The Hall of the Chosen - (Chaos Title RP Vs JC)

[Sebastian Everett-Bryce]

There was naught but imposing darkness, the kind of darkness that creeps around your skin and chills you more deeply than any ice could ever reach. The kind of darkness that made you feel utterly alone - Sebastian Everett-Bryce had never known the kind of emptiness that he faced when opening his eyes. “Hello?” He called. But he heard no echo - it was as if the sound died the moment it left his lips. There was no echo, or sign that anything lived beyond the blackness that confronted him. “Hello…” Came a small voice, followed by a tittering laugh. “Welcome.” “I know that voice.” Said Seb - the hint of an echo now in the midst of slow footsteps. “Daedalus.” “I’m honoured that you remember me.” He replied, his voice getting ever closer, but his steps appearing to be fading away. And then Seb felt a brush of air against his ear. “Remember us all.” Seb turned, but did he? He had no concept of direction or footing - for all he knew he was standing upon the precipice of some even darker hollow ready to swallow him. The idea made his knees weak - the only footing he knew to be secure was the one he had. A movement in any direction and goodness knows what would follow. “My, my, it is terribly dark here isn’t it?” Said Daedalus from somewhere in the distance. “Shall we risk a little light?” Seb blinked as somewhere nearby a light exploded into life. He held an arm up to shield his eyes from the sudden incursion. It took a few moments for him to adjust to the change in lighting, but when he did, the room was nothing like he was expecting. “Where am I?” Seb asked, as he looked around the small cramped cave with stone walls. There was a single doorway, hewn from the rocks and filled with a misshapen door. “The Hall of the Chosen.” Said Daedalus. Only now did Seb register that the voice was behind him - and yet the room was so small there would be no way to pass without him having felt the movement. Even worse was the idea of the fading footsteps when the walls around him seemed to be closing. “What is that supposed to mean?” Seb asked, turning. As he did, he recoiled - for the man who stood before him was in fact Daedalus but also not. His face was contorted and twisted, and yet his voice was the same. “Oh yes - things are always a little different down here.” Said Daedalus with a small giggle. “It’s how he likes it?” “How who likes it?” Seb asked. “You know who…” Said Daedalus with another giggle. “Come, come… So much to do, so much to see and he wouldn’t be happy if we missed a single bit.” “What is this? What’s happening?” Seb asked as Daedalus pushed through the door. Seb slowly followed through into a larger room. Much like the first it was little more than a cave with doors than led off to other small chambers. “This is where our mutual friend keeps his collection.” Said Daedalus. “Those he has chosen.” “You keep talking like that and I have no idea what you’re trying to say.” Said Seb, stopping and reaching out to take Daedalus by the shoulder. Spinning the small greasy man around, Seb found that his features had continued to move as if they were part of some dark, swirling vortex. “It’s rude to stair, Arsonist.” Said Daedalus, before chuckling. “But take it in - for my face will never look like this again.” “Good.” Said Seb quietly. “It’s making me queasy. No more than your regular one though.” “Very good, very good!” Chuckled Daedalus. “Shall we?” “I don’t even know what I’m doing here. Where I’m going… I don’t even know what this place is.” Said Seb. “This is madness - I want to leave.” “You can’t leave until he says you can.” Said Daedalus. “Besides, even if you wanted to leave, how would you get out?” “You’d take me.” Said Seb, menacingly. Daedalus, however, merely chuckled. “Good heavens no - it would be more than my life was worth. This is a moment that Tempest has been waiting for for some time. The Arsonist and The Boogeyman finally coming to blows. Afterall - he couldn’t destroy the two of you, perhaps you’ll destroy one another.” Said Daedalus. “Typical Tempest - can’t get the job done himself so let’s someone else do the dirty work.” Said Seb, sneering. “Oh no. No, no, no, no, no… You misunderstand, Arsonist.” Said Daedalus with a lofty chuckle. “It wasn’t that Tempest was incapable - it’s just that he couldn’t bear to part with the two of you. At least if one of you is successful, he has someone else to blame.” Seb let out a burst of derisive laughter. “Sure, right, that’s what it was. I take his eye, Joe leaves him to die in a housefire, and I beat him within an inch of his career and the reason was because he couldn’t bare to part with us.” Said Seb. “Pull the other one, it’s got bells on it.” “Quite right.” Said Daeudalus, reaching out and pulling on a string. As he did, bells rang out all around the chamber and one by one lanterns illuminated above each of the doors. “Come, come.” Seb