005. "Daddy, why does it hurt?"

^{THE FOLLOWING CONTENT DEPICTS SCENES OF CHILD ABUSE AND VIOLENCE AGAINST ANIMALS. DO USE DISCRETION AND BE CAREFUL. THANK YOU.}

005

daddy, why does it hurt?

A father is someone who uses their strength to protect their family. Not someone who uses their strength to hurt their family.

━━ ♠ ━━

The contest between the last undefeated members of the original twenty-four people made ticket sales skyrocket. Thanks to the deathmatch stipulation, there would be an undeniable winner. Would the breakout star of Pro Wrestling Excellence, Nathaniel Cartwright, manage to hunt and overcome the bloodthirsty, unbeaten champion that was Damian Ayla? One would go home with a championship while the other would see their undefeated streak go up in flames. The circumstances of the match made marketing an elementary task. No one had to dwell into the subdued, but poignant personal matters swirling around the two. The simple matter of who would be the best in the company was enough, but the other additions were tantalizing garnishes to enjoy.

Damian found it ironic when Nathaniel Cartwright joined Pro Wrestling Excellence. The young man was talented, of course, or else he wouldn’t have made it as far as he did. The roster had to retain a certain level of expertise or risk losing everything. The sign and cut process were ruthless. Those who did not measure up on the first show were struck from the roster, allowing room for more capable individuals to enter. Yet, it was the persona that Nathaniel assigned himself to that bothered Damian. Each time he looked, Nathaniel spoke in such high respect to the way of the land, the life of a hunter.

“You’re not the only hunter,” were the first words that Damian ever said to Nathaniel. It wasn’t to demean the young man’s experiences. It was those times spent in the wilderness that made Nathaniel who he was. Damian had no right to try to tear that away from him. So, the intention of his words was to inform Nathaniel that Damian Ayla saw him. Damian Ayla knew him, and it was because, in some way, some form, Nathaniel Cartwright was Damian himself. It made Damian seethe at times to see Nathaniel go about life the way he did. Mostly because his fervor snuck close to old wounds, things that Damian refused to acknowledge.

Thanks to proper money management, Damian was always able to afford privacy when it came to flying. He did it to cater to his wife’s need for solitude. Fortunately for them, they would be able to drive into Annihilation, as it wasn’t far from their manor. Damian had ascertained victory once again, disposing of Ashley Whitmore. He considered it a part of the job to expel the trash from his company. Her name now rested on the alumni page, one day to be forgotten. Alongside getting rid of Ross Hanson, Damian’s job efficiency was impeccable. However, that and the gold that rested on his lap did little to better his mood. The scowl on his face was barely an indicator of his mood, Tara Lutece understood. It was always his eyes. They never lie, no matter how much he might want them to.

She reached over and grasped his hand, giving it a tender squeeze to attract his attention. It worked as Damian’s narrowed eyes opened to gaze at her. He always looked at her with such fondness. It made her heart stir. “Are you okay?” she signed, tilting her head in minor confusion, “you seem lost in thought.”

Damian, realizing this, massaged the bridge of his nose and offered a smile. “It’s nothing. Old memories returning to the surface.”

“Bad memories?” Tara replied.

The champion stared out the window, out into the clouds. “I believe that’s a matter of interpretation.”

Tara retreated, knowing better to prod further. Her husband wouldn’t become enraged, but Damian Ayla was akin to a hibiscus. When the darkness came for him, he would hide and let no one see him. When it was time for revelation, he would blossom beautifully. When he was done processing what came back to him, he would tell her what it was about. Until then, she would recline back into her seat, and think of her own matters. Though, she did poke his leg with her own, commanding his attention again.

Damian saw a heart made with delicate fingers aimed at him with Tara’s warm smile accompanying it. He responded with one of his own, which made Tara giggle.

A beautiful contrast to the wars that went on inside their own heads.

