Topic: Azreal's Promo Archive Extravaganza (Read 1281 times)

Azreal · « **on:** June 06, 2012, 03:50:22 PM »

Thought I'd be the first dude awesome enough to back up their entire promo history on this website of epicness. It'll give you gentlemen a chance to veiw the massive number of aborted storylines, one-shot characters and the general ADD nature of Azreal's promos.

I'm not kidding, the number of promos, characters and lines of dialogue that are part of a larger stroy that I never finished writing? Balls-to-the-wall lunacy.

For reference, check out Uriel, Malach HaMavet, Darius, Kyrian Hunter, Tiny's gym, Archangel, vigilantism, and then of course, Azreal's prison sentence. All of that is just from his first few promos. Dear god. I should go revisit some of that. Huh.... Anyway, I'm getting distracted now, TO THE FUTURE!

Azreal · « **Reply #1 on:** June 06, 2012, 03:56:14 PM »

The camera shows us an older woman seated behind a desk with short gray hair and a harried expression. The light of the setting sun streaming through a window threw shadows on her wrinkled face. On the wall behind her, we see a large golden seal with the words “Saint Mary’s Secure Psychiatric Institution” emblazoned on it. The woman glanced around the room and then began scrutinizing the file on the table in front of her.

“All right gentlemen, if we can hold it together for just a while longer, this is the last item on the agenda for the week. Madame secretary, would you please bring in the next case.”

A small rumbling of approval echoes around the room as the camera pans out, revealing that the woman was seated in the middle of a semi-circular table. Each of the other seats are filled by elderly gentlemen, who as the day drew to a close, appeared exhausted, albeit pleased that they were so close to the end. In the corner of the room, a young woman stood up and moved towards the doors. As she disappeared through the doors, several of the men seated around the table gave each other weary smiles, smiles that quickly vanished as she re-appeared with two men. The two well-dressed men took seats directly in front of the older woman, who was obviously in charge. Silence followed for several moments until the woman cleared her throat and began to read.

“Unless I’m mistaken, this is a request by patient 10914, known only by the alias Azreal, to seek employment outside the facility. He claims to have approached a company called Lords of Pain Wrestling immediately prior to his arrest and was offered a job. Since Saint Mary’s takes great care with it’s patients, his request has come to the Board of Directors. Joining us now are his primary psychiatrist, Dr. Thomas Gates and the legal representative of Lord of Pain Wrestling, Mr. Henry Cable. Later, the patient himself will be joining us”

The men nodded as their names were read.

“Now, before we begin, I must legally inform you, Mr. Cable, that the man you intend to hire, Azreal, is a convicted felon who was judged unfit to join the general population of any prison. He was admitted here for psychiatric analysis and has, as of yet, been deemed unable to re-join society.”

The man on the left, a dark and somber man in a well-tailored suit, rose.

“Madame Chairwoman, I am well aware of this, and Lords of Pain Wrestling has accepted legal responsibility for any and all crimes committed while Azreal is a member of our roster.”

With a curt nod, the chairwoman returned to her file. Flipping to the next page, she looked up to the other man to have entered the room, Dr. Gates.

“Now then, Dr. Gates, would you please give us the psychological profile of Azreal, as he was when he was first admitted.”

The doctor, a short, pudgy man easily in his fifties, rose and, smoothing out the tie of his suit, began to recite his original diagnosis.

“As the Board is very well aware, I was placed in charge of constructing Azreal’s profile, since then I have remained his primary psychologist and his primary care-taker. When he first arrived, I had some incredible difficulties to overcome. You see, in whatever life he had before re-making himself as Azreal, he must have had extensive training in psychology. For days, he would turn my own questions against me, attempting, I believe, to assert himself as the dominant mind in the room. Over the course of the next several days, seemingly desperate for a challenge, began to reveal details of his motivations. From there, it was a relatively simple matter to diagnose him. It is my professional opinion that upon his admittance to our facility he suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, which manifested itself through an extended period of dissociative fugue.“

Noticing that the lawyer had a confounded expression, he went on to explain.

“In layman’s terms, Azreal suffered a massively traumatic event, which drove him insane. His trauma eventually manifested itself by making him forget everything. He has no memory of the event, no memory of his entire life up to his psychotic break. With no memory of his life, he constructed a new identity for himself. For reasons unknown to me, he re-imagined himself as a crime-fighter, a man hell-bent on saving people from the evils of man. I honestly believe that Azreal has absolutely no recollection of who he was before the incident.”