shook his head and began to follow. “Since he arrived in the Coalition, Tempest has been collecting. Since day one, he had his favourites. Over time he added to his collection, but they would never replace any that came before. The Final Girl. Jay… Cee. The Arsonist. The Iceman. The Doctor. The Black Widow. The Hitmaker. There are more, there are many. But honestly, none could ever quite reach him in the same way as you three.” Said Daedalus. “The Final Girl was his first…” Daedalus cast Seb a look that was supposed to impose something like jealousy. Instead Seb merely raised his eyebrows. “Can’t blame a man for trying.” Giggled Daedalus. “But I wonder…” He stopped and turned on the spot to face Seb. “Do you know what he keeps?” Daedalus asked. Seb wanted to say no - wanted to scoff, and tell Daedalus that he was insane. How could Seb truly know what Tempest collected and kept hidden away behind all of these doors. And yet - a single thought crept from the back of his mind and spread through him unchecked like a virus. “Fears.” Said Seb coldly. “That’s right, that’s right!” Said Daedalus joyfully. “And down here, he keeps their deepest darkest secrets hidden away for all of time. He knows them all - he’s seen them. But unlike someone base and crass like The Hitmaker, Tempest refuses to use these fears against those to whom they belong. That’s for other people.” “Then why am I here?” Asked Seb, quietly. “Because this place is sacred. And despite it all, there is a truth Arsonist. You are his favourite and most hated. You are the one he prizes above all, and yet you are the one who threatens his most likely end.” Said Daedalus. “Don’t mistake - he doesn’t fear that ending. He knows that one day the two of you must make that final pass upon the battlefield. But before then, there are trials that you must overcome. And he wishes to help you.” “Help me?” Said Seb shaking his head. “Tempest wants to help me?” “He wants to help you and he wants to help Jay… Cee…” Said Daedalus, jovially. It was strange how used to the churning features Seb had grown - his mind had become accustomed and he barely saw the oddity anymore. “Come now, good sir, time is of the essence!” Daedalus was mocking him now - his voice slipping into a faux British accent every now and again. And yet there was something here, something about this place that made Seb want to follow. As they walked, Seb could see the doors were marked with the names of those Tempest had collected. “Ahhhh… Yes… The fears of The Black Widow. My, my… Such a prize. So delicious.” Said Daedalus as they passed. “Though not as delicious as those of her husband - The Doctor is a man with many fears, and some you would never quite expect.” “Mmm…” Said Seb, trying hard not to imagine the things that Eden and Gabriel had seen. He’d heard the stories - he had no need to see them made real. “The Hitmaker is an intriguing entry. You’ll be surprised to know that his fears are less…” Daedalus allowed the moment to hang between them. “Normal.” Seb said. “Yes! Yes!” Said Daedalus giggling. “That’s it, that’s it!” They walked on, but Daedalus faltered for a second. He paused and turned to face Seb, his fingers upon the door handle. They moved smoothly across the ornate metalwork. Seb paused. “What is it?” Seb asked. “I’m intrigued, Arsonist.” Said Daedalus. “If I gave you the choice, would you look?” “Look at what?” Seb asked. His eyes moved from Daedalus to the sign upon the door. ‘The Final Girl’, it said. Seb felt his mouth go dry. “Sloane’s fears are behind that door?” “Yesss.” Hissed Daedalus. “Every last one - every single fear she’s ever had, locked away in small pink, heart shaped boxes. Ready for exploration. Just think of the power you would wield. The freedom to protect her from everything that has ever given her pause… Or to use them for your own ends.” Seb rubbed his jaw - and for the first time, he realised that his own features weren’t what he recognised them to be. His face was contorted, and whilst it wasn’t moving like Daedalus, everything was slightly altered from what once was. “This isn’t me…” Said Seb, his eyes closing for a moment. “Sloane’s fears are her own - to share or to fight. They’re not for me unless she wants me to have them.” “So dutiful.” Said Daedalus. “Though I can’t help but wonder if that will be your downfall in the end. He turned on the spot and led Seb further down the dark stone wall, before he paused again. “Here we are.” He said, his beady eyes in roughly the right place, boring holes into Seb’s brain. “What, are you going to show me Joe’s fears now? So I can use them against him?” Seb asked. “No.” Said Daedalus. “Good, because that’s not…” Seb began, but Daedalus cut him off. “No, that’s the next room.” Said Daedalus. “Unfortunately, our host won’t take a no about these two rooms.” “So if it’s not Joe, then who?” Asked Seb, before his eyes found the name etched into the wood. “Oh.” “Oh