You Keep What You Kill

Annihilation-CD4: For a Moment, Hope

The pair have been back at Nathaniel’s home for an indeterminate amount of time. Perhaps a few hours, perhaps a day. Sybil is curled up on the large sofa with her legs tucked beneath her, boots resting next to the seat as she gazes upon Nate. The man himself sits on the other side of the coffee table in an armchair, a glass cradled in his hands though the opaque coloring gives no clue of the contents. Between them within the hearth, a fire crackles warmly, merrily. Upon the coffee table, platters and bowls are stacked neatly, ready to go to the sink… the remnants of a home-cooked dinner. Among other things, Nathaniel takes care of guests, infrequent as they are.

Calmly swirling the vessel’s contents, his eyes upon that alone, Nathaniel takes a few deep breaths. Sybil, to her credit, patiently awaits… something. A reaction? Questions? What information, exactly, has this young lady come to offer to the Winter Wraith? It concerns Melissa, that much is clear.

”Ehem… So that meal was pretty bomb.”

It is a start. Sybil drummed each finger upon the armrest. Nathaniel looks up long enough to offer a faint smile. He would rather not be a downer, but it has been weeks now. It feels like a hole has been carved out of him. It is all over his face.

”I’m not really sure what you want me to start with. On Melissa’s history, or on where I think she might be. It's the dealer's choice.”

”I want to know what I can do to bring her back. Everything else is moot until that happens.”

His curiosity was strong, but not so strong that he could not see sense. For now. Melissa had promised in her letter to explain everything upon her return… so focusing on getting her back was the best idea.

”You pray she’s tired of running. My grand scheme is more like a bunch of hopes scrambled together. I’ve been out of the loop for a couple years now. Four, I think. Despite that, from what I can tell? Mel hasn’t changed too much. Still running away from comfortable places because people like you? Stable, good hearted people without baggage and all that mess? Y’all are scary to people like us. When all you know are assholes who don’t actually give a shit, then that becomes what’s cozy. It’s a shame, y’know? However, the good news is, I’m pretty sure she’s still somewhere in Canada.”

Fingers trace along her bottom lip as the wheels in her mind turn. Sybil’s eyes explore the room before she extends both legs out. Nathaniel listens, then sits back, taking a drink from the glass’s contents. He offers to fill her glass as well, which she accepts.

Turns out? It’s just tea. Probably with some lemon or peach in it.

”To have such a harsh life that something truly good scares you...”

He sighs and sits back, taking another drink.

”...despite knowing that I’m just setting myself up to hurt? I still want to help. And if she’s still in the country, I feel like there’s some hope. Or maybe I’m just fooling myself...”

He seems to still be at war internally with this. Sybil raises her cup against her lips pausing to consider something before taking a sip.

”I can’t give you any reassurance that waiting isn’t for nothing. It’s the risk we take when we’ve… fallen in love. You just have to take those leaps of faith or whatever. The only comfort I can give you is that your effort won’t be completely in vain. We’ll find her, I literally always do, and when we do that you’ll have some closure. Whether it be good or bad, that’s the real question.”

A smile offers itself to him once again, hiding just below the line of her cup.

”Melissa is lucky to have you. She’ll understand that, if she doesn’t already.”

”If she wants to leave after this, I guess… I guess I’ll understand. That is if I can even convince her to come back, much less find her. Obviously this means a lot to me, Sybil… so anything you want in return for helping… just name it.”

”Oh, easy: you gotta teach me how to build a freakin’ house. Maybe not so far in the middle of nowhere but this place is impressive! Also, I’d love it if I could crash here for a couple of weeks. I’m hoping to get a little paycheck from PWE after Annihilation so I can rent a place. It’s not easy moving to a different country without a stable job, or really any place to go. I feel like such a stray lately.”

Despite himself, Nathaniel chuckles quietly and even smiles a little. He rises and offers her a hand up to her feet, afterward gathering her things from near the couch. Sybil’s eyebrow raises up a little, plump lips forming a little circle and she swiftly follows behind him. Trying to not stare too hard at him.

”To be fair, this place was already standing when I found it. Just… needed some upgrades. Come with me.”

The view switches to the main hall, down which Nate leads Sybil until they come to a door near the end. Though the room within is simple, it looks quite comfortable… more so than a good middle-of-the-road hotel and probably quite a bit cleaner.