The Board, which had been listening intently, began to shout questions. The chairwoman quickly restored order and gestured for the man next to her to speak.

“Now Dr. Gates, in your opinion, is Azreal a danger to himself, or those around him?”

Pausing for a second, Gates seemed to struggle with himself before coming to a decision.

“To himself? Absolutely not, he is far too driven an individual to harm himself in any way. Is he a danger to others? That’s slightly more complicated. If he believes that an individual is, in his opinion, “evil”, then I do believe that he would harm them. However, I believe that he poses little danger to the public at large.”

“Very well, does anyone else have questions?”

Another, much smaller, surge of voices rose up, and this time a man on the other side of the room stood.
“Doctor, that was his initial diagnosis, correct? Has there been any change?”

“Attempts to restore his memory have been unsuccessful, however, other symptoms have emerged. Early on, his roommate reported that Azreal had spent several hours the night before talking to himself. That could have been him simply thinking things through, or it could have been delusions. There is no way to know for sure, he was unwilling to talk about it at our next session.”

This time, when he finished, there was silence. Eventually the man on the far right, the youngest member of the Board, spoke.

“I am aware of the company who have offered this job, and they put forth an extremely violent product. No offense Mr. Cable. I’m merely expressing concern over sending our potentially most dangerous patient into a career where he will receive plenty of opportunities to inflict pain upon another human being.”

“I don’t believe you have to worry about that. Azreal does not enjoy inflicting great pain upon others. If you’ll notice, every
single person he was accused of killing were killed as quickly and painlessly as possible. He doesn’t hurt people, he kills them. I believe that wrestling will be only a positive experience for him, allowing him to vent his frustrations in a constructive manner.”

In the silence that followed, he returned to his seat. The board members began to mumble to each other before the Chair called for order.

“All right, if you two would please excuse us, the Board has much to discuss.”

Both men got to their feet, nodded and walked out the door.

***************2 hours later****************************

The scene re-opens in the same room, where the Board members, looking even more haggard than before, are seated across from three men. Two of them we’ve seen before, Mr. Cable and Dr. Gates, but it is the third man who is the center of attention. Having declined a chair, he stood solidly between the other two. At 6’10” he was impressive sight to see, and at just over 300 lbs, he was truly intimidating. If they had met him in the street, every person in that room would have been scared, but when you add in the knowledge that this man had killed, and killed often, you had a man that, even handcuffed, still terrified them.

“Have you reached a decision?”

A collective chill ran around the table as his icy voice cut through them. His piercing gray eyes scanned the room and his thin mouth curved up into a smirk as only the chairwoman had the stomach to meet his gaze. He knew the power his presence had, and used it to his full advantage. Not one person in that room had the stomach to confront him, and they all knew it. Since no one had answered his question, he asked again.

“Do I get to take the job?”

This time the chairwoman responded.

“Certain members of the board were adamant that you not be allowed outside of these walls in any form whatsoever. However, upon rigorous debate, we have achieved a compromise. You shall be allowed to wrestle for Lords of Pain Wrestling, but under a few conditions. You will be allowed out of these walls with an armed escort in order to work, but after every event, you are to return here. During your matches, an armed guard will wait backstage to ensure that you don’t get out of hand, and any time in which you are not wrestling, you are to be handcuffed. No exceptions. Do you agree to abide by these terms?”

“I do”

“Good, now madame secretary, would you please bring in our last guest.”

The secretary vanishes through the door, re-appearing moments later with a large man. Attracted by the noise, Azreal turns and sees him. A brief flicker of recognition passes over Azreal’s eyes and he grins broadly.

“Darius! Is that you?”

Glad that Azreal recognized him, Darius gave him an answering grin.

“Damn straight, you look like crap Azreal.”

That drew a laugh from Azreal; it had been months since someone had spoken to him like that.

“You never were one to bother with formalities Darius.”

“As I recall, that saved your ass a few times back in the day”

"Ahem"

The chairwoman’s cough drew both of them back into the moment.

“Since it would appear that you know each other, we can skip the next bit. As long as Darius is with you, you have free reins during the performance of your duties. You’re dismissed.”