indeed.” Giggled Daedalus as he reached out for the handle. “Welcome to your own personal record, Arsonist. We do hope you find the answers to some… burning questions.” “Are you coming in?” Asked Seb. “No, no - this is all for you.” Daedalus said quietly. “I wouldn’t want to spoil your fun.” “If there are fucking ducks in here…” Seb said. “Absolutely not.” Said Daedalus as he pushed open the door. “Tempest would never allow birds into his collection.” “Oh…” Said Seb, remembering Tempest’s fear of birds. “Well… Can’t say I’m not relieved.” “I suspect that feeling will be short lived, Arsonist.” Said Daedalus. “Wait, wh…” Seb began, but as he spoke, Daedalus shoved him hard into the room and slammed the door shut behind him. “Well isn’t that just marvellous.” Seb said, before reaching up for a torch that was protruding from the wall. “Well… Onwards and upwards I suppose.” And Seb stepped forth, into the unknown. Hello Joe, let me assure you of one thing off the bat, the pleasure is all mine. Two months ago, I did something that few choose to do. I looked into the eyes of the Bogeyman and said bring it. I had no reason to make such a choice - I wasn’t forced by some decree. You weren’t a number one contender, or a challenger or even signed up the company I worked for. I saw you post on Twitter that you were looking for a fight, and I figured it would fun to slap a Bogeyman. With all due respect of course. Alas, it didn’t transpire that way. I had a date with Tempest and then I had to put his Showman in his place. Little by little, the days whittled away until it became about me and you, Joe. The men with the longest and shortest names in professional wrestling today. One on one, on the top of a fucking roof, ready to tear one another apart for the right to be called the UGWC Chaos Champion. At least… That’s part of the reason. For me anyway - I don’t want to speak for you, Joe. Part of the reason is wanting to retain my UGWC Chaos Championship which I’ve held now for almost four months. Having defeated one of the greatest Chaos Champions in recent memory, and then going to beat both of the Astro Creeps… I mean we don’t really mention the other one anymore do we? Awkward. The point is, I’m not quite ready for my Chaotic adventure to be over. At one hundred and twenty six days, I’m currently the tenth longest reigning Chaos Champion of all time. Tenth, Joe - that’s not too shabby if I do say so myself. And in a company such as UGWC where we’ve had forty three different Champions and sixty reigns averaging no more than eighty days, well… You can already see that this reign is something pretty special. And I have no intention on letting you crawl out from whatever rock you’ve been sleeping under since you left Valor, and taking it from me. No disrespect. See, here’s the thing, Joe - I don’t dislike you. I actually respect you - and despite you getting your underwear knotted at the idea that I’d suggest you came back to get a shot for a title. You got all in your feels about it, Joe - so much so you dropped me a little tweet. But here’s the problem - you read between the lines there, friend. I never mentioned you needing to beat me for a title. I merely pointed out that you needed me to prove you could hang - picking Deimos would do you no favours. He’s a gatekeeper around here - you needed a bigger fish to sink your claws into. You didn’t just need a Champion. You needed a Champion that people doubted you could beat. And Lucy was already busy. Seb had walked for what felt like hours, but in truth, he had no true scope for how far he’d travelled. The cavern had become a tunnel, narrow but not too tight. A couple of times, Seb had turned back, but everytime he’d found the path behind him closed. ‘Forward to go back’ he’d thought, and carried on. Eventually, he found himself face to face with another door. There was no handle, just a large knocker. Seb stepped forward, and knocked three times. He waited for a moment, before reaching out to knock again when the door opened but a crack. He stepped forward and pressed his hands against the wood and pushed. As he did, he stumbled into the room and almost fell. As he regained himself, the door slammed behind him. It took him a moment to realise just how different this particular room was. It was still cave-like, but it appeared to be more than just a chamber. In each of the corners were old fashioned TV’s - the kind that were wooden and on wheels. “Hello Arsonist.” Came a voice, Seb turned, to find a figure sat upon a chair, legs crossed, head tilted to one side. “It’s been far too long.” “Tempest.” Seb said shaking his head. And it was Tempest, the same but different. The mask on his face was deformed, and not quite the same as the one that Seb had once torn from his face. Seb clicked his tongue. “If you think for one second I believe that you’re my greatest fear, you can get fucked.” “No, no… You misunderstand.” Said Tempest