Ayla Book; Chapter 3: Glorious Gardens

"The traumatized are often Unpredictable because we know we can survive."

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“There should be little hesitation upon entrance to Annihilation. Precise steps will lead to effortless elimination. This fear that plagues you must be forgotten from your repertoire if you desire true victory.”


A pause cracked across the room in disruptive silence. Something rare to me.

“I fear this is a failure on my part. You required different guidance from me.”

I stop myself from tumbling out from the study’s window. The world before us is so open and green with frozen wind depleting my ability to take a proper breath in. The wood held no resistance to becoming ice beneath my grip while I hung out. Just beyond the wild grass, turning into a pale version of itself to warn us of the coming winter, are my children. They already dawn puffed jackets themed to their own liking and bundled in hats to match. Even from this distance I know that Odette has refused her gloves. Later she will run to her dearest father, red fingers thrusting up to be wrapped in his warm grip. Cameron will wrap her up in his warmth while reminding her to take heed of the cold weather. The lesson will come wrapped in sweetness much to Odette’s fondness. Even from this distance I know Sylas is conjuring babbles in order to join the twins in their sweet melody of words. He has left me behind but I do not grieve anymore. His words are like his fathers: butterflies.

Overwhelming. My hands firmly shut the window. They tremble with the lock but the hook falls into it’s proper place to seal out the chilly weather. It's too late because now the study is cold. As my attention draws back I have to accept that the failure was my own. I should have begged for different guidance myself. Though, I’d never say that Cameron did not mold me correctly. I am the God Slayer because he made me a labor of love. I owe him much of my progression in life and in wrestling.

The hesitation remains: Did I absorb enough? I dread large matches and they trigger a strange rumbling inside of me. The reaction is drawn from fear but comes like a freshly freed caged animal. Gnashing teeth and biting whoever is close.

“You taught me more than I ever deserved..” I struggle to confess such a heavy burden to my father.

“Cultivating a inquisitive spirit with worldly knowledge serves you well enough. It provides little during a match.” Leon Von Licht’s voice offers an unfamiliar warmth. Parental concern, of acceptance, I know so little of.

“I’m equipped enough… Now it dwindles to gusto to conquer. I do not want to fail you… again. I do not want to fail Cameron. I do not want to fail myself...” I take a step backwards in order to lean against an unappreciated desk that is clear of any clutter. This study is for my use and filled with books. Most of them I have read already but I revisit them.

“Hm.” This noise says more than anything that might’ve come from him. His footsteps were always light for his large stature. No sign that he closed distance but now Leon’s voice is close. “Ah, their fevers finally broke.”

My children, his grandchildren, now sprint with vigor brought by the weather. Each one always thrived during this time of year. As if I had given them life within the first snowfall of each year. Orson dips low in the grass but springs back up to scoop Sylas up. My sweet boy is so courteous to his younger brother, making sure to never be too hidden. I know Sylas’s laughter by heart and even here, it echoes.

“Yes. I was worried i’d have to take them to the hospital for a stay. If they remained too long then I’d have to leave PWE… That thought… It terrified me. What a poor mother I must be for such a thought.” My hands clutch against my twisted stomach. I feel bile; I feel guilt.


“No. You’re a wonderful mother but you are still an individual. One must tend one's own garden before tending to another’s.” I can feel his smile.

“I wish for theirs to flourish… So far it is nothing but wondrous… Overgrown but a lovely sight. This design was not one not planned for.” Tears threaten to mark my words but I swallow them.

“We can not ensure our children’s gardens will grow how we might’ve planned.”

Leon must have known from experience. I do wonder what he might have thought of Damian’s garden now… Though it depends on which people tread— this home, or our hunting grounds.

“My own garden is underfed and dying… Without paying attention I’ve set a blaze and soon it might consume the entirety of this home. Fire is fair… Wise words from my mother when I burnt my hand in our fireplace. My confusion was so wild that I want to blame that force of nature for the pain radiating from my blistering palm. She did not coddle her crying child but chilled me with her words. ‘Fire is fair’... I fooled myself into believing that a comfort but now it is nothing more than a poison barb. I wish I could be flames washing over PWE… Would that be enough? Do you think that if I wrapped my own bloody fingers around the Impulse Championship, it would be enough?” I ask with my voice aching from overuse. It is so broken up that I barely recognize it now. Is this me speaking?

“Enough?”

“To finally satisfy this hunger.” I plead with my eyes shut closing out the room. Childishly, I want to grasp both hands over my ears to not hear whatever he might say. Should I fear this hunger? The swirling opinions of my friend… are terribly loud. Is Remi right? Will violence shatter me apart?

A comfort; the violence— a fair home that has never abandoned me. It welcomed me into the ‘gory womb’ so swiftly that I dare not ask how I might escape. It never occurred to me that I should want to flee from the confines… If I obtain the Impulse Championship from Zoey Madigan-star then perhaps my world might settle once again. This unsteadiness is unbecoming. Such a pathetic line to tread of which I’d never accept or reveal to Cameron. He deserves more. His belief in my skills was not misplaced!