*****************Later that Night********************************

A camera shows us the interior of a small room, completely painted in white. The only amenities are a bunk bed along one wall, a desk and bookshelf opposite it and a poster of James Dean with the caption “The Only Greatness for Man is Immortality”. A door in the back leads to a bathroom, and a door next to it opens into the closet, overall it’s a room that screams “sterile”. Everything is bright, clean and simple, with one exception. Lying on the top bunk, we see Azreal, a man who is far from simple. Pacing around him domain, Azreal grew restless. Just as he was about to grab a book, there’s a knock at the door of his room. Confused, he pulls open the door and sees Darius standing there.

“Come on, I got you 15 minutes of TV time to talk about your debut match.”

“I can't go om TV in this crap.”

Darius holds his hand out, revealing several shopping bags.

“An exact copy of everything you were wearing when you were arrested, and a suit that I thought would fit you, just in case you wanted to look fancy.”

“Haha! You’ve thought of everything Darius. As usual”

“Yeah, now shut up and get changed. We need to go.”

Ten minutes later, Darius is pushing Azreal towards a car. Instead of his usual white clothing, he’s dressed in a black suit and tie with a red undershirt and black loafers. Clambering into the passenger seat, Azreal watches Darius get in the driver’s seat at take off. When they reached the gate, a guard rushes out and stops the car. Coming to the driver-side window, he tells Darius to roll it down.

“Where do you think you’re going? And with him?”

“I am Special Agent Darius Jones of the FBI. I’m this man’s chaperon and if you have any intention of keeping your job, I would advise you to lift that barricade.”

His face stricken with panic, the guard bolts back to his booth and raises the barricade.

“You know, I haven’t been allowed outside since the trial.”

“I’d heard. That sounds a bit harsh doesn’t it?”

“Well people tend to over-react when you’ve been accused of killing twelve people.”

“Was it only twelve? Whatever, just be glad you’re out, do you have any idea how much ass-kissing I had to do to get this assignment?”

“You didn’t have to do that Darius, I’d have managed.”

“Really? You, getting along with a complete stranger? It took you six months just to stop accusing my of trying to kill you. You’d have either pissed off your guard or killed him so quickly your ass would be in prison by the end of the week.”

“Probably. So I’m going to go talk against my opponent? You have my usual briefing prepared?”

Darius nods

“Similar, but instead of his personal security, it’s on his fighting style.”

“What would I do without you? Now tell me about him.”

“You'd be dead that's what. Now your opponent goes by the name Zenith, 5’11”, 268 lbs. He’s had two matches so far, beating some loser in his first and losing in his second one. He likes kicks, punches, submissions and holds, raised in Melbourne, he apparently got into a lot of fistfights with thugs over there. In summary, he’s smaller, weaker, and less aggressive than you. He has the advantage of speed and experience, and could do serious damage if you let him take you to the ground. Overall threat ranking: C. Recommendation: keep your distance, wear him down with punches, daze him, then drop him.”

“That had more detail than I expected, how do you know so much about fighting?”

“You should have asked for a briefing on me kid. I have my hobbies, one of them happens to be mixed martial arts.”

“Well that’s..... convenient.”

“I told you, they sent the best. And we’re here”

Walking into the building, Azreal and Darius set themselves up in a greenroom. Forty minutes later, Azreal and Darius walk up to the production van. Going over to one of the techs, they watch over his shoulder as the finished promo plays.

*******************************************************

Azreal stands alone in a darkened room, lit from above with a single spotlight. His suit impeccable, his hair combed to the side and sunglasses perched on his nose, he looks the epitome of class. Pulling off his sunglasses, he glares into the camera with his cold, gray eyes.

“So, my first match approaches. Nothing to complicated, my opponents and I walk into the ring, one of us gets pinned or taps out, and we walk out. The normal thing to do in this situation appears to be blowing smoke in a pathetic attempt at intimidation. I’m not that predictable. Obviously I believe I’ll win, and obviously I believe myself superior to my opponent, but I have nothing but intuition to back up my words. I can however, make one promise. I swear on everything I hold dear, that I will hold nothing back. I will show this, this Zenith, what true pain is. I will not guarantee my victory, but I will guarantee that the challenge facing Zenith, is like nothing he’s ever seen.”

The spotlight changes to red, then, as Azreal replaces his sunglasses, turns off.