smiling. “Please. Sit.” Seb smirked and shook his head. “I’m fine on my feet. Thanks.” Said Seb, crossing his arms. “I said… Sit.” Tempest said. His head jerked, and then something hard connected with the back of Seb’s legs. Seb fell backwards into a chair that came sliding to a halt not far away from where Tempest say. “Better.” “Get… Fucked.” Said Seb, moving to stand up out of the chair, but as he did, small, thin but incredibly strong arms burst from the stuffing of the comfortable seat and wrapped themselves around him. “Alright fine. I wanted to sit down anyway.” “Of course you did.” Said Tempest quietly. “How are you, Arsonist?” “Oh rosey. Woke up in a pitch black room with Snape and Wormtail’s lovechild breathing down my neck, before finding out my girlfriend's greatest fears were being kept in a room by you.” Said Seb, shaking his head. “They’re good too.” Said Tempest smiling. “Honestly, I think they’re the only thing stopping her from giving in and becoming one of us. She would be so… Very welcome.” The screens in the corner of the room all flicker to a still of Sloane - except, not her. Darker, no smile. “You have a fetish.” Said Seb, sneering. “Thankfully, in this case it’s likely to remain unfulfilled.” “Her fears are her own, however she is not the purveyor of her nightmares… That’s… Well…” Tempest turned his head, and made a clicking spider-like sound. “You had your chance to find out and chose not to. I refuse to make it easy for you.” “Of course you do.” Seb said, smirking. “You know, if this is supposed to be frightening me, then you’re doing a terrible job. If this is all you’ve got, it’s probably time I went to find out what nightmares Joe is hiding.” “Oh I know that too…” Said Tempest - the lights in the room flickered, and the screens once again flashed, but this time a twisted menacing version of JC slammed his fists against the screen. “Could be that he fears what he is - the kind of man who drains the good from all those who surround him and leave nothing but a sour taste and broken dreams.” Said Tempest with a smile. He clicked his tongue, and the image on the screen changed to Lucy Wylde, bled dry of life. Of Matthew Knox, fallen and broken, incapable of continuing. A child… Crying. “Could be that he fears what they become once he’s gone - fulfilled. Happy. Satisfied with their lot in life.” Lucy with her hand raised, Championship within, Rogan MacLean stood by with pride etched upon his face. Matt with his family, happy. Content. The child. playing with someone who isn’t her father. “Or perhaps his fears are entirely selfish - legacy. Memory. Pride.” Said Tempest clicking joyfully. “Each could be his fear… But that’s not why you’re here.” “So why am I here?” Seb asked, smirking. The hands had started to withdraw now, sensing that he was comfortable in his seat. Rather than make any rash moments, Seb leaned into it. Pressing back into the seat. “This is your chamber. Your fears.” Said Tempest, with a smile. “Sure this isn’t your nightmare?” Seb asked. “You and me alone, with no-one around to save you? No-one here to stop me from taking your other eye?” “That was his fear…” Tempest said as the screens flashed again. This was the Tempest of old - half painted, half free. Child-like. “Then what is this about?” Seb asked. “Come on… Tell me. This is supposed to be your world, so you tell me what you want to know. What… Is this… About?!” Seb asked, slamming his hand upon the arm of the chair. “Youuuuuu…” Tempest said, before the clicking intensified. And the screens flashed one final time. This time it was Seb’s own face - twisted almost unrecognisably, much like what he imagined his own to look like. But this was childsplay. All of it - there was nothing to fear here but the same old Astro Creep Games. And where were they? The Doll. The Showman. Their menagerie of oddities. Even Kosnar and Gemini were conspicuous by their absence. Even Daedalus refused to enter. Tempest was the head of the snake - always had been. “I’ve had enough of your games.” Said Seb. “We could end this now.” “I wish that were so.” Said Tempest. “But you can’t hurt me here.” He rolled backwards, the chair tipping with him, and when he landed he did so upon all fours. Except there weren’t four legs. Instead there were eight - the mask he’d worn turning into a terrifying crown made of bones, with blood that ran across the multitude of eyes that stared a hole in Sebastian. He clicked his pincers as the lights in the room began to flicker, and each othe TV’s began to flash between the various images. Sloane. JC. Tempest. Sebastian. It was if they were chasing one another around the edge of the room, moving faster and faster with every moment. “There’s no going back.” He clicked. “You must choose the face of your fear.” “Choose… What do you mean choose!?” Seb asked. “You have chosen!” Said the voice. “You have chosen what fear looks like - and you must face it if you wish