006
the rat king.
To a rat, a small hole is like a door.
━━ ♠ ━━
Seventeen stitches, split between the forehead, back, and jaw.
Low back contusion.
Tongue laceration.
Alongside a few small pricks along his face, Damian Ayla came out the winner of his hellacious contest against Nathaniel Cartwright. The two competitors made the most out of their dangerous stipulation, creating a spectacle of unbridled violence. With the champion retaining, he sent a message to anyone in attendance or at home. His religion, his obsession, was ultimate in Pro Wrestling Excellence. He didn’t survive the ordeal. No, he overcame whatever Nathaniel had in store for him and choked the life from him. He was able to walk out of his own volition, although the most prevalent injury he suffered came to haunt him.
Mirroring Damian’s assault on his arm, Nathaniel decided to attack Damian’s knees, starting with an unrelenting barrage with a kendo stick. Due to it happening earlier in the match, the pain intensified, where the champion risked injury the whole time he was competing. Thankfully, a medical scan proved that it was nothing more than an impact contusion, but it would be bothersome up until Magnificence. To nurse the affliction, the medical personnel on hand suggested a crutch for Damian. Immobilization of his legs would serve him well.
The cane’s shaft was made from ebony, yet its bottom end was fastened with a silver point. Carved into its length, there was a message left by the ancestors of Damian’s family. Homo Homini Lupus, “a man is a wolf to another man,” is the family motto in many ways. To his family, the goal was always to be superior in the matter of competition. Though, striving for that goal was meant to differentiate the genetic line. Damian’s family members weren’t human in their minds, nor were they gods. They were monsters, as his father stated once before, and they were that way to every other living thing.
“Dad, why are you carrying around a cane?” his son, Orson, asked upon his return to the Lutece manor.
Damian smiled gently at his son’s inquisitive attitude. “I need it to walk a bit easier.”
Orson nodded, understanding the necessity. “Because you’re old now?”
Damian scoffed. “Careful, you might hurt my feelings.”
“Noooo!” Orson droned, chasing after his slow-moving father. Unfortunately, Damian wasn’t able to play with his son for too long before a shot of pain cascaded through his body. In a way, Nathaniel Cartwright made good on his promise. Damian cursed to himself when he realized the problem. For the foreseeable future, Damian wouldn’t be able to run around with his children, spar with his wife, or even traverse his domicile without pain stealing him away. He wouldn’t ever admit the fact, but Damian couldn’t dismiss the idea that Nathaniel Cartwright had done what he set out to do.
Tara had already gone inside. As he made his way indoors, he couldn’t find her. When he did, their conversations were brief. She was satisfied with her current performances, having gotten to the point of facing Zoey Madigan-Star. Yet, there was something amiss, Damian thought. He watched the prior episode of Victory, where he and Tara were apart for the first time on-air since the show’s inception. If they weren’t competing in matches, they were commonly linked by the arm. She had mentioned not feeling too well when they arrived at the arena. So, he went out to the ring alone to promote his idea to Ophelia Knight.
When Tara came on screen, she didn’t seem right. Damian rewatched the footage, muting it on the third time to study his wife. Her eyes were vacant. Though, many could consider that a byproduct of her nature. The Godslayer had no time or patience for petty squabbling. Zoey, luckily, didn’t try to start anything. In fact, she was doing the very same thing that Damian was. Tara’s shyness seemed different. Taciturn as she was, Tara never appeared…lost. When the two shook hands, Damian noticed how long it took for Tara to follow the gesture.
The night came soon enough and Damian had put the children down to bed by himself. Both children asked where their mother was at. She never let their father put them to bed alone. Damian told them that she was sleeping, which garnered concerned expressions from his spawn. Grunting in pain as he closed the door behind him, he wandered back to his and Tara’s bedroom. The door was ajar, which puzzled him. He had closed the door on his way out, using it as a litmus test for what he thought about.
Damian commanded one of his closer dogs, Bowser, to go find his mama. Damian let Bowser go forward while he put on a coat. While he did so, he couldn’t help but notice that Tara’s coat was still on its rung. The revelation hastened his search as he found the back door open, the chilling, cutting breeze forcing him there. As he stepped outside, he heard Bowser’s gallant prance. Carefully, Damian looked around to see Tara. She had gotten past the gate heading towards the treehouses. He saw her there, taking gentle, methodical steps.
