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The night was as round and large as it was silent. All was still and all was quiet.
In the distance, over the hill arose a large figure. One we’re used to seeing. Harker.
As he got closer, it was easier to pick out the fact that this wasn’t Harker at all. This was, in fact, the Doomsayer. And it was upon this revelation that the surrounding trees decayed away, and the grass melted as rotting flesh would. It all floated away. It all became one with the sky. The air left and the reddish glow returned. The hell, as well as the Doomsayer, was alive sill.
He was here on one mission. One purpose…That much was evident by the way he was walking. He crossed across the yard, to a patch of gravestones, how awkward it was that this was where he felt the most at home. Where he worked — After all, he did dig graves.
With a shovel hung over his shoulder, he walked to an unseen spot to an unmarked grave beneath the barren tree. He pulled his hand’s brim down low, and began to dig through the waning mid-night hours. The Doomsayer would not be denied this opportunity to send a message worth telling. This time it fit. This time there was nothing else in the puzzle. This time it was all planned out. The glowing embers of hellfire emanated from everywhere. The reddish plume had set in once again. All Harker could do was watch helplessly and the Doomsayer was attempting to tell more with one action than any thousand words ever could.
As the time progressed, the hole began to get deeper and deeper. The Doomsayer's behavior was more than different. He continued to communicate with God knows what in the air by a small repertoire of well-placed and downright creepy growls and grunts. And now, through the black and dark both, it seemed like the air was talking back. In this mind-made Hades there was no telling where the Demons stopped and the darkness began.
Finally, some hours later, he was done. He began lumbering out of the hole that he had created through a forgotten amount of work. Like nothing, he reached back down into the hole and pulled out what he was looking for. It was a dirty, pale, naked body. It was lifeless and taught. It was all creepiness - plus more.
Walking back to the point of reference, the Doomsayer bent down and picked up the camera. Tromping around the yard, with the camera pointing ahead, he continued to babble with the shadows…the demons…that just happened to reside in the graveyard that night. He continued to walk. He was going somewhere. Somewhere public. Harker watched all of this in continuous horror.
The Doomsayer finally put the camera down and placed it in a place where it could see only a fraction of what was going on. He grabbed the body, must have been two hundred-two hundred twenty pounds, as he threw it around like a toy…he grabbed a piece of rope from a nearby rail.
They were in town. They were in the public square to be exact. In a couple of hours, thousands of people would be traversing past this place, going to different countries as they hurried to the train station just twenty feet to the Doomsayer's left. By noon the next day, everyone, including the wrestling world, would know what he was trying to say. The flames of hatred continued to grow throughout the back round. The skin burned redder. The Doomsayer was pain free; Harker was in extreme agony.
He fiddled a little with the body as he propped it up here and there. After a foot could be seen, suspended off the ground, the Doomsayer reached into Harker’s pocket. He pulled out something we have seen before. He clicked a button and a gleaming blade was seen for just a brief moment as he took a few more steps forward and began doing horrifying things to the deceased.
His movements were unmistakable. They were jagged, hurting, and terrifying. More and more ooze seeped from the skin as he worked with it. It wasn’t blood. It had been in the ground too long. The one great thing about not being there was that you didn’t have to smell it, cause you could sense that it was repulsive and loathsome.
With what you could see of the action, you could assume that he was done. Light was beginning to creep around the corner as the fires and red air were ceasing back into the very heart of the Doomsayer. The sun was rising. The shadows were fading. The Doomsayer was almost done. The condemned were giving way to the damned. He had to finish this. Whatever he had to say, it was urgent, important…and ghastly. He reached up and began fiddling with the assumed head.
He broke the neck.
He wrenched and twisted till the head was almost upside down. There was something about the thought of that that just made the screen blacker…and darker than it had previously been. The Doomsayer began incising the body again. His jagged cuts were vicious, and without remorse. There was no respect in the dead, living, or spiritual at this point. This was the deranged being run and driven by pure animal instinct.
His movements were frantic. Long after he and his hellfires had gone, he wanted to leave this place and allow others to observe and understand. To see. To finally know what he knows.
The Doomsayer folded the knife and placed it back in Harker’s pocket. He hurriedly walked over to the camera. He held it up to his eyes. Those horrible eyes were just as ghoulish now as they had been before. The black. The deep, empty, bottomless, satanic black.
Just as the embers and final flames were seeping back into the Doomsayer; he moved, quickly. He held up the camera to show his work.
The tongue was ripped out, and the body was naked. A message was scrawled, etched, into his chest. Simple. Easy, but frightening. A vow. A promise. This meant that the Doomsayer had indeed made war and intended on seeing it through on Thursday. He was determined. He was not weak with the evil...he was consumed by it.
Death had become him.
Silently, caught in mid-scream, the body had a mouth wide open. The Doomsayer lowered the camera and zoomed in on his message. The body was grotesque, horrifying, and disgusting. Everything that he had hoped. The knife had done its work, oh yes. Now, for everyone to see what he was saying...saying to the heart of the opposition. It was time for everyone to see what he was saying directly to the other men participating in this fight on Thursday. The message read:
NO DEATHx NOT FOR YOUx
xYOU WON'T BE THAT LUCKYx
—SIGNED
THE DOOMSAYER AND THE DEVASTATED
The final shot of the camera focuses in right under the words. It was an insignia. A symbol. It was a crucifix encased in a circle. A crucifix crosshair. The Doomsayer was proud. He had to sign his work more than once.
Just before the fade, just before the whispers…something happened. The Doomsayer laughed.
The floodgates of a terrible personal hell had now been released. And they had a policy, once they had been opened, nothing could be done to close them back up.
This wasn't about winning or losing anymore. This was about pain. Not only was Harker addicted to it, but the Doomsayer existed to inflict it. And this was the sole reason he had chosen Harker. He was being forced to watch this terror against his will. He was a prisoner, but deep down; what he wouldn't admit to anyone was that he couldn't be without this. The sting was soothing. The pain was like a drug. The black of the Doomsayer's eyes could see into that deepest pit and find the smiling demons that Harker tried to desperately to conceal, and that was what scared Harker above all. The Doomsayer knew everything. Nothing could be kept a secret from the father of lies.
Harker was bringing and representing the fight from Germany by rule. The Doomsayer was going to bring the fires of hell by choice.
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The Doomsayer is famished. He’s not interested in insults, banter, or verbal threats. He is about evil. Hell. Hurting. Killing.
And he was getting thirsty…
Hungry…For more battle and blood.
The clock was ticking, and the Doomsayer didn’t plan on talking about it. He planned on meeting some men. Some other men from the fight league who needed to be hurt…this Thursday.
They were already dead. They just didn't know it yet.
~Fade.~
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