attached to the machine, with no way to adjust its speed or incline options.

“You will learn to submit to The Hollow once again!” roars The Reason, going to the wall, where a plethora of weapons and other torture devices is kept. Of course, he takes the whip down, a favourite toy for the sake of The Reason’s darker pleasures.

“You will remember your place in the grand scheme!”

The imps add a shot of lighter fluid to the flames behind the vessel; the heat licks his unprotected feet and forces him to run harder, faster.

“You will relinquish your free will as these children have, surrendering yourself to The Empty once and for all!”

A crack of the whip is all it takes to move the imps, actual little people enslaved in mind and body by The Reason, out of the way. Two menacingly large men come forward, bound in unbridled muscle.

“These men,” he says, looking at them, “for lack of a better term, will take care of you HOWEVER I deem necessary.”

The vessel scowls, looking at the large men.

The men are garbed in nothing more than loin cloths made from cowhide. Nothing else contains the parts of their bodies.

The difference between the imps and these large men? The men are not eunuchs, and they feed off the same sadism as The Reason.

“Now keep running,” he says, slapping the whip into the hands of the larger of the two. “Otherwise, you may fall into their arms.”

The Reason smiles and takes a clean white shirt from a personal imp, a female, and he heads to the door.

“Oh,” The Reason says, turning as he opens the door. “I mean you may fall into their arms AGAIN.”

The vessel grits his teeth as he runs, The Reason cackling as every imp remains in the gym. The heavy steel door is slammed behind him and, as he buttons up the white collared shirt, he looks to a camera, held by who knows what.

---

I need to get out of here, but I don’t know how. It is hell in here, and I am trapped: a prisoner in a prison of concrete, steel and my evils. They have come back to haunt me, but I feel that vindication is the least of my worries right now. I pray for forgiveness, I pray for mercy, I even pray for death, but I can feel the words becoming... empty.

God, I hate that word now! But it is tied to me, a slave to a will that is not my own, my knee bent to a goddess that is not of my choosing! What I wouldn’t do to escape, but my body is failing. It is like I have a cancer that hollows me out, leaves me to be a shell; it feels like I’m an egg without a yolk.

It took a lot to avoid that word, but I did. It is so hard to be optimistic in such a pessimist’s wasteland, a dystopia that exists in the periphery of something from the movie Event Horizon or Hellraiser. I seek redemption and a chance to be free. But the free air: it eludes me.

I suffer, but my righteousness comes from the fact that I do not suffer vainly.

No one else can bear this shame, this mask.

I refuse to let another be The Empty.

Not even Jenova.

---

“And that’s just how it is,” The Reason says, leaving his shirt untucked as he locks the bunker door, leaving the vessel to his brutal workout and even more brutal spotters.

“He is a flabby, worthless, immaterial little bitch,” he continues, pocketing the key in his sporran, “and he will be made to yield to The Hollow’s will. It is not a matter of IF; it is a matter of WHEN, and the WHEN will happen, otherwise he will find himself in a world of pain and torture that would make Satan himself blush in shame and inferiority.”

The Reason slowly makes his way up a steep incline, opening a storm cellar door and revealing the prison yard. All around, it was dense forest and grass; the yard itself had the odd weed growing through cracked asphalt. There was only the sound of wind: no animals, not even a passing bird. The skeleton of one unfortunate robin lays decayed and untouched by anything, not even a maggot.

“These fumes from an underground vent has served to protect the vessel and myself from detection,” The Reason says, as signs that indicate a gas leak in the area are littered all over; the sinister man breathes in the foul air and sighs, a smile of bliss on his cruel face.

“If Jenova believes that she is a strong enough force to combat The Empty,” he continues, looking up at the cruel sun above, “then she will need to be certain of her ability to face the power of the very dark matter that consumes the heavens above, that gives the night life, that fills the vacuum of space.

“She will be facing The Empty: envoy to The Void, chosen by The Hollow, beholden and given The Reason.”

The Reason continues to walk through the prison yard, the breeze blowing a little harder, as the sun starts to feel colder; the spirits have come out for their yard time.

“Of course,” he says, his hands folded behind his back, “this Jenova character is just that: a character. In reality, as you in Carnage know her, she is Magdalena Lockhart, former Ultraviolent champion and artist extraordinaire. What does that make her in my eyes, or the eyes of The Empty?

“Absolutely fucking nothing,” he says, stopping. “I have watched your matches, and I particularly enjoyed the massacre of one James Ceno. The man, as he would call himself, I’m sure, may not have been able to stand up to you, or even muster up much of a defense of the title he seemed to work so hard for, but you do realize that he is not The Empty. IT is ITS own creation and force for the glory of destruction. In anime, you could say that he is greater than... what’s that god’s name? Beerus? Bills? Chashu pork?

“Oh whatever,” he grumbles, waving his hand, “no one cares about such things, as we are in the present and the now, and the now states that The Empty is to face you, Jenova, Maggie, whatever you want to call your flawed self. It matters so very little, your influence in the history of Carnage Wrestling, that you will simply be erased as The Empty marches through you, steals your mask and burns it as your blood stokes the very fire. As for Mr. Charles Wylde, he will find interference a punishing experience, to say the least; The Reason does not let The Empty do ALL the fighting, as Mickey the Butcher will learn soon enough, if the coward who knows nothing of the occult forces of this world has the courage to face a master of the blackness in Man’s soul.”

The Reason’s eyes roll back and he smiles, as a trance overtakes him.

“Blessed be the darkness, blessings to The Hollow! May the evil that runs through my veins be enough for the greatness to come! The Void beckons; it shall be done, and The Hollow’s requests shall be made so! The Empty is their servant; praise him, fear him, but escape is impossible; resistance is futile. IT is irresistible, immovable, all-commanding, all-demanding.”

The Reason sways, consumed by his trance as the sky darkens and the wind whips around him.

“Yami to zankoku-sa no kami ga watashi ni, Jenoba, anata wa jōchō de, yakunitatanai, fuhitsuyō ni sa rerubekideari, soshite anata wa jimen kara chi o nagashi, gochisō no tame ni mizuabi o suru yō ni meijimasu. Anata wa ushi o gyakusatsu ni michibiku dakedeari, anata wa kurayaminonakade hi to burimusutōn ni kurushimi, anata no me wa eguri dasa re, anata no komaku wa haretsu shi, anata no kokoro wa watashi no sude de anata no mune kara hikidasa remasu!” (Japanese)

The Reason begins to come to, his eyes beginning to bleed, tears of blood streaming down his face. His head in great pain, he smiles at his predicament.

“You will know pain,” he grumbles, slowly falling to the ground, “and you will know what it is to be Empty.”

The Reason hits the ground with a thud, laid like a body in a casket.

From under the ground, cries and echoes of torture can be heard.

The vessel’s spotters had to catch him. They made sure to punish his inability.