to leave this place.” “What is this place?!” Sebastian asked as the flickering lights finally went out plunging him into darkness. It was entirely silent, until he felt the prickling of the hairs on the back of his neck. And then a click neck to his ear. “Good luck…” Seb wheeled around, the clicking still in his ears as the lights returned. He span on the spot, but he was alone entirely. No chairs, no televisions, just a single door on the opposite wall from where he’d entered. Seb stepped forward, his entire body on edge, before he reached out and took the handle. It was cool and metallic. He closed his eyes to think of Sloane, but could see nothing save for the darkness he’d saw in her only moments ago. He twisted the handle, and pulled open the door. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. And as he moved to turn and face the room at large, he heard a voice that made his blood run cold. “Hello there…” It said. And dread froze him in place. I know why you came back. Because last time you were here you achieved nothing - you tried so hard, and you achieved nothing. You pushed, and you pushed and you achieved nothing. You left here beneath a stench of failure, and it eats away at you every day. And truth be told, coming back at Wrestlestock did little to quell that particular notion. Your path to winning the Wrestlestock Open was impressive, no doubt. But truth be told, if at the end of it you walk away with your tail between your legs again, it means nothing. Remember when JC came back and won the open? Yeah! And remember how Seb sent him packing again straight after? You don’t want that. I could see it in your eyes, when you chose me as your prize. Because rest assured, Joe - I’m the only prize you’re getting. The Chaos Title is staying exactly where it is. Because for all the insults that are bandied around about me choking or being unable to win when it counts, here? In UGWC? I’ve won it all. I’m a Grand Slam winner, while you’ve had chance after chance but been left with nothing but your dick in your hand. Literally and figuratively. And now you walk in here as though I’m going to be your redemption? The big challenge you need before you disappear into the night like some shitty superhero? No thanks, Joe. I’m not your feelgood story before you retire. I’m the chapter before your redemption arc begins - where you have to go back to the drawing board to come up with a new plan to work out how to prove your one last run was more than one last stumble. Maybe next time you will take a shot against Deimos, hmm? But for now, you’ve made your choice. I’m so glad you did, but I’d have counselled against it. And I get it - you’ll tell the world that all you really want is to fight the absolute best. And damn right, that’s what you picked when you stepped in the ring with me. Not the half-arsed choices you’d have faced if you’d have chosen to fight for the World Title. There’s no Pierce in this fight, Joe. No easy win against Rydell. No retiree Vs retiree in Holden Orson or a version of Tempest that’s been broken since he faced me for THE Championship in UGWC. Only one name in that main event is worth fighting. And I figure she’s had you pinned more than once, am I right? And that her new dance partner is a little more willing to lead if you know what I’m saying. Oh come on, Joe. Don’t get mad - it’s all in jest. I have plenty of people pointing fingers and pointing fun about my love life and those who may or may not be involved in it. The last thing I’d want to do is make you mad… Seriously, stop getting so mad. I wouldn’t want you making a mistake… Slipping up… Making a mistake. It would ruin the story, right? Your little return to the land of the living. Imagine if you’d gone so very far, all to slip up at the very last minute and fall flat on your face and waste yet another golden opportunity. Even if that is your MO. You hate to see it. “Sit.” Said the voice. “Now.” Seb pressed his head against the door. He couldn’t move - it couldn’t be. How could that voice be so familiar and yet be so different. He took deep breaths, his palms sweaty, his knees shaking. He turned, and felt his heart sink. He recognised the features of the old man - the jawline, the smirk. But it was the eyes that he recognised the most - they were the eyes of the man he’d been at the end of last year. Broken, wasted, alone. He tried to shake the cold feeling running down his back, but he couldn’t. No matter how hard he tried. He walked towards the old man who sat in the middle of a cave, god knows where. His hands were gnarled and twisted. He was hunched and uncomfortable, but worse than all of that was the gravely sound of a voice unused. “I said sit.” Said the old man. He had no joy in him - no humour. He was cold. “You’re me.” Said Seb, quietly. “Or at least a version of me…” “No. I am you.” Said the old man, sneering. “Not a possibility. Not a potential. Not an option. This