“Tara?!” Damian ran forward to her. She was only wearing her thin nightgown. Her body occasionally shuddered from the bite of the cold. It wasn’t uncommon to see her walk around. She enjoyed the nighttime air and the ways that their home settled. It was much like herself. Yet, she wasn’t on a stroll that night. She was wandering around without any aim whatsoever. Damian shook his wife gently, so as not to hurt or startle her. She snapped awake. Her eyes glistened with familiar life.
“Cameron…” she muttered, “I…how did I?”
“You were…” Damian looked around. “You were just out here.”
“No,” Tara stammered, “I was…I was in bed.”
Damian knew that she was telling the truth, but it meant something much more.
Maybe there was something wrong with his wife.
Dr. Emily Brown took notice of Damian Lutece scratching his thumb with his other one. She felt a sliver of surprise that he had made a reappearance. More so, it came from the fact that he didn’t come to harm her. Instead, he was there as a new patient. When she cleared her throat, Damian switched from rubbing his thumb to his index finger. Emily hesitated, somewhat unsure on how to approach this first meeting. Their relationship would change as soon as she spoke, and a part of her began to wish she had declined his request. Contending with her own feelings towards his wife, Tara, brought on the idea of a conflict of interest. Though, perhaps, that would give her a better insight into how to help him. The two weren’t alike in any capacity, but in him lied a similar energy.
“I’m sorry if I’m not talkative,” Damian started, breaking the silence himself.
“Take it one step at a time, they say, right?” Emily answered, giving an unimportant smile to her client. “We have all the time in the world for you to speak. It’s your pace, not mine.”
Damian reached up and took his cane into his grip. It wasn’t here last time they spoke. In the time between then and the present day, Damian had participated in a gruesome battle that did more damage to his body than he let be known. He had hobbled into the room, using the cane the whole way through. Getting a deeper look at it revealed its macabre composition. The wolf head made from silver growled at her when she looked at it. The teeth carved into the material were miniature knives, ones that Damian teased each time he rattled his fingers on them. Faintly, she heard the rattle of something inside, but that didn’t surprise her.
“Right,” Damian said, gripping the cane harder. “I guess I should start by asking if you believe in ghosts.”
“Ghosts?” Emily answered, her eyebrow arching. “I…I can’t say that I do. Well, maybe not so much as horror movie ghosts, but.”
Damian chuckled. “I mean in the more literal sense. Ghosts to me are the remaining dregs of one’s lifeforce, tethered to this world until they burn out. I don’t believe in them being tied to some grandiose purpose, like vengeance or unfinished business.”
“That’s an interesting explanation. Though, why do you ask?” Emily asked, relaxing in her seat.
“I think I am seeing them, that's all.”
“Where are you seeing them?”
“Hm,” Damian lowered his chin down onto the top of his hands. “In mirrors, mostly. They are windows to the soul, maybe more than our own.”
“Correct, and what do these ghosts look like? Are they apparitions? Are they violent?” Emily asked, passively writing notes down.
“Violent? Yes, but not in the usual way, like a poltergeist. It’s more that he’s fundamentally a violent ghost.”
“Fundamentally?” Emily asked, tapping her pen against her notepad.
“He’s as violent as he was in life. Just like that, he doesn’t attack anyone unless he desires to,” Damian said, his words coming out boldly.
“He hasn’t attacked you, has he?”
“No. Not at all, but he has been watching me. That’s the problem. Or rather, I think it’s an indicator of a larger problem,” Damian tapped the tip of the cane against the floor. He did so gently, passively. “Or maybe I’m just stressed from all the travel.”
“And deathmatches?”
“It was only one, and I’m already paying for it,” Damian moved his leg about. For his attempt at humor, a hint of pain sparked, causing him to groan.
“Yeah, I can see that. I hope you won’t be limping around for too long. That’s cane pretty, though,” Emily said, pointing her pen at it.
“Oh, this?” Damian looked down, his eyes popping with a dulled wonder. “It belonged to my father. It had belonged to his father before him, but I think that’s where the line ends.”
“That’s unfortunate. It’s usually good to know where family heirlooms come from. Perhaps it’s as old as some nations,” Emily suggested, her smile returning to her face. “I guess it’s a turn of fate for you to have it?”
“Perhaps,” Damian said before glancing up at Emily. “That said, do you believe in fate?”
“If you don’t mind me saying so, yes. I think that even in this world of cold, hard facts, there are things that happen in fashions that can’t be explained otherwise.”