Azreal · « **Reply #2 on:** June 06, 2012, 04:11:24 PM »

This entire room, hell, this entire building could be described in a single word. Sterile. Pristine ivory wallpaper ran down to the sparkling white tile floor. Medics, also dressed in white, trundled through the halls, delivering the night's medications to the more “troubled” of the patients. Through it all, Azreal sat meditating, completely oblivious to the world around him. A knock at his door snapped him out of his reverie, and he opened his door to admit the medic with his sedatives. When the medication had been administered, he let the man back out and slipped back into his meditation.

I know that I'm crazy, sane people do not do what I've done. Yet all of the doctors, all the medicines, all the talk and diagnoses and treatments they've put me through could never restore what I've lost. When science fails him, Man turns to faith, and since the doctors can't fix me, I turn to God. God, ha. To think that a man who has seen what I've seen, done what I've done, can still believe, it's nothing short of shocking. Yet through it all, my faith has kept me strong. The corporeal world damned me, and it is only through the workings of God that I have a chance at redemption.

His thoughts trail off into nothingness as sleep overtakes him.

: Azreal....

Jostled from his sleep, Azreal sprang to his feet and lunged at the intruder, who sidestepped his charge. Spinning to face them, Azreal was taken aback. Before him stood a beautiful woman, her long brown hair flowing around her shoulders. Seeing Azreal's quick reaction, she grins.

: I trained you well, Azreal. You almost got me this time.

Azreal:[/b] What the hell are you doing here Uriel?

Uriel:[/b] Is that how you treat an old friend?

Azreal:[/b] An old friend? You almost got me killed, you got me sent here and then you abandoned me. The only reason I don't rip your heart out right now is that I'm pretty sure you don't have one.

Uriel:[/b] I almost got you killed? You ungrateful little shit! I taught you how to survive! When you sank lower than you thought was possible, who came to help you? When you were on the brink of madness, who pulled you back from the edge? When you cried out to the heavens, begging for someone to save you, who answered your call? When you feared damnation, you asked for forgiveness, and I gave you a chance. Without me, you would be burning for eternity in the fires of hell, so don't you dare insult me again.

Azreal:[/b] I'll say it again. What the hell do you want?

Uriel:[/b] Your job is not yet complete.

Azreal:[/b]Fuck you! My job ended when I was convicted. You said so yourself!

Uriel:[/b] That's true, when you were stuck here, your job was complete. But now that you can get out of here, you are being tapped again. Finish the job, and then we'll talk about your retirement.

Azreal:[/b] I can't do this anymore Uriel. I have a chance to be normal again.

Uriel:[/b] You'll never be normal Azreal, I thought you knew that already. You will finish the job, or you'll burn. And be quick about it, Phanuel’s patience is wearing thin.

Without another word, Uriel leaned forward and touched Azreal's forehead. He crumpled to the ground as sleep overcame him again.

******

He was awakened again, this time by a pounding on his door.

Darius:[/b] Hey! Wake the fuck up!

Darius kept pounding on the door until it opened, stopping just short of hitting Azreal.

Azreal:[/b] What are you doing here? The next show isn't for at least two weeks.

Darius:[/b] Do you think I'd be like this is we had two weeks!?! You're on the card for Honor Roll, we need to start training NOW so that we can get your ass to New Zealand by the PPV.

Azreal:[/b] I'm on the card?

Darius:[/b] You're damn right you are, now pack your bags. I convinced them to give you the next week free for training.

Azreal:[/b] All right, let me pack my bags.

*****

Dingy florescent lights illuminate the peeling walls and broken windows of the warehouse. The massive, rotting doors swing open as
Darius and Azreal walk inside.

Azreal:[/b] What are we doing here?

Darius:[/b] You're one hell of a fighter, but finesse is not your strong suit. In a one on one brawl, I'd put my money on you against most anybody, but you're in a fatal four-way, and none of these guys fight the same way you do.

Azreal:[/b] All right, so what are you going to teach me?

Darius:[/b] Me? I'm not going to be teaching you anything, I called in a ringer.

As Azreal starts to respond, the doors bang open, and a man strides in. Easily seven feet tall, and well over three hundred pounds, he makes even Azreal seem small. A scowl mars his face as he barks at Azreal.

: Yer my trainee? I'm not bein' paid enough for this.

Azreal:[/b] Who the fuck are you?

: THAT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!!! YOU SPEAK WHEN SPOKEN TO MAGGOT!!!

Darius:[/b] Meet the only man who made my drill Sergeants cry, Tiny.

Azreal:[/b] His name is Tiny?