━━ ♠ ━━

Dear Melissa Reed,

Honestly, I don’t expect this letter to reach you. I’m going to give it to Gage, who can give it to Will. They’re part of the Jesters, so I assume someone in that vapid menagerie can give it to you. Regardless, this letter is mostly for my sake, my mental health, my conscience. All of the letters have been. When you are the way that I am, you tend to have to make peace with your inner demons. You know more than anybody else around these parts about mine.

I have been asking myself the same question as of late.

Is wrestling bad for Tara and me?

We lived such a peaceful life before coming back to competition. Yes, the hunger panes were horrid, but we quelled them by sparring and with other activities later. But at the end of everything, we didn’t need to come back. When Tara began to show more advanced signs of her…condition…coming back, I asked her what she wanted to do. She said that she wanted to fight. Lo and behold, we’re here now. I followed her because I promised that I would take care of her. I’ve been achieving that with ease, but I find myself looking in the mirror and questioning if I made the right decision.

With Remi and Xaria trying to imply that I’m some evil manipulator, I want to tear them apart. But there’s this part of me that always thinks that they’re right. Sure, I know that I’m not a manipulator, but I am an enabler. I should have kept Tara away. I should've locked the door on any return to this horrible sport. The spoils of combat aren’t worth the risk of losing my wife to her own inner demons. They’re much more vicious and starved than mine is.

And they’re a lot more persuasive.

Not even towards Tara. No, they tend to speak to me. They tell me that everything’s okay. I’m doing what is best for her. I’m doing what’s good for me. They told me that I should enjoy myself too. It’s my reward for being a caring husband. I have a legacy to uphold while my precious, beautiful wife breaks bones and rips flesh. I may be the champion now, but Tara will always be my masterpiece. I…I’m worried for her, Melissa. I’m concerned that she’ll only get worse, and by the other logic, she’ll also only get better. Have you seen how she operates now?

Of course, you have.

She broke your arm after all.

You were laughing hard enough not to notice how elegantly and effortlessly she took your arm into her deceptively powerful hands. You were too occupied with panicking when she pinpointed the perfect place to apply pressure. You were too busy screaming to realize just how beautifully she had broken your arm, the way it loosened, the disgusting dance it did when it lost its firmness. She had only a minor grasp on how to do things like that when I first started training her. Now? She has it down to a science. I should have been disgusted. I should have stopped her.

But I was proud. So unbelievably proud of what she’s capable of now.

Remi…Xaria…Nathaniel…

They can be upset, worried, or even spiteful. What happens in the confines of my home with my wife is our business and our business alone.

You probably don’t care. I just needed to get those words onto paper. I’m at a crossroads regarding Tara. Day by day, I see her getting worse. I’m not oblivious to that, but I’m also not upset by the progression. She’s becoming more dangerous, which means she will be successful in the ring. She will never be embarrassed again. She will never be hurt again. I will have helped make a monster out of her, and it’s the most beautiful thing in the whole world.

However, your little mutt has targeted her. It was an impulsive statement, mentioned on Twitter, the cesspool of our community. I should've forgotten it or ignored it. Alas, I remember it fondly because it involved my wife’s safety. You said that she was a rabid animal, which couldn’t be more wrong. Then Nathaniel said that he will have to put her down as you do with any beast like that. Like clockwork, my original predictions came true.

Melissa, I told you not to drag that boy down with you. I earnestly believe that if it wasn’t for you doing the things you did, he would be okay. In fact, he may have a better shot at winning this championship I hold now. I’ve kept my feelings on this matter internalized. I weaponize my fury better than anyone else on this planet, bar maybe Tara. You know this. When Nathaniel decided to lay his eyes on my wife, he sealed his fate.

Which is either to fall by my hand or be torn asunder by Tara’s.

And now that he stands in front of me, challenging me. I have decided to make the choice for him. This letter’s only purpose is to inform you of what I’m going to do to Nathaniel Cartwright. It’s simple, really. I cannot let someone who threatens my wife exist. I also cannot let myself fall behind my wife. I have to keep up or people may start to question my position in our family. So, I intend to hurt him in ways that make your broken arm seem juvenile. Pro Wrestling Excellence has given me the position to do it.

It’s just a shame that you won’t be there to see it.