I open my eyes again to a disorienting brightness of the mid-day. I rotate on my heels so I can open up the study’s door. Our hallway is quiet but Bowser waits for me. His tail wags in bliss and he laps at the back of my hand. There is a soft whine, what could be bothering him?

“Hm… Our tea should be finished steeping. I’ll go make us a cup.” I call back into the room. Bowser circles my legs while I shut the door to the empty study.

"Better to live true to yourself for an instant than to never know it..."

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Tara is pacing around the dark space PWE has come to know. She has both hands clasped close to her face and it almost appears that she is mumbling something. Tara ceases all movement to simply breathe. Her arm extends over to press PLAY on an audio dairy...

[Emily Brown’s speaks]

I’m afraid that this’ll lead to a dangerous repetition to her carnal urge to harm others.

I’m afraid that this’ll lead to a dangerous repetition to her carnal urge to harm others.

I’m afraid that this’ll lead to a dangerous repetition to her carnal urge to harm others.

I’m afraid that this’ll lead to a dangerous repetition to her carnal urge to harm others.”

“I despise battle royales... Not for the competition but for the never ending parade of stupidity dripping from the mouths of my opponents. I despise it for the noise that draws thin lines of irritation cracking across the little patience I’ve provided to listen. Is this nonsensical considering what I’ve learned of wrestling? Perhaps. I have come to a final conclusion— I will never be satisfied… PWE has proven this time again. An endless repetition… A vast void... Competitors of pure action do not exist in the norm. At least not of which I face. Condolences in order for my own wishes... Was a fool’s dream to think all useless babble would end. They fill up the space surrounding us like a suffocating vice-grip. Perhaps no one else deserves to worship beneath our God… Such a pity because that means most will never reach their truest potential. Lingering at the very edge without fully experiencing the bliss. However, one must adapt even in less than preferable situations.

I feel as if I am pulling out my teeth with bloody roots attached. Straining out paragraphs just to appease egos! Insults or praises, that is what we are doing. To be mentioned is to be seen, is to exist, when no one speaks a word then wrestlers truly fade into something worse than death; obscurity. That is what most fear more than suffering a loss. To not have their opponents research, to praise, to focus upon and then to destroy. Feeding the egos until obese. Disgusting practice that we all must engage in. That is how the system has been laid so we must follow it, don’t we? Pathetic… I am not a prophet. I do not wish to lead those into our church… I do not owe people my attention until we step onto that squared circle. Even without the necessity to be spoken of; I pay mind to what happens around me. I’ve watched every single match! I’ve seen every single video! Now you want me— !”

“So allow me to provide others with a grand sense of self. To be proven correct or false.

Oftentimes these are incorrect… Words are always so easily manipulated. A simple change in tone or expression can change the perception of a sentence. Our words transformed to fit another’s narrative… I can foresee what even these words might later be modified to say just to benefit those in this contender match. Now action is not so easily changed. If I was to snap William’s arm then the message is clear. No need to further explain. Intent behind might always remain unknown but it does not matter.

A chance to dethrone is just out of reach. All I have to do is break a few people. All I have to do is appease a few egos… The Impulse Title… is closing in… I failed to take a firm hold of the Excellence Championship; it will not happen again. My God. I am already tired.”

Tara is seen pacing once again. She tilts her head towards the camera while she takes a seat in the familiar throne. One leg crosses over the other while her fingers tent on her lap.

[The voice continues.]

William… Do not think that I could have not interchanged your name for another. The mention of the carnage of your limb was not to announce over importance. In fact, you might have fallen down into the depths with another in this match. A shotty record already dragging you, in chains, through this match. Rather arbitrary, isn’t it? Such a random assortment of us to rip into one another… but I do not fear your dull claws. I do not fear the toothless mouth that might attempt to bite. You simply lack the killer instinct it takes to achieve what you’ve always wanted: A Championship. Losing twice should not award you the chance to waste any more time… Admit it to yourself; whatever viciousness that might’ve been bred inside of you is gone. Leaving you defenseless against the rest of us. What have you truly focused on while you traversed through PWE thus far? Xaria… She will be your downfall. Not unless there is an ultimate plan to have Xaria win a belt then hand it down to you inside of the ring. I do hope that you might one day allow yourself to sharpen your claws again… but I will not hold my breath.

Your voice is a lulling siren threatening to drown those who might collapse into the false wording. Acid Beth is a bizarre den mother. A mixture of deadly and warmth; and it might lead you far in another direction in PWE. The chance at Zoey is not yours to steal into the night. Those words you believe to be so true are seemingly inconsequential sentences. So far there is little we might gain other than at least you have wrath in your eyes. A small stirring has me eager to test the theory. Will you be a disappointment? That taste for combat might appease my nature and it might provide a fight. You wish to draw people close while hiding the brass knuckles just out of view. I saw the glint of them. It is a welcomed change… but your victory against an unrecognized brat might be a misrepresentation. If you fail all expectations then this match might be boring without a proper challenging dwelling within that ring.