Darius:[/b] Honestly I don't even know what his name is, but Tiny is what we called him.

Azreal:[/b] And you know him how?

Darius:[/b] He was part of my squad when I first joined the Marines. After he pissed off the management, he got the boot, and went to work as an Indy wrestler. Now he works as a trainer for some promotion or other.

Tiny:[/b] That's right, but now I'm the boss of your personal Hell. So, if yer done standing around flappin' yer jaws like a bunch of pussies, I'll start the training.

Azreal:[/b] But I already know how to fight.....

Tiny:[/b] I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO SHUT THE HELL UP!!!!! I'm not gonna teach ya how to fight, I'm gonna teach ya how to wrestle.

Azreal:[/b] Is there a differen-

Tiny:[/b] YOU BET YOUR ASS THERE'S A DIFFERENCE!! I bet that in all of your fights, you never got thrown around like a rag doll. I bet you were always the biggest guy in the room. Well not anymore. This is a whole different ballgame, and you're back at the beginning.

Darius:[/b] Tiny will be taking over your training for the next few days. He'll teach you basic wrestling maneuvers, and once you work to his satisfaction, we'll bring in a more specialized trainer.

Azreal:[/b] This is gonna suck......

The next several days passed in a blur of falls, throws, drops and bumps. Azreal's body had been smashed, slammed, crushed, hit, bludgeoned and thrown. Bruises were forming in places that he had never known existed. The sun had almost completely set on the fifth day when Darius finally called a halt to the training. Gratefully, a bruised and battered Azreal slumped to the floor. Splintered wood, broken sandbags and decapitated sparring dummies littered the floor, and Tiny was yelling again.

Tiny:[/b] COME ON MAGGOT! YOU DON'T GET TO GIVE IN SO EASILY! I'VE JUST GOTTEN WARMED UP! BRING IT O-

Darius:[/b] TINY!!!!!!! We're done.

Tiny:[/b] Already? Damn, this is the most fun I've had in years.

Azreal:[/b] Fun, yeah. Totally.

Tiny:[/b] Don't make me kick your ass again maggot.

Azreal:[/b] Why don't you go fu-

Darius:[/b] OK! Let's simmer down now. Tiny, what do you think. Is he ready?

Tiny:[/b] Is he championship material? Fuck no. Can he win his match? Yeah, I think so.

Darius:[/b] All right, thanks for everything man.

Tiny:[/b] Don't worry about it, we're even now. Now, you!

Azreal:[/b] What.

Tiny:[/b] I'll be watching your match, and if you don't deliver, I will come back and kick your ass again.

Azreal:[/b] Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Darius:[/b] All right, we've got to go. You have an appointment with an image consultant tomorrow morning.

Azreal:[/b] A what now?

Darius:[/b] Image consultant, they'll talk to you and figure out how you want to come across on television.

Azreal:[/b] I just can't catch a break, can I?

*****

: Oh my god! You are perfect!

Azreal looks confused as the man gives him a once-over.

: Everything about you just screams intensity. I can so work with this. I knew from your reputation that this would be fun, but you are just too much.

Azreal:[/b] Uhhhh, thanks?

Darius:[/b] Azreal, this is Salvador Delgado, your image councilor.

: Oh please, call me Sal, and I'm going to make you famous!

Azreal:[/b] And how are you going to do that?

Sal:[/b] By building your persona, silly.

Azreal:[/b] My what?

Sal:[/b] Listen, everyone acts different on television. I'm going to give you a new look, and a new attitude for your
big break. First things first, this has got to go.

He waves a dismissive hand over Azreal's ragged jeans, scuffed tennis shoes and plain shirt. Reaching into his desk, he pulls out a notepad.

Sal:[/b] I've been working on this since Darius first called me. There are so many possibilities with someone as, intimidating, as you.

Darius:[/b] Ahem, well if you guys are settled, I'm going to go back out to the lobby.

Grinning at Azreal's obvious discomfort, Darius turns to leave. As he goes, he catches a death glare from Azreal, which only makes the grin wider.

Azreal:[/b] OK, show me what you've got.

Sal:[/b] Well, considering your reputation, I think your outfit should go for a classic intimidation approach. What do you think of this?

Sal hands Azreal a sketch of him in black cargo pants and a blood red tank top. Combined with the taped knuckles and boots, it did give off a sense of intimidation.

Azreal:[/b] That's, that's actually quite impressive.