Wherever you are in the world, I hope you get my letter. I hope it encourages you to come running back unlike how you did with my dear sister. But I do hope you come back to see how badly Nathaniel bleeds for you. I want you to bear witness to the end of another wayward soul stuck in your web.

Finally, I want him to see you leave again before I break him.

Just so he can understand just how futile his vengeance really is.

From

Cameron von Licht

Damian Lutece

━━ ♠ ━━

The Pro Wrestling Excellence Champion, Damian Ayla, greeted viewers with his characteristic silence. He has stationed himself inside of the film room that the audience sampled in his last promotional footage. He sat with one leg draped over the other, his hands balled up on his lap. He had planted the Pro Wrestling Excellence Championship beside him on the side table. He looked somewhat uncomfortable, shifting in his seat, before clearing his throat. Without a word, he raised his hand and clicked play on a remote. The room darkened and the dull hum of a film projector broke the silence.

[ The footage was dated December 23rd, 2001. The first sight given was that of the vast whiteness of Alberta's Rockies. The exact location was unknown, but it was remote enough that an equally chilling silence rested within. Crunching snow became the only accompanying sound, and the large frame of a man filled it. Outfitted for the cold, the man’s face matched the atmosphere, with beady blue eyes and a grizzly mustache and beard. In his hands, he carried a Ruger hunting rifle. Yet, on his back was a foreboding compound bow. He pulled down his face mask to chew into a piece of jerky before looking back over his shoulder. The stern glare cast down on the camera aimed upward at him. This was not because of any stylistic choice; it was because of another fact.

“Cameron,” his voice was just as rugged as his appearance, partly traumatized by some sort of vocal cord injury, “today, I don’t expect anything stupid out of you.”

“Yes, sir,” a timid, young voice replied. “I won’t let you down.”

Confidence mixed in with a knowledge of harsh reality. The camera turned downward, inadvertently focused on the boots that the young boy wore. He took careful steps in contrast to his father’s steadfast march. He saw a wolf print in the snow, which startled him. He made as much known to his father with a small yelp. His father stopped, twisting back around, and when the camera lifted, the glare had returned. Icy orbs surveyed swiftly, unconcerned with the internal machinations of a scared boy’s mind. Having lifted up his face mask, the full image of his begrudging concern wasn’t fully visible. Frigid eyebrows softened, but only to compliment a harsh exhale.

“Why are you making noise?” the boy’s father asked. “You’ll alert the wildlife.”

The boy shook his head and the camera. “No, sir, I saw a wolf footprint, and I—“

“Silence, boy,” the brutal and quick command came out in a husky hiss. “I don’t need any more excuses from you.”

As the much larger man approached his son, the full measure of his size became apparent. This man was a behemoth, able to block out the sun with his shoulders. Shadows were his plaything, manipulated to shroud his features. “The last time we were out here, you complained at every interval. I do this to help you, boy.”

The boy couldn’t respond.

“Don’t speak again unless it’s a matter of life and death. This is your dinner we’re hunting after all.” ]

Damian made a disgruntled noise. “Young man, as I sat in this very room, watching your video, you said that we are not the same.”

“You’re right.”

“We are not the same.”

“As easy as it is to compare our backgrounds as hunters, you approach it with an educational whimsy. You spare us no quarter in explaining the inner workings of what being a hunter is like. As pretentious as it may come off, it does display that you’re obsessed with what you do. You love exploring the wilderness and the act of hunting itself,” Damian cracked his neck with a haunting lack of a succeeding reaction. “You willingly became a hunter whereas I was forced into it. You love it while I loathe it.”

Damian pointed at the screen. “If it isn’t obvious, you’re witnessing a rare glimpse into my past. The young boy, Cameron, is me. The hulking man is my father, Leon. It may appear that I shy away from it, but I don’t. In fact, I find myself wasting hours here, reviewing archival footage from my father’s collection. It used to be therapeutic, seeing as my father’s dead. As of now, these videos have begun to stir twisted memories in my head. They are unveiling the truth to me, and for you? That’s not the best news to hear. It means that I’m becoming my true self day by day, hour by hour, video…by…video.”

