Offerings And Sacrifices

Nov 1
Orlando, Florida

The candles flickered, and Lachlan smiled at the picture sitting atop the altar in their home. It had been set up just that morning by Sierra, something she called an ofrenda. It was to celebrate Dia de Los Muertos, a Mexican holiday that paid tribute to the deceased and celebrated the preciousness of life. The ofrenda, Si had explained to him, was done in three tiers to symbolize heaven, hell and earth. Pictures of departed family members were placed on the top tier, along with their favourite foods, drinks and other trinkets that were important to them. It was elaborately decorated with colourful cloth, candles and flowers, as well as skull symbols.

Lachlan stared at the picture of Oscar on the top tier, a candid shot taken some time last summer. He was sitting in the backyard of their former home in Canada, a wide smile on his face. He looked healthy and happy, a far cry from the sickly body he inhabited in his last few months on earth.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Sierra smiling at him, though it was a bit sadder than usual. “What do you think?” she said, tilting her head towards the altar.

“It’s beautiful,” he replied. “But how come I’ve never seen you make one before?”

Sierra shrugged slightly. “We never really celebrated much of this kind of stuff before. But after Dad passed...I dunno, I just felt like this was something I had to do. A way to start healing.” She looked at the picture on the altar. “Dia de Los Muertos is supposed to be for celebrating our loved ones, not mourning them. It’s almost disrespectful if you don’t party in honour of the dead.”

“Kind of like an Irish wake,” Lach laughed a bit. “I was young when my da passed, but I remember the night before his funeral we had a big kind of party at the house. There were a few tears, but most of the time his friends and family were telling stories and laughing.”

“I think it helps make us feel like they’re still with us, in a way. To help us through the hard times...and any battles we may be facing.” Sierra brought her hands out from behind her back, holding a framed picture that she placed on the altar beside her fathers’. Lachlan’s eyes went wide, and he fought back a few tears as he realized it was his own father, a portrait from almost twenty years ago. Seeing his father’s smiling face and mischievous blue eyes so much like his own brought a swell of emotion to his chest.

Sierra put an arm around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. “We should get a few things to put on the ofrenda for your dad, hm?”

Lach nodded, leaning down to kiss her on the forehead. “Thank you,” he whispered against her hair. She smiled at him and patted his cheek before going into the kitchen. But before he left to follow her, Lachlan reached up and unclasped a medallion bearing an image of St. Joseph that he wore around his neck. Clutching it in his hand, he laid it down in front of his father’s picture with a smile.

“I know you’ve got my back, Da,” he said. “You too, Oscar.”

He made the sign of the cross across his chest before he walked off to help in the kitchen, and the medallion glinted softly in the candlelight.

---------------

An interior shot of a large church is shown, the lighting low save for an altar at the front lit up with dozens of candles. The sound of footsteps echoing in the large space broke the eerie silence as a silhouetted figure approached the altar, the candlelight falling across the face of Lachlan Kane.

He was dressed in a smart black suit, tailored to fit his body perfectly, with a black dress shirt under the jacket and no tie. He stood near the table full of candles, the warm orange light flickering over his face and casting long shadows that made him look somewhat sinister. But despite that, his blue eyes were still bright as they turned to stare towards the camera near him.

“Everyone who knows me knows that I am a family man. My entire career, I’ve fought to provide a better life for my family. Everything I’ve done, every sacrifice I have made has been for the betterment of those I love and hold dear. At one time, it was just my mother, my brother and my sister, but now my family is so much larger. And I have been fighting that much harder to be the man that they can look up to and know that with everything that I am, I will always protect them.” He looked away for a moment, an almost pained expression flashing across his face for a moment before it was gone and he turned his determined gaze back to the camera. “That creed has been tested these past few weeks, as I’m sure you’re all quite aware. But this Sunday night, at Annihilation, I will finally get an opportunity to purge a particularly nasty demon from my personal life, as well as become the inaugural PWE Victory champion. Two birds, one stone.”

He moved to the side slightly, where five candles were set up in a row. Each one with a promotional photo of each of his opponents imposed on their glass surface. He glanced down at the first one in sequence, which happened to belong to TJ Alexander, his most recent opponent. “TJ, you and I are really not so different. Both of us are relentless fighters. No matter how many times we get knocked down, we always rise to our feet ready for the next punch to come our way. And for that, I have an immense amount of respect and admiration for you. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not going to beat you six ways from Sunday to get my hands on that Victory championship.”

He reached for the wick of the burning candle and with a pinch of his finger, the flame was snuffed out. He set it back down on the table and moved to the next one. “El Landerson. Now, that’s a name I’ve heard quite a bit of lately. Not only are you here in PWE, but a little birdie tells me that you’re also making a name for yourself over in PWS as well. A place I know quite well, myself. If I were a more egotistical man, I’d think that you were following me around.” He chuckled a bit. “Good thing I’m not then, eh? But it doesn’t matter if it’s here in PWE or if we happen to cross paths in PWS, the outcome will be the same. My victory.”

Another pinch of his fingers, another flame extinguished. Onto the next. “Amber Payne. Another conquest on my record. Now, I will give credit where it’s due, you’re one hell of a competitor. I’ve had plenty of matches against women in my career, but I don’t think I’ve ever stepped into the ring with a woman that hits like you do. Can’t say my body’s thrilled about facing you again with the added fun of weaponry being made available, but I already beat you once before so you’ll forgive me if I seem a little confident in my chances.”

A slightly cocky smirk graced his lips as he put out her candle, setting it back down and raising the next one up. “Sapphire Delgado. The second-generation star, looking to make her big break in the wrestling world.” Lachlan shook his head slightly. “Well, I hate to tell you this, but it won’t be coming at my expense. I’ve been climbing this ladder for far too long, and every time I’m within a finger’s grasp of a title, it’s been snatched away time and time again. I’ve fought too long and too hard for this moment to let some rookie with a chip on her shoulder and something to prove to her daddy ruin it all. Better luck next time, little lassie.”

He extinguished that flame and moved on to the fifth and final one. Seeing the image on this particular candle set his face into a look of something akin to disgust, though his eyes were filled with an intense rage that almost rivaled the flames themselves. “And now, we come to this. The witch that has put my family through unimaginable hell for the past few months.” A sinister smirk overtook his face as the camera revealed the final candle, bearing the image of Angel. “Well, what goes around comes around, doesn’t it? See, I had petitioned Ophelia Knight to give you to me in a singles match. I didn’t want the distraction of anyone else getting in my way. I wanted to get you into a ring, with no way to escape. To finally pay you back tenfold for every nightmare you put into my sister’s head. For every scream you tore from my brother’s throat. For every tear you made my little daughters cry.” He laughed, but it was a mirthless sound. “Well, I didn’t exactly get my wish, but Ophelia did give me a gift, in a way. I’d be lying if I said the idea of becoming the inaugural Victory champion wasn’t a tempting offer, but the fact that I finally have the opportunity to unleash every horror you’ve awakened in me is a far, far sweeter prize. I have no illusions that you and I will beat each other absolutely bloody...and I welcome it. Because I know that as much as you dish out to me, I will be returning it to you in spades.”

He picked the candle up in his hands, but didn’t immediately douse the flame. Instead, he turned towards the camera, holding the candle in both hands in front of his chest. “And now, I leave you all with a little of my native language. Consider it a prediction of sorts.” He glanced down at the candle, and when his eyes flicked back up to the camera they almost seemed to be glowing red.

“Nár éirí an lá leat.”

Without a single warning, the candle dropped from his hands and the camera followed its slow-motion descent to the floor, where it shattered into pieces and splattered white wax across the polished hardwood floor.