”Obviously this includes most of the rest of the house, too, but make yourself at home for as long as you like.”

”Wow… Don’t tempt me. I might not leave.”

”I’d just leave the basement alone if I were you. Some of the pets I keep are on the dangerous and creepy side...”

She clears her throat with a little snicker towards herself. Sybil brushes past him taking her bag from his hands. Her eyes slowly migrating up his form then she smiles up at him.

”...I’m gonna find her for you. Promise.”

”Thank you, Sybil.”

She offers a quick wink then whirls away from him. An easy divide is done when her phone rings. Sybil raises a hand while sitting onto the bed. Quietly whoever is on the line grabs all of her attention. The conversation is friendly.

---

Annihilation-RP3: A Place of Rest

The sky, or what is visible of it, is gray and overcast. Nathaniel gazes up with eyes narrowed a bit at the brightness of the day. A glow despite the gray clouds above. We all know the type… the type that predicts cold, harsh weather. This is hardly a bother for Nate, though. He even… seems to smile. It IS in the name, though. Perhaps the cold season is his favorite.

”Information is power. It is also a burden. There is a fine line between the two, a boundary between the knowledge that we can utilize for our benefit and the sort that is pure torment, the kind that we cannot act upon nor can we forget. Knowing your limits, knowing enough to know that you don’t know everything nor do you need to, is vital. It is enough to show us exactly where the idea that ignorance is bliss came from.”

The Winter Wraith has that tone about him again, the sort that indicates a thoughtful, musing mood. On a narrow, wooded path, perhaps not far from his Canadian home, Nathaniel is walking with purpose. His hair is down, tossed a bit by the cool breeze… and of all things he has a shovel propped up on his shoulder as he goes.

The presence of it feels… foreboding. As well as how it seemed to appear out of thin air.

”You should be so lucky, Damian. Luck, though, is not on your side. You know too much already. People ask from time to time that, if you were to be offered knowledge of your time and manner of death, would you want to know it. I get the feeling that you might accept that knowledge with dark humor, doing so because you feel you could prove the person wrong. You would take it as a challenge.”

The smile becomes more of a smirk…

”Sunday, November 7th. That’s your day, Damian. Not for the end of you, but for that of your reign.”

...and the smirk becomes a calm, stony stare.

”Either I take that Excellence Championship from you and shut the collective mouths of the world by putting one of the most dangerous wrestlers on the planet on their back… or what I do to you without rules is the catalyst to another tearing the gold from your grip. Either way, your end begins with me. That is a fact, Damian. And I dare you to refute me. I challenge you to prove me wrong.”

A burst of rage suddenly grips Nathaniel, the shovel spun off his shoulder and pointed threateningly at the camera, causing the holder to back up and nearly stumble backwards as the shaken focus indicates!

“Do it, King Nothing! Show me, and the world, who and what you truly are! Do it before I strip away your rhetoric and platitudes, revealing to all the frightened little creature that you truly are!”

The walk had continued unabated, the camera staying just ahead of Nathaniel as he walked, though after a time he came to a stop. In the moments between motion and stillness, he was able to put aside the anger. At least for the time being. He comes to a small clearing in the woods, a rare space not filled by trees or brush. Past his outburst, he spins the digging device in his hand and plunges it harshly into the soft earth beneath the lush grass. One gets the feeling that is imagining that tool being rammed into something else…

...and just like that, Nathaniel hunkers over the shovel’s handle, leaning on it with both hands. The tremors have him, his entire body shaking. His grip on the tool is white-knuckle tight. Yet, for a moment, his face registers some embarrassment. For losing control, perhaps? His voice drops to a whisper.

”I am going to hurt you, Damian, and I need not put a blade to dead meat in order to impress my intentions upon you. Visual aids would be a distraction and I want every syllable that passes my lips to have your FULL attention.”

A deep breath is taken. Unlike so many times before, though, it does not soothe.

”Your mind will not be able to reconcile what is done to you. Those watching this… they will leave with eyes wide, breaths shallow, wondering if what they saw was a nightmare or reality. Without rules, without limits, I am going to show you just how much of an animal I am. A ferocity so primal that millions of years of evolution could create nothing so perfect, so attuned to survival, to dominance. There is a reason, Damian, that creatures like the great white shark have barely evolved at all since coming into existence. Likewise, there is a reason that I, unlike you and others falsely convinced that being human makes you a higher being, embrace the animal that I am. That we ALL are. Denying what you are puts you at a disadvantage. All the expensive cutlery and grade-A beef in the world won't change that you, too, are a beast, Damian. No matter how much you pretend otherwise.