[ Leon put his arm out, which Cameron collided with. It knocked the air out of his chest. Knowing better than to say anything, Cameron looked up. He and his camera found the reason for the stoppage. A male pronghorn had moved across their field of vision. Cameron went to put down the camera, setting it up on a tripod. However, his father put out his hand with a growl. “We’re not done here yet. If you try to go after it now, you’ll scare it away. Pronghorns are skittish. It probably already noticed us.”

“Yeah, of course,” a little hint of bravado blossomed from Cameron, which Leon nodded at. The two continued their march through the snow. Leon arched his hand back, offering his son a piece of jerky. Cameron reached to take it hesitantly before his father motioned again. Not wanting to tempt his father’s ire, Cameron took it and stashed it into his coat pocket. “Thank you.” ]

Damian grimaced. Something about the moment in the footage spurred it on.

[ “I’ve taught you about this method before. You spot and stalk creatures like that. They’re not the brightest animals, but they have the need to survive. Fortunately for us, male pronghorns either have a visible harem with them or they’re alone. You didn’t see any females, did you?” Leon asked.

Cameron made a noise against the notion. Leon scoffed. “Good. As expected. So we’ll follow it to where it’s trying to run to.”

The footage continued on with them trudging through. Cameron would stop to look at the trees. Sometimes, he would stop to stare out at the immense skyline, invoking thoughts of how high they were. The teenage boy marveled at nature in its clean beauty.

“Don’t dally,” Leon grumbled, breaking Cameron’s immersion. The boy turned to follow his father, who carried on without his adolescent shadow. ]

“What I found was that I am becoming more like my father each day. He was a misanthropic man at his core. He didn’t like people. In some fashion, I think he considered himself alien, unable to truly blend in with the rest of society. Now that I am the same age that he was in this video, I have begun to understand what his intentions were with his maniacal training.”

“He wanted to show me what the hunt really was about. It’s not idealistic. There’s no philosophy behind it, and that’s what makes me chuckle at who you are, boy,” Damian tilted his head. “That’s why I’m not calling you by your name. Because your last video has proven to me that I shouldn’t bother. I thought you were something to hungrily await. I valued your potential as my challenger, but now I regret that line of thinking.”

“You are a misguided boy, put into a scenario you can’t survive. No amount of training in the wilderness or experiences in life or our profession will serve you at Annihilation. You’re walking into a deathmatch with nothing to lose, as you say, but you have your precious life waiting to be taken from you. I don’t mean killing you either. I’m targeting your entire state of being.”

“To put it plainly, I thought to myself: ‘if I cripple this stupid mutt, then it has no use anymore.’”

Damian squinted.

“It can’t hunt anymore. It can’t reproduce anymore.”

[ Soon enough, the duo had made their way onto a place that Leon found satisfactory. He motioned for Cameron to set up the camera and the tripod. It was his father’s orders that he record every attempt they made at the expedition. It was a way to develop Cameron’s skills, akin to that of any professional athlete. View your own mistakes and make the adjustments. There was only one other tool that was more effective, and it was experience. Cameron stepped into the frame finally.

At the tender age of thirteen, he did bear the genetic traits of his father’s family. With long black hair and the early showings of facial hair, Cameron gave glimpses of his future. He was also on the taller side, definitely breaching past 5’5”. He even had some muscle mass, comparable to a wide receiver in middle school. However, his physique didn’t match his demeanor. Despite knowing how to, Cameron’s effectiveness with the bow seemed shaky at best. He lifted the bow at a target in the distance. The pronghorn from earlier stood still, checking its immediate surroundings. Unfortunately, it couldn’t hear the draw of the string. It couldn’t see the boy taking aim at it.

The pronghorn could only feel the incision from the arrow’s head. The creature fell to the ground with a gut-wrenching cry. Leon nodded and patted his son on the back. Though, it wasn’t affectionate. It was merely a quiet command. Leon reached into his coat and handed over a large knife to his son. “Go confirm the kill,” he mumbled before scouring the area again. Cameron took the tool and headed out towards the injured pronghorn.