A ghost that tresspasses where she is not wanted. Whispering little barbs and all the while relishing in voyeuristic habits of which La Andalucera believes achieves victories. This is false and demonstrated by two losses. Added chains about your waist though, have you noticed them? Even as you creep through shadows… The truths you grasp for will prove to be nothing more than shadows. Each assumption will wash from between your fingers like sand while the wind whisk you away with them. Why do you lurk..? Mysterious nature can only contribute if there is substance there. Do you even understand what receiving the Impulse Title means? You lack the requirements to even be considered. Sloshing through waves in order to vanish in the vastness. Speaking… Even in fancy dialect, in beautiful little prejudicial poems, even with proficiency, does not permit victory. A rotating theme, isn’t it? La Andalucera has won nothing. Has achieved nothing but interfering where you do not belong. My curiosity… It wanes with the spying of you. What did you wish for? Have we failed what you desired of us? My questions linger while I too grasp nothing but smoke... The spotlight might be too bright for an apparition. I shall mourn deeply when sunlight washes away even your footprints from PWE…

Oh… Have I not destroyed this one enough times? Now it is treading upon cruelty for such a ludicrous individual… Chelsea... I can not blame you for the insulting notion of stepping into a ring with me once again. It is not as if you requested this. However, my lessons being ignored won’t provide you with longevity. Chalk it up to the nativity of a young wrestler with gluttonous tendencies. A rotation of pain, and they claim it to be the best teacher. Shall I focus you for a while during this match? Perhaps it should be your arm broken so I can finally cleanse myself of such an obnoxious gnat. You should have learned from the two times where I had shown that you do not deserve this. Freeing yourself from that waste of a relationship that you forced down our throats does not provide you with what you need to take this contendership. You, much like William, do not own the savage essence it demands to eliminate me. You’ve fallen short… Even without Ross or Damian inside that ring, the end result will not change. Only difference might be how you evacuate the ring this time. Given some time, molded with agony, you might actually begin to achieve more, Chelsea, but not now. I blame your ignorance for freely walking back into the ring with me… I’ll teach you another lesson. Pray it sinks in.”

[There is a static disruption upon the tape once again.]

Tara stands up from the throne once again rounding the table in order to glide out of view. A soft noise is heard from the darkness. She returns next to the chair fumbling with something shimmering and small.

[The static clears and the robotic voice returns…]

“I despise how I must obtain a contendership for the Impulse Title. Through shredding through multiple people… Through suffering through assumptions and babble. If I shut my ears to it then I might actually miss an opportunity. If you listen closely, if you observe enough, then weaknesses reveal themselves. Knowledge opens further gateways and only a fool neglects silver platters. I feel sick to my stomach… Heh... My dread is only a matter of perspective, isn’t it? Why not relish in how much bloodshed might happen. Even if three of you might only serve as sacrificial lambs aimlessly trotting forward. As I turn away from my path parallel to Damian’s side, I must tend to my own gorey garden, as he does his own. This victory is for myself and while I begin to burn through PWE, it is for my glory. We are aware of such low hanging fruit to mention our PWE Champion, but it would be naive to think one might ignore it… We make no qualms against striding forward together. This does not mean one of us is weaker for it.

I must feed my own hunger in the only way that I know satiates it: violence. To watch bodies deteriorate at my feet from my own hands laying them there… To hoist up something glorious… My path is now diverting and there is no obligation to mourn the choice. Even as the distance in PWE widens there is strength behind each step. Shared glory will remain even as I find my own place here. Before, I felt directionless wading through the pleasures of reuniting with the extensive options to feed. The vastness made me dizzy so just for a moment I clutched onto Damian’s arm to stabilize. Now my lungs have adjusted to everything around us and it is no longer sufficient to simply sample here and there. Meager sacrifices maintain the bare minimum of my reasoning to return to this sport. There must be more, there must be… Or what a waste it was to even begin the journey. One more victory and another gate will be opened wide for me to step through.

I understand what I must do to truly feast. In order to set the table meticulously, first there must be a macabre battle to even enter the room. One will strut forward painted with neons and glittering black in the moonlight. Only one can enter and that truth weighs heavily upon my shoulders. I chose this with my maw prepped for war. What I’ve found so far are mere glimpses to more grand challenges. It’s not enough anymore. I will be stepping towards Zoey and the Impulse Championship… Even if I have to drag corpses behind me.

None of you are worthy...

Allow me to worship… Allow me to show you… Bask inside the gory womb… and cherish the gift of my famine.”

[The tape ends.]

Tara smiles and the video feed cuts.