There is a reason that I am the way I am, why even with less experience in the ring than anyone else on the roster that I am undefeated and considered one of the most dangerous rookies wrestling has ever seen. Because like that underwater predator, tearing apart flesh with rows of teeth, a creature whose own young fight to the death for the right to live, devouring some of their siblings before they are even hatched? I am the epitome of a warrior for whom limits are mere suggestions. There is not a soul, yourself included, who can stop me at my best. I know this. It is time you learned it as well, and with it shall come a realization that lays a greater weight upon you than you ever thought possible...”

Finally getting control of himself, Nathaniel yanks the shovel out of the dirt and, putting his foot at the business end of it, shoves it deep in the dirt again… beginning to dig. A few scoops in, he stops and looks at the camera, his eyes hooded, partially masked by his unbound hair.

”...the realization that you brought this on yourself.”

The grating of metal upon stone, faint but obvious, as Nathaniel brings shovel after shovel of dirt from that spot. He is digging, yes, but what WHAT is he digging? The man gives no indication of the reason why. He merely continues his efforts.

”Just listen to yourself for a moment. You were never like me, Damian. You did not grow and flourish in harmony with your surroundings. There was no grand clash against the elements, no menagerie of mistakes to learn from, eventually leading you to hard-earned success. No, you were just another parasite, taking and taking and never giving back. This persona that you’ve built up for yourself is a facade, hiding the timid monster within. When I speak, I speak from a lifetime of learning and applying myself fully to every endeavor that I undertake. Wrestling is no different in this regard. I speak with conviction.

When you speak, it is more akin to a poor man’s Shakespeare, devoid of meaning or panache. You might as well be a puppet for all the substance that your monologues possess. Pretty words to mask fear, to turn the messages of another upon them. But tell me… do I look rattled to you? Standing in your sanctuary, bought with blood, rubbing everything that you are into the senses of those watching and listening, praying that the prattle carries enough weight to give me second thoughts? Do you hear yourself? Do you hear how it sounds coming from me? It sounds empty, doesn’t it? As emotionally deep as a rain puddle. As substantial as an empty pot.

You can weave a pretty tale, Damian, but a bedtime story is not going to avail you when the bell rings and my fangs are brought to bear. I promise you that.”

The digging continues… but the words do not. For the moment, Nathaniel is done speaking.

---

Annihilation-CD5: Into the Jaws of the Beast

Beyond the walls of the ramshackle building, seeming to teeter with every gust of northern wind, Mitch stands just beyond the foot of the steps. The big fellows serving as guards are still there, though they hardly stand like the bikers they appear to be. No, they stand more like military men, straight-backed and vigilant, ready for action. Another bit of a wrinkle to this interlude. Mitch himself makes up for their physical obstinance, though, by pacing to a level that one fears he might wear a trench into the dirt. To look in his path is to see a few cigarette butts, the tattoo artist burning his way through them.

Oblivious to the goings-on in the building, as he desires to be, Mitch is mumbling to himself between glances at the building and rapid puffs of the cancer sticks.

”Told him this was gonna happen. Guy’s losing his goddamn marbles, swear to God…”

Unbeknownst to Mitch, someone else is coming through the front doors. The slender figure makes their way down the steps, stopping for a moment to whisper to one of the doormen. They nod and whisper back before the person nods and continues the short walk to the growing foxhole in front of the aged property. Mitch is unaware of their presence, still muttering away.

”Who willingly steps in a cage with a guy like that? He’s like sasquatch on steroids, and twice as angry. He’ll look at it as a damn insult. I TRIED to tell him, but noooooo...”

More agitated by the moment, Mitch starts fiddling with the rings forming large holes in his lobes. He seems aware that someone is close by, but does not react immediately. Not until a feminine voice speaks up.

”You have a light, Mitchy?”

In truth, Mitch only lets Jacob get away with that name most of the time. Scrawny-looking though he may be, Mitch is a scrapper. And he has issues with nicknames like that. Clearly, though, this familiar woman is allowed as well. She smiles up at him and Mitch, despite himself, smiles back and offers up a Zippo, flicking a flame to life.

”Didn’t feel like watching the carnage either, Misha?”