But as he did, Cameron heard scurrying feet. They were getting louder, but before he could react, a fight for his life had begun. A gray wolf pounced on him, already attempting to go for his jugular. Perhaps it was luck that Cameron’s instinct was to attack back and not flee. But when his first punch landed, the wolf had registered what it had to do. Cameron’s next punch landed straight into its maw, where it brought its fangs deep into Cameron’s flesh.

Cameron screamed as the wolf tried to tear into flesh and rip off the appendage. Cameron managed to squeeze his finger into the wolf’s eye, causing it to release him, only to attack again. The lone wolf had been chasing the pronghorn and Cameron had interrupted the hunt. The consequence was a shift in the meal plan. Or at least the murder of competition. The pain firing through Cameron’s body left him vulnerable to more attacks. Blood was beginning to seep out of countless places. It was taking all Cameron had to avoid teeth around his neck.

“Father! Help—“

Cameron swore he heard a tired groan before a gunshot split the air. The wolf fell off Cameron with a loud yelp. ]

“I will concede that this match isn’t just about the broken bone anymore. So much has happened in that span of time. The inflation of your importance in our company. The total dominance we both have exhibited over our peers. Your perceived iconoclasm of who I am and what I stand for. Even our rudimentary animosity towards one another just because we’re both prideful beasts. All of these are credible points to attach our match to, but none of them are the truth, huh, boy?”

Damian let out a laugh, a mocking one, yet the lack of true joy behind it spoke louder than it happening at all.

“I just ask you not to lie to yourself, little dog. As much as you spoke about me fooling people, you should know better than to try it yourself. We’re both predisposed to seeing through such bullshit. If this wasn’t about the broken bone, you wouldn’t have told me anything about the situation to start with. You wouldn’t have prattled on about it in your video to Holly Rhodes. You wouldn’t have said that it would make your jester smile no matter where she ran to.”

“Of course, you are right to say that I didn’t hurt you,” Damian explained as he took a swig from a bottle of wine. Even as crude as the action may generally be, the champion added an air of elegance to the act. “My wife is the one who broke Melissa’s arm. Though, I digress.”

“As much as your pride needs to make up that I haven’t hurt you, I have. Certainly, I didn’t do the deed myself, but I am the one who forced the event into creation. Melissa wouldn’t have bothered Tara and I if I hadn’t responded to her provocations. If I had remained quiet, I wouldn’t have stirred the idiotic tendency that she’s a slave to. And to say I didn’t hurt you is a bold lie, boy.”

Damian craned back in his seat, stretching his body in an effort to make himself comfortable. “Think back on the sense of failure you faced the day you found out. The one moment that your lover needed you, and you weren’t there. Some pathetic, little child had to be the one to pick up Melissa’s broken pieces. Remember that ache you felt every time you saw her in that sling. Recall the solitude you felt when she couldn’t be there for you. That despair? I etched that into you, and you’re now dragging yourself to me in some fruitless attempt to end my reign.”

The champion began to laugh. His cackling was so robust that it made him sink into his seat. His free hand reached up to cover his face. “Then you have the audacity to say that you damaged me? What have you done to me aside from wasting my time? You have interwoven empty threats. You have projected your ludicrous claims onto me, saying that I’m doing this or I’m doing that. Gods, you’re no better than Xaria, Remi, or any of the other sycophants out there. Here, allow me the champion’s honor in giving you a free, correct piece of information.”

“You did threaten my wife. Not just once, on-air, when you confronted us. But you did it twice. When you were spewing nonsense with your broken toy of a woman. You said that you were going to put her down like a rabid animal. Ah—" Damian dragged his hand down his face, sliding his fingertips across his eyeball in the process. “—You insulted my wife too. There’s another one for you.”