Damian nodded. “Like the coincidence that you get a phone call from me when you’re thinking about my wife’s condition?”
Emily lowered her eyes, proceeding to draw a strand of hair behind her glasses. “Hm. Perhaps.”
“We’re not here to discuss her,” Damian added on.
“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” Emily admitted with a frown. “But do you believe it’s by fate that you have that cane? Maybe your father left it for you.”
Damian let out a low grunt. “He never said so.”
Emily adjusted in her chair, draping one leg over the other. “Maybe he kept it away for you, waiting until the right time?”
“No, I’ve had the cane well before his death,” her patient said, letting the cane rest against him. “I did steal it after all.”
“Despite the fact that he might have given it to you anyways?” Emily asked, her face contorting from the shock of his action.
“Once again, he never said so. And I don’t think he ever would,” Damian grimaced.
The doctor glanced at the cane and backed up to his client. “And why’s that, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Because his ghost told me so.”
━━ ♠ ━━
There are many analogies that could be applied to New York and its several micro-countries inside. The most important one was that it was its own nation, nestled inside of the United States. When one goes there, they almost require an entire visa. It has its own well-spread culture, alongside its several pockets of different races and creeds.
Damian Ayla didn’t belong. He was a tall, brooding Canadian who barricades himself inside of a mountain manor away from society. He wasn’t a deceptive shark, making millions off the suffering of others, so he didn’t belong in Upstate. He wasn’t some higher-than-thou dreamer, thinking that he could make it big in New York like every musical theatre kid that has a pocket of change and hope. However, Damian Ayla especially wasn’t street-savvy like the people of Tremont or Fordham. They were respectable as far as their survivability was concerned. They weren’t going to be food for the carnivorous cityscape. Many fall prey to the police or their fellow man, but never the city. They would find places to sleep, eat, and people to exploit for their needs.
Walking past a beggar, Damian’s attention was brought to him. “You and that fancy-ass coat. I know that you gotta have something. Lemme hold a dollar, my man.”
Damian stopped and reached into his coat pocket. He produced a few twenty-dollar bills and handed them over to the beggar. The man on the ground’s eyes studied Damian, and he relaxed back down against the brick wall. He calmly took the money from Damian and gave him a nod. “Thanks. God bless.”
Damian went to continue down the sidewalk, only to meet a realization. “Excuse me, sir, but have you heard of an underground fighting ring?”
The beggar, scratching at his long, cumbersome beard, looked around. “You think I know about something like that?”
“Call it a wild guess,” Damian said, dipping his head to the side. The beggar scanned Damian again, the earlier, vaguely comedic essence fading. His eyes danced away from the focal point.
“I heard that it was in the sewers. There’s this big ass gator down there too,” he said, gulping down strands of hair and saliva. “Alright, I can tell ya where I think it’s at, but why you looking for that? It seems like trouble for a man like yourself.”
“Crocodile,” Damian said, correcting the beggar before walking away.
ALiCE seemed new to the Pro Wrestling Excellence audience, but the people of FIGHT: NY knew of her. The strangeness of Dave the Dinosaur, the current NYC Bronx Champion, came with appearances from the little imp. She took it upon herself to funnel his words in a rudimentary, but comical fashion. Gazing upon the promotional material, she operated as a normal person, but one can tell what’s merely a mask. What was behind the brownness of her eyes? What was the motivation for her off-beat hairstyle? Why did she align herself with Dave and cultivate his madness? Eldritch in many fashions, ALiCE began to show glimpses behind whatever flimsy veil she had up, letting the whole world see. Despite this, she was still an unknown entity to Damian.
What could she present to him that someone like Nathaniel Cartwright couldn’t? After all, this was her first professional wrestling match. Damian nearly cooed at the fact. Her virgin voyage had the grim fate of meeting an iceberg. Damian Ayla couldn’t have his streak die by the hands of a sewer-dwelling gremlin, especially not in her first match. Though, he couldn’t help the excitement coursing through his recovering body. He believed that thrill helped his body rebuild faster. Alas, Damian had to find out something about her, this ALiCE. He refused to walk into any battle without knowledge. If he couldn’t scour old archival footage or the deeper parts of the internet, then he would seek her out himself.