”What carnage? Were we watching the same thing?”

”Okay, I’ll give you that on the first few rounds, but what’s coming… nah. I can’t watch that. I know how this goes down. I’ve seen it too many times. Nate busted some heads real good, but there's a reason why it's the same guys near the end every damn time. I don't want to see my friend get his face turned into bloody peanut butter.”

Taking a draw from her own cig, Misha side-eyes Mitch for a moment, then shrugs and exhales.

”You should have more faith in your friend. For the first time in a long time, people are actually betting against Canis. Can you imagine? Strangers who know next to nothing about your friend are turning on the lifelong favorite to put coin on him coming out on top. People who haven't missed a single fight, I might add. So why aren’t you supporting him?”

Not a woman known for holding in her opinion or compromising honesty, Misha fixed a bit of a glare on Mitch. It felt as though she were disappointed in him. Perhaps Mitch was disappointed in himself a bit also.

”If he were doing this for the right reasons, I’d be hollering with the rest of ‘em. But he isn’t. This is training to him, he said. That’s psychotic in my book. You don’t dive into a tank full of pirahna to learn to swim. Why step into a fighting cage to get ready for a match with no rules and with even higher stakes? Far as I’m concerned, he’s fucking his chances!”

”Have you ever been able to talk him out of anything?”

”Not once. Not when I thought it mattered, anyway.”

”But regardless you have still been in his corner, whether you agreed with his choices or not. What’s the difference now?”

She is relentless; Mitch isn’t getting off this particular hook. He drops and stomps out of the rest of the cig, shoving his hands in his pockets.

”Fear.”

”Fear of what? That he’ll get hurt?”

”More that he’ll do something that he’ll end up regretting. He hasn’t been the same since his girl took off. I don’t think he’d be here doing this if she were around. He might watch… but he wouldn’t fight. Before her, he would have been the same. But now, after her? It isn’t the same Nathaniel.”

From there, we’re taken back inside the building, into the area where the fights take place. The cage door is open and two of the Blood Pack members are hauling a near-limp fellow out of it with his arms over their shoulders, his legs dragging. On the other side, in torn jeans, his hands wrapped in white tape, is Nathaniel. How many fights he has partaken in so far is unknown, but we see the source of his battered state from his time on camera recently.

His fingers are hooked around the cage a bit, his head lowered. It is slow, a bit faint too, but there are drops of blood falling from his head to the dirty ground. Not enough to concern him, clearly, but enough to show that damage is being done. Damage that might be a detriment on November 7th…

”Two or three to go, depending on how the next few shake out. You gonna keep going?”

Jacob meets Nathaniel as he steps out of the cage, many hooting and hollering for him. Many of those sources having made some extra cash betting on the newcomer. Some might be fans, too. Right now, though, it is all white noise to Nate.

”I’ve never given up on anything in my life. I’m not starting now.”

He looks around for a moment.

”Where’d Mitch run off to?”

”Outside, I guess. He looked pissed.”

Nathaniel considers this for a moment. Concern washes over his battered face as he crosses his arms. Blood, not his own, stains the tape around his hands.

”Got any idea what that’s about?”

”Probably pissed that I’m doing this. He doesn’t see the sense in it. Maybe he’s right. Maybe there IS no sense to it. But that's life.”

”Does there have to be? It’s fighting. There’s a winner, a loser, and a lot of money floating around. It’s that simple. I think you’re crazy for looking at it as some kind of practice round before you go scrapping with Damian Ayla, but I ain’t your daddy, either. Right now, you’re four fights deep and a lot of people are putting a lot of money on you to go all the way. If you back off…”

It is not put into the tone of a threat, but the message is clear: stopping is an option, but one that will have repercussions.

”I don’t do quitting.”

”You might regret that.”

Gesturing over to the other side of the room, a massive brute of a man, almost more hair than skin, stands at the bar pounding down a mug of brew. Nathaniel looks in that direction, and his eyes meet those of the bruiser. Nothing is said and no gestures are made. The big dude just goes back to his drink and conversation while Nate takes a moment to size him up before looking back at Jacob.

”Canis?”

”Yeah.”

”...I’ve seen worse.”

”Have you survived worse?”

”Does outrunning a territorial bear count?”

Jacob belts out a laugh and Nate chuckles quietly, still eyeing Canis from afar. This must be the ‘sasquatch on steroids’ Mitch was muttering to himself.