is who you become. This is who you are.” “Right.” Said Seb, slowly taking a seat. “Can’t be all bad...” “Alone.” Said the old man. “Worthless.” “Easy.” Said Seb, trying to find a position to sit that wasn’t uncomfortable. But he knew his discomfort had nothing to do with the seat. “Nothing is easy - no matter how hard you tried to make it. You ruin everything you touch - you fail. You humiliate. You hurt and you break until there’s nothing left. I am what I am, because you refused to make the right choices and do the hard things. I am what what you make me, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.” The old man spat, the words pouring from his lips like venom. “Careful old man.” Said Seb, his fists balling. “That would be a first - you standing up and fighting for what you believed in. Father was right about us. We didn’t deserve his name. Gramps left to die alone in Chicago while we played happy families in New York. Trying to live up to the man you thought she wanted you to be. Pathetic lapdog. Worthless lickspittle. And where did it get us? Hmm? She didn’t even want what you pretended to be.” He raged. “What the hell are you talking about?!” Seb snapped. “She couldn’t stand who you were pretending to be, and then she found out who you really are. Weak. Unworthy. Broken.” Said the old man, every word poison from his lips. “No-one has ever truly loved you, Sebastian. Your mother tolerated you. She felt guilty for bringing you into the world, and looked after you because she couldn’t convince your father to give you away. He loathed you from the moment you took your first steps. You’ve never had real friends - just people out to take from you what they could get. Your money. Those you loved. It was all free for the taking because you’re so… Fucking… Weak.” “I’m not weak…” Sebastian said, tears stinging his eyes. “You’re nothing. Not worthy of a footnote in history. Do you think beating JC will change that? Do you think anyone will care? How many times have you failed when it truly meant something? How many times have you faltered in exactly this scenario. Yamazaki. Knox. Raven. Peirrot. Knox again. Dixon. How many times do you need to fail before you realise you don’t belong? How many times do you have to fail before you realise that you aren’t special?” “That’s enough!” Seb yelled. His hands were balled, and his eyes were tight shut. He stood from his seat. “I don’t fear failure.” “You should. You live through so much…” Said the old man. “I fear becoming you. Cold. Dark. Loathsome. I fear becoming the man I became last year - filled with self-doubt and self-pity. I fear that my own demons will ruin anything good in my life.” Seb said, finally opening his eyes. The old man was watching him carefully, but he wasn’t interrupting. “I don’t fear the path chosen to become who you are. I fear that you’re the future that I create for myself.” A flickering light caught Seb’s eye - behind the old man was another door. He took a deep steadying breath, before placing a hand on the shoulder of the old man. “I’m sorry for whatever I did to turn you into this.” Seb said, before he walked towards the door. He reached for the handle. “Sebastian.” Said the old man. Seb paused. For a moment, he considered walking through the door and not listening, but something stopped him. He held his position. “You know you can’t run away from this. I am your most likely future. There’s nothing to can do to stop fate.” “Maybe.” Said Seb turning around, slowly. “But at least I can try.” Seb smirked to himself before pushing through the door and out into the next chamber. As the door closed, he looked up into the face of Daedalus, who giggled. “You found yourself, Arsonist.” He said as Seb stepped towards him. “Something like that.” Seb said, turning his head to look back at the door. “Come on…” Said Daedalus, with a small chuckle. “One more thing to see.” But the thing is, I know what you’re really afraid of, Joe. It’s what we’re all afraid of. All of us, filled with ego and a level of self-loathing that means we’re defined by Championships and likes on Twitter. But the truth is, I don’t care to know how much you hate yourself. Not because I don’t care, but because maybe I’ll feel sorry for you. And feeling sorry for you makes me weaker. And being weak isn’t an option against the man who almost destroyed Matt Knox. Weak isn’t an option against the man who almost burned Tempest alive. I mean, the first time that someone almost burned Tempest alive. I don’t care if knowing how much you hate yourself could help me. It could hurt me just the same. But I do know all the weaknesses I need to know about you, Joe. I know you can’t give up no matter what you find in your life to try and fill the gap that professional wrestling leaves behind. You’ll still find your way back. This isn’t your last run, this is your next run. There isn’t a run will ever be your last. You’ll die in this ring, because