He came upon a manhole cover. Small discrepancies between it and others informed him of its true purpose. He lowered down to the ground, finding the particular grove where many fingers have held on. Soon enough, the entrance to the Sewer was available. Damian climbed into the other world he knew little of, an ironic situation in regards to his intentions. By ALiCE’s own presentation, the Sewer was a dangerous, foreign entity. Damian wondered if time would be displaced somehow. If some feat like that was the case, then ALiCE would be the most dangerous opponent of them all.
Damian wasn’t against ruining shoes worth more than ALiCE was. The platform that he was stepping on was still fresh with the sewage. The smell didn’t deter Damian; he had smelled worse. Producing a flashlight from out of his coat, the champion started his search. His camera operator, who he found out to be named Ian, gagged quietly, which beckoned a glance from his employer. “Sir, out of all the things you make me do,” Ian mumbled, bringing a subsequent chuckle out of Damian. The young man, at this point, had spent more time with the Ayla’s than many in existence.
Trudging through, Ian kept moving the camera around. The pathway before them was strangely organized. There were small arrows painted on in crimson, some brown. Ian didn’t ponder too much of their origins. There were planks of woods stretched out across the broader waterways, or alternative ropes that were hooked on with steel. Small lighting fixtures were installed in areas that weren’t originally lit. Other sewer grates appeared fastened on from within the sewer, not from the outside, or at least not anymore.
“Mr. Ayla, I get that you’re curious, but you never explained to me why you came all the way out here,” Ian said, bringing the camera down to his employer’s back. The lens fixated briefly on the cane, a wonderful addition to Damian’s dark ensemble. “Frankly, I wish you could have called someone else. I got a sensitive nose.”
“One of the things that my father taught me was there is no such thing as unknown enemies. ALiCE’s a creature of uncertainty. On film, she has been presented as a mostly benign individual, but I’ve found out that she’s more than that. She has resources that I don’t. She must have a scheme. She may even have a dinosaur come after me.”
Ian hesitated to respond. “A dinosaur, Sir?”
“A man in a dinosaur mask,” Damian said, his deadpan voice not helping his figurative statements. “Alas, I came down here to see her kingdom for myself. I’m fighting for possession of it after all.”
Ian began to notice how minimal the set-up of the sewer had become. The sewer grates had been covered up, leaving the environment in low-light, thanks to whatever light could crawl close. Damian reached over to hand him the flashlight.
“You’re not going to need this?” Ian asked.
“I can see in here,” Damian said matter-of-factly.
Ian decided to ignore the answer he got. “Possession of what? This, uh, kingdom?”
“Yes. A ruler doesn’t come into any fight without knowing they stand to lose everything,” Damian said, stopping briefly to access his surroundings. “If a king falls in a personal battle, then their image fractures. The person who defeated them has the crown in every way except physically. The common rabble needs their ruler to be absolute, undefeated, unconquerable. In my company, I have exactly those qualities.”
“So you beat her and—“
Damian put his hand up, stopping Ian. When the cameraman looked down, he saw the gorge that he was about to step in. “Holy shit! Is…is that a fucking trap?”
“I don’t know,” Damian said, crouching down. Ian shined the light around until he noticed Damian stepping around the circumference of the hole. Ian followed him as best he could and he saw what his employer did. There was a ladder fixed to the edge. Whoever placed it there used it as an invitation to the true denizens of the Sewer. If a person fell into the hole, then they weren’t welcome. “But you’re correct, Ian. If I beat ALiCE, then I will foster new thoughts to the people of this community. Their king has someone above them. Even if they do not see me as their new ruler, they will see me as someone to fear and to follow. Honestly, I don’t want to take the crown from ALiCE, I do not belong in these murky depths. As you can see, she has managed this all underneath the nose of the Surface Dwellers.”
“Surface…Dwellers?” It was as though Damian spoke a different language.
Damian emitted a chuckle. “Yes, the enemy of the Sewers, or the Shattered Glass.”
“Okay then,” Ian said, making his way to the ground as Damian did. The waterway had become a river. “I’m not sure that this ALiCE is the one who made the ladder. It seems too easy, y’know?”
“She has people to protect her property. Her Royal Guard, for example. I could believe that her enemies that want to usurp her may have created that ladder. I’m not privy to the expansive history of this place,” Damian stopped again to check his surroundings. “This is my first time being here.”
“In the Sewer?”
“No, in New York,” Damian said before checking his boots. “Also, mind your step.”
“Ha,” Ian chortled, “I don’t want to catch giardiasis.”