”Nope. Running won’t get you no-damn-where in the cage.”

”Won't get me anywhere in a death match, either. But Canis is no bear. And Damian Ayla is no Canis.”

He takes a few bills out of his pocket and hands them off to Jacob, who looks at him quizzically.

”Buy him a beer on me. Tell him I’ll see him in the cage.”

”Mitch was right. You’re a fuckin’ nut.”

”Five bucks says he laughs it off.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Nathaniel walks off around the corner to await the start of the next fight. It isn’t his own, but he still has a keen interest in it…

---

Annihilation-RP4: Bury the Memories

The area has not changed. The perspective, on the other hand, has seen some alteration. To call it an unnerving vantage is to not do it proper justice. From below, from within the ground, the camera is pointed upwards. Beyond the canopy of former green, now the color of fire and dirt, flicking away a leaf at a time in the cold winds of the day, there is still that too-bright gray sky. It feels like only minutes before the flakes of white will start to fall but, for the moment, nature relents.

Someone is above, the crunching of twigs and stone under their steps giving their presence away. It is not terribly far away, the edge… perhaps three or four feet. We hear a voice before we see a face, though.

”I know where this road leads, Damian. From this point on, there’s nothing you can say that will surprise me. There is plenty that you can DO that might take me aback, yes, but so far your words fail to inspire anything beyond a bit of irritation, a small outburst and, perhaps, a hint of sadness. Knowing that the logic could easily be brought back upon me, the perils of circular logic and all that, I still say this with conviction:

You have no idea what you are in for. That you defy the notion of a wounded animal being dangerous pretty much stamps this in fact. It brings to mind, and then casts heavy aspersions upon, your claims of knowing me, of once being like me. Because, for the life of me, I cannot recall a moment in my life where I did not seek to improve my understanding. You, however… you have this air about you. It’s the kind you get out of people who think they know everything. The close-minded types who feel like they have everything figured out and require no further insight or study to improve themselves or effectively accomplish their goals.”

Nathaniel comes into view, standing over the freshly-dug hole, a polished wooden box in his hands. He is looming, albeit calmly and decidedly without malice.

”My trainers told me that the moment a person thinks they know everything about something, they should quit. But that isn’t you, is it, Damian? Quitting would mean giving up your status, your championship and so much more. The very thought makes you cling to them more tightly. You’ll rip your fingers open, coating everything within them in crimson, just to hold on to it all a little longer.

You think you know me. You think you have it all figured out. You think the end is set in stone.

Don’t listen to those thoughts, Damian. You still have a chance. Embrace the animal that you are and glory in what we are about to do to one another to establish dominance in front of the world at Annihilation. Forget all that you know and maybe, just maybe, you will come out the other side still a champion, still the lord of all you survey.”

Nate lowers himself gracefully into the hole. Crouching, much closer to the camera, he sets the polished box down carefully, putting it out of sight. Focused on the device, a bit of a smile creeps into view beneath his beard and mustache.

”Or… don’t.”

Shrugging, the Winter Wraith, rises to his feet, dusting the dirt off his jeans.

”And come to the painful realization that there is only one law, one rule, that is truly immutable:”

Turning, he easily pulls himself out of the hole. A scrape sounds as he digs the shovel out of the mount of dirt in which it was plunged, like Excalibur from the stone.

”You keep what you kill. And you are not man enough… no, you are not BEAST enough… to kill me, Damian. Figuratively or literally. A warrior, slick and clean, walking a laurel-laden path, bolstered and encouraged by higher birth and given opportunity, who would rather talk his way out of a true battle… versus a born-and-raised hunter. A creature who embraces all that he is, who toiled in the dirt in muck, who spilled blood and more to overcome the kinds of challenges that you were sheltered from.

Excellence was never meant for you. In your hands, it is another trinket, another reminder that you do not know what is truly important in life. But in my hands?”

A bend, a scoop… and a shower of dirt falling upon box and lens alike.

”It is proof that nature wins over nurture… that even a person given all the opportunities in the world, even with the highest of standards and skill, has no chance to silence a creature that embraces what they truly are.

I am the truth, Damian, and your reign is about to be a memory... one that I will keep.”

More shoveling… more dirt… until there is nothing to see but darkness, and nothing to hear but the weight of the world crashing down. One scoop at a time.

Fade to black.