you can’t just walk away. You’ll be remembered as JC, the man who gave literally everything he had to this business and died giving. Just because you can’t stay down once you’ve sat down. It’s never quite enough. And you might beat me - you might take my Championship, but honestly, if you do? Is that the action of a man who’s ‘finished’ with this business? I don’t think so. It screams desperation, Joe. But not the kind of desperation everyone thinks it is. This isn’t an end that I want to see that manifests itself. Everyone and their wife told Knox they wanted to be the one to put him down, and in the same position, Joe… Those same people would be the ones saying they want to be the one to put you down too. But I’ve never been a fan of Old Yeller. I’m going to beat you Joe - despite respect, despite like, despite knowing that in doing so I may have to do something I really don’t want to do. And it won’t be for your own good either - I’ll beat you because I want to. Because I want to be able to shout from that fucking rooftop that I beat The Bogeyman. I want to beat you because I’m better than you, and I know it. I was better than your buddy Knox, and he survived on the back of someone else stepping between us before I could beat him. There’s no-one that’s going to stand between the two of us. No Knox. No Tact. No Final Girl. No Tempest. This, right here, ends with one or both of us on the way to the hospital. But I’ll be the only one with my hand raised. Fuck Empires, Joe. This is about Chaos. And you’ve got nothing in you that can match mine. See you on the roof. Let’s hope we survive when we blow it off that damn arena. As they reached the final chamber, Seb stopped. He placed his hands on his hips. He shook his head, as Daedalus halted and placed his hands behind his back. “Something the matter, Arsonist?” He asked. “I don’t want this.” Seb said quietly. “I don’t want to go in there.” “Afraid his fears may be more impressive than yours?” Asked Daedalus with a small chuckle. “I’m not going to compare the size of our fears.” Said Seb, rolling his eyes. “It doesn’t matter what he’s afraid of - no amount of fear is going to stop him try to take my title on Monday.” “Perhaps you could find something that might help you to defeat him. Have you considered that?” Asked Daedalus. “I have.” Said Seb. “And I don’t want it - I’m not Tempest’s assassin. I’m not here to put Joe to sleep - I’m here to prove to him that I’m better than he is. And nothing inside that room will change that.” “And what if I told you that Joe himself had seen your fears?” Asked Daedalus with a mischievous giggle. “I’d say that he knows what my fate is as well as I do - I’ve seen that, and I don’t want to make it there. Which means I have to change something - and he’ll know that too.” Said Seb with a smirk. “If he’s seen what scares me, then he knows that I’m not letting up for a single moment. Failure is not an option.” “There is no backwards… Only forwards…” Said Daedalus. “He will not be pleased.” “I don’t really care what pleases him.” Said Seb with a smirk. “And if you don’t let me out of here, I’ll make sure he’s less than pleased with what happens to you too.” The swirling features showed concern. But only for a moment - for as they turned from concern to joy, Sebastian could once again hear clicking. He turned on his heels, but could see nothing of note behind him in the chamber. And then he felt the chill again on the back of his neck. He turned a moment too late, as he felt the pincers cut through his shoulder and hoist him into the air where The Spider King hung from the ceiling - an arachnid terror for all who witnessed him. And as the pincers pushed deeper into his shoulder, Seb let out a scream. His eyes closed, and then he hit the ground hard. __________________________________ When he opened his eyes again, Seb was lay on the floor of the apartment he and Sloane shared in New York City. His back was pressed against the couch having lurched from where he’d been sleeping and slamming hard against the coffee table. He pushed himself up, feeling groggy. The nightmare had been so utterly real that he could have sworn he could still hear the clicking. He looked up at the ceiling to double check, and then cursed himself for being ridiculous. He was covered with sweat, and his t-shirt was soaked. He pushed slowly up the stairs, and into the bedroom where he pulled off his t-shirt. He walked towards the bathroom, but as he passed the mirror he stopped. He stepped back so he could see his reflection and felt his stomach lurch. For against his shoulder were two circular bruises in exactly the place where the pincers and broken his skin in the nightmare. Seb dropped into a nearby seat, and closed his eyes for a second. The clicking returned. And a voice. “There’s nothing you can do to stop fate.” It said, as Seb’s blood ran cold. And the sting in his shoulder seemed to burn into life.