Sal:[/b] Why thank you, and then for your entrance, I thought we could add a baseball bat, a nice black leather trench-coat and a length of chain as a necklace. It's a bit cliché, but I think you can pull it off.

Azreal:[/b] Sounds good to me.

Sal:[/b] Well, now the easy part is out of the way. Now we need to work on your gimmick.

Azreal:[/b] Gimmick?

Sal:[/b] The character you portray on television.

Azreal:[/b] Why can't I just be me?

Sal:[/b] If you want to succeed, then you'll listen to me. Reality, well, most people's reality, is boring. People want something exciting! Although, if you don't want to change too much, we could go with something pseudo-realistic, maybe a shout-out to your past career. A vigilante, or maybe a bounty hunter.

Azreal:[/b] Oh, bounty hunter sounds like fun. Maybe a bodyguard for hire. Sort of a “you give me money, I'll take someone out” kind of deal.

Sal:[/b] Yes, of course. That's perfect!

Azreal:[/b] Thanks Sal, for doing this.

Sal:[/b] I know, I know, I'm wonderful. Now you go out there, and you make sure you win.

*****

Later, Azreal and Darius are sitting at a bar. Bare fluorescent lights gave off barely enough light to see by, the darkness obscuring the dilapidated walls and sooty windows of the building. The bartender, a balding, portly man with a seemingly permanent scowl, refilled their glasses again. The men had been drinking heavily tonight, and their conversation was turning interesting.

Darius:[/b] You know, I owe you big for not ratting me out at your trial.

Azreal:[/b] I would never turn on a man who helped me, without you I'd have been killed several times over. Hiding
your involvement was the least I could do.

Darius:[/b] You didn't have to though, I'm proud to have helped you. We took out some of the most dangerous criminals in the city, and we did it without crossing the line.

The mood turns dark as Azreal downs his glass, motioning to the bartender for another.

Azreal:[/b] Don't be too sure.

Darius' look turns to one of confusion as he processed what Azreal said.

Darius:[/b] What?

Azreal:[/b] You never wondered why I just dropped off the map all those years ago? You never questioned where I went?

Darius:[/b] Of course I did. Hell, I tried to find you, but you've gotten good at hiding. Then you came back, with plans to take out even bigger bad guys, so I never brought it up.

Azreal:[/b] When I took up this job, I accepted that I would kill people. I came to terms with that, as long as I only hunted the people who deserved death. For my own sanity, I had to set limits on myself, something to keep me from ending up like one of the things I hunt. I ended up with a few basic limits. The most important one was to never kill an innocent. That was the boundary I gave myself, the rule I swore would never be broken. I accept that innocent people might die as a result of my actions, but I've always tried, and almost always succeeded to avoid killing them directly.

Darius:[/b] Almost always?

The scene switches to a dark night, the moon streaming down, reflecting off the endless expanse of water. A fancy hotel, nestled up close to the coastal waters, is filled with the unnatural stillness of night, a stillness that is broken as several dark limousines with tinted windows pull up to a building. Without a moments hesitation, serious men with guns pour out and clear the lobby. Once the route is cleared, several men are quickly shuffled into the building. This isn't the safest place to meet, but men like these will gladly sacrifice security for comfort. A seemingly inconsequential decision, but one that would lead to their demise. A voice-over begins, as Azreal shares a dark chapter of his past.

Azreal:[/b] It was an opportunity I couldn't afford to miss. It was right after my move to Houston, and I'd just begun to make an impact. Apparently, my reputation had preceded me, and the various mob factions were meeting, trying to come up with a plan for killing me.

The scene cuts to twenty or thirty men sitting around a table arguing. The voices are muted as the voice-over continues.

Azreal:[/b] Unfortunately for them, I caught wind of it, and was waiting for them. They had booked the top floor of an expensive hotel on the coast, and security was tight.

Across the street, we see Azreal watching the hotel through binoculars. Smiling, he backs away from the window and pulls a remote out of his backpack.

Azreal:[/b] Since there were so many targets, a sniper rifle was out of the question. Since there were so many guards, a frontal assault was suicide. So I went with the only option left open to me.

Darius:[/b] Explosives....

Azreal pushes the button on the remote, and the top several floors of the hotel explode. As he looks back out the window, the smile melts off his face, replaced with a look of pure dread.