“Hm,” Damian started, before he twisted the end of his cane. The sudden loud noise spooked Ian, but he maintained his balance. As he peered the camera down, he saw a blade sticking out of the end of the cane. “No, Ian, there are rats down here.”
Ian felt one crawl over his foot. “HOLY SHIT—FUCK!” Lowering the camera down, there wasn’t just one. There were about four circling around his feet. They appeared in unison, working together to keep Ian from walking properly. Damian walked over and grabbed one by the back of its neck. It couldn’t twist in his grip. There would be no biting.
“They haven’t bitten either of us yet. We should be fine. I think they’re scouting for ALiCE,” Damian explained, holding the rat in front of its face. It tried to claw at him, but he wasn’t in range. “Hello there.”
The rat stopped moving, allowing Damian to hold it as he looked down. The other rats were waiting for his next move. “I’m not going to hurt you—“ something else caught his attention. Putting his captive down, Damian reached and picked up the remains of a…green sweater. “Huh.”
“Are those teeth marks?” Ian said, noticing the way it had to be torn away. Damian confirmed his suspicions with a nod. “Oh god.”
“There are things down here that don’t want us here, Ian, but it’s the same way to how I feel about most people in Pro Wrestling Excellence. ALiCE has to prove herself against me or else she can be dismissed. Anything she does to further prod me will be the reason why I do take this kingdom for myself,” Damian said, flipping the shard of green fabric over. There was dried blood. “There’s a lot of…fun to be had when you have survivors at your beck and call. A fighting arena away from normal, wandering eyes? It’s a paradise to someone like me. So I pray that ALiCE doesn’t think that I’m not ready for someone like her.”
Ian giggled. “She reminds me of Robin, your teacher, right?”
Damian stood up, discarding the sweater into the sewage river. “A lot less refined, but yes. They both have that chaotic cadence to them. Actually, it makes me feel at home.”
“I thought that you were raised—“ a coarse stare shut Ian up. “Sorry.”
“As affluent as I may appear, I grew up in similar environments like this. I fought a lot as a child, an adolescent, and I just turned into my career as an adult. ALiCE must have had similar experiences, but she hasn’t made the transition as I have. The championship I carry is a testament to my ability to use my dirty background as the catalyst for my success.”
Damian heard someone scurrying up towards them. He swung his cane on its blunt end, striking hard into bone. The sound of a pop cascaded through the darkness. Ian hadn’t caught the sight fully but only heard the large splash of someone’s full weight colliding. Damian treated it as just a random, unimportant occurrence. “Facing ALiCE just allows me to return to form, I believe. It has been a while since I’ve been allowed to reflect on my childhood.”
“It’s nice to be able to feel like a kid again.”
Ian didn’t reply, instead opting to chase the unmoving figure in the water. They were breathing, or so it seemed. Though, the waters didn’t settle. There was the sound of something else patrolling. When Ian lifted up the camera, there were red eyes in the distance, gleaming brighter than a car’s headlights. Ian nearly screamed, but he couldn’t. The very sound became stuck in his throat and grew hard there. Damian, however, didn’t appear frightened. “I believe our venture has come to an end.”
A loud hiss came from the direction of the eyes. A reptile? Ian thought. He saw a sliver of pale white inside of the water. His nightmares would construct whatever it was meant to be. Damian reached into his coat pocket and took out a hunk of beef, which had a letter taped around it. “What is that, sir?”
Damian lobbed the meat towards the red eyes. The meat sank suddenly, vanishing from sight. Ian believed the act futile. The letter would vanish amongst the meal. “It’s a letter of intent. I want ALiCE to know what I plan to do for her. It involves the sanctity of her kingdom, which may crumble if she’s not careful.”
“I thought you said you would let her keep her kingdom?” Ian said as he watched Damian begin to turn away from the red eyes watching him.
“Don’t be silly, Ian, I’m no brute. She can have whatever she wants, just so long as she knows one thing.” Damian switched the blade back into the cane and kept walking.
“There’s only one king around here.”
As Damian retraced his steps perfectly, Ian couldn’t help but stare back at the red eyes. They didn’t move, give chase or anything. Soon enough, a thought jumped into Ian’s mind.
“That’s right. A crocodile.”
An albino fucking crocodile.
━━ ♠ ━━
FINAL WORD COUNT: 4569 (LETTER GIF CONTAINED 198 WORDS)