A shaky chuckle preceded his continuation. Damian readjusted himself. “You…you compared my muse, my guiding moonlight—“

With a sudden burst of unbridled anger, Damian threw the hall-full wine bottle against the wall. It shattered into pieces, leaving a stain on the wall that slowly progressed to the floor. “MY EVERYTHING TO A MANGY, SAVAGE ANIMAL AND YOU THINK YOU HAVE HURT ME?!”

“No, you stupid, stupid boy, you have only done one thing. You have forced my hand. You have made me walk down from my perch on top of everything and deal with you with a personal touch. Not as your champion. Not as your superior. But as a man who will defend his family beyond anything else. A man that will succeed where you have failed. The fatal mistake you made was thinking that bringing me down to your level would make me vulnerable.”

“You won’t find a supernatural beast, boy. You’ll find something worse. It’s not a man with nothing to lose either.”

Damian began to settle down, exhaling a sharp jet of air in his efforts to do so. Once he was at a suitable point, Damian looked over, hearing the scampering of scared canine paws. Damian sighed and hesitated.

“You’ll find a man with everything to protect and everything to lose, the most dangerous creature of them all.”

[ “Daddy, why does it hurt so much?!” Cameron cried as he clutched his hand. Leon muscled his way to gripping Cameron’s wrist. The blood pouring down trickled over his mighty hand. The bite marks were deep; Cameron’s fingers twitched. Narrowly, the wolf hadn’t torn off any operative matter, leaving Cameron with a wound that hurt but wouldn’t persist. The boy would heal.

“That hurts?” Leon asked, tilting his head at his son. Cameron nodded, tears welling in his eyes. Leon, in retort, pulled down his face mask, revealing the stony scowl that had been on his face the entire time. He examined Cameron’s wounds once more, noting bleeding came from his face, where the wolf’s claw grazed him. “Hm, it seems you’re not finished yet.”

Without warning, Leon grabbed Cameron’s mangled hand.

Cameron let out a scream that shook the entire environment. Leon dragged his son over towards the wolf, who was still breathing. “Wh-what are you doing, Father? Let go! It hurts! It hurts! Ithurtsithurtsithurts!”

“Stop your crying! You’re not finished yet!” Leon shoved his boy forward, forcing Cameron to observe as the wolf’s body rose and fell. It wasn’t dead yet. The gunshot had only ceased its movement. It whimpered pathetically, barely able to muster up that. Cameron turned to his father and only saw a knife in his face. Turning the edge over to its hilt, Leon gave Cameron another quiet command.

Finish it. ]

“I fear nothing.”

Damian’s face countered against his younger self’s miserable expression. Where Cameron cried, Damian frowned.

“It’s just another accusation of yours because I’m hard to interpret. While you have made yourself abundantly available, I have not, and that may be my downfall. But do not ever assume that I fear something when you have not heard my story. You don’t know the struggles that I’ve been through to make it to this point.”

[ Cameron took the knife and approached the wolf. It couldn’t fight back, even as Cameron touched its raised fur. It wanted to fight. It was alone in the world, and it wanted to fight so badly. Cameron didn’t close his eyes when he plunged the knife into the wolf’s throat. He didn’t turn away as he did it again, to be sure that made the proper penetration. Twice more it took before he saw the blood mar the pristine snow underneath his knees. Cameron felt in his hands the dying breath of an animal that couldn’t defend itself.

Cameron stood up and turned to his father, who was watching the skyline. “Are you finished?” came shortly after.

“Yes, sir,” Cameron droned as he returned the knife to its case. He walked over to the camera and lowered it down to turn it off.

The last line of the footage heard was from Leon.

“Then you have succeeded today. You’re now a true hunter.” ]

The lights in the room returned, where the camera operator focused on Damian’s hand scar. He displayed it by relaxing his jaw against his hand. “You may walk into this match not frightened of who I am. I don’t like making people fear me.”

“But by the end of the night?” Damian lowered his hand to stare blankly into the infinite void in front of him. The thought of his future match punctured the champion’s mind, gathering vivid imaginations that forced his eyes to glaze over. “When you’re all alone because she abandoned you?”

“You’re going to fear me if you don’t fear anybody else.”

And by god did that make Damian Ayla smile.

Cut.