Azreal:[/b] I put in enough explosives to destroy the meeting, but I must have done something wrong. The explosion was much more powerful than I'd thought it would be. Instead of destroying just the top floor, it destroyed the top five.

The scene cuts back to the bar, where Azreal is staring at his drink, lost in memories he'd rather forget.

Azreal:[/b] Five floors, five floors of a popular hotel, at night, in the middle of summer. The death toll was estimated to be over 650. And I was the one who killed them. Imagine having the deaths of that many innocents weighing down on your conscience. So yes, I ran away, and the only thing that kept me alive was the knowledge that I still had a job to do.

With a grim twist of his mouth, Azreal downed his shot and motioned for the bartender to give him another.

Azreal:[/b] I've spent every moment of every day since, regretting my decision to push the button. There must
have been some way for me to get them without explosives, but it's too late for regret.

He spun to face Darius, and realized that he was passed out. With a sad grin, Azreal picked him up and carried him out to the car.

Azreal · « **Reply #3 on:** June 06, 2012, 04:14:30 PM »

Tiny: All right maggot! You've got a new training regimen today!

Azreal, shaken by Tiny's thunderous voice, calls a halt to his match. His opponent, a tall, lanky man with long black hair, acknowledges and wanders into the gym. Flipping over the top rope, Azreal joins Tiny as they move through the facility. Quite a bit different from the warehouse they trained in earlier, this was a high-tech wrestling school. In the corner, four full-sized rings played host to sparring partners while several more students exercised in the gym. Along the far wall, an instructor bellowed at some students who had particularly displeased him.

Azreal: What do you mean?

Tiny: Darius didn't tell you? You got another match.

Azreal: Three cards in a row? Somebody likes me.

Tiny: Yeah? Well not me, but that doesn't matter. The point is, you're in a hardcore match and so far, you haven't done any training with weapons. So we're going to fix that.

Azreal: We?

Tiny leads Azreal into a back room, where an elderly Asian man is waiting. The walls of the room were covered in mirrors, and off to the side there sat a long table. Pads, dummies and sparring gear were piled up in the corner.

Tiny: Meet Kyrian Park, recognized pesilat and Eskrima expert. Practiced in all forms of weaponry, he'll be your second instructor.

Azreal: I thought you were my instructor?

Tiny: Hahahaha! You aren't getting rid of me that easy, maggot. I'm still your primary trainer, but we'll call in experts for specialized training. You'll probably end up with four or five teachers by the time we're done here.

Azreal: Are they all going to have as big a stick lodged up their ass as you do?

Tiny: I'll get you for that later boy, but for now, get to work. Kyrian!

Kyrian: No time to waste on introductions, I'm Kyrian, you're Azreal and I'll be teaching you how to fight with weapons. For now, pick a weapon.

Grabbing his bag off the floor, Kyrian pulls out a wide assortment of weapons and lays them on the table. Bamboo swords, quarterstaves, clubs, brass knuckles, chains, nun-chucks, blackjacks, and a baton, among other things line the table.

Kyrian: Tiny told me to bring only non-lethal weapons, so your blades are absent. Pick one to begin with, but test them all out. Pick them up, give them a swing, remember, the perfect weapon should be one you can swing quickly, but with force. If you can't swing your weapon fifty times without pause, it's too heavy.

Azreal steps up to the weapons table, testing out the various weapons before finally settling on a pair of striking sticks, called tonfa. Walking out into the sparring area, he faces Kyrian, who is now armed with a kendo stick. They bow to each other, and the next several hours blend into each other as Kyrian shouts orders.

Kyrian: DEFEND!

With a series of blistering strikes, Kyrian lays into Azreal, who is able to block most of the strikes, but a few slip past and thwack painfully into his bruised ribs. Kyrian moves faster and faster, his movements starting to blur as Azreal falls farther and farther behind. Finally, when he can take no more, Azreal yields. Sitting in the corner, Tiny laughs.

Tiny: You almost made it three whole minutes that time boy. You're getting better. You aren't good, but you're getting better.

Kyrian: Don't distract him, now ATTACK!

Spinning the tonfa around, Azreal unleashes a torrent of blows, temporarily driving Kyrian back, but he quickly recovered and began deflecting the strikes with almost dismissive ease. His anger building, Azreal starts swinging faster and faster, wilder and wilder, until Kyrian took advantage and nailed Azreal across the head.

Kyrian: Don't let your anger get the better of you child, it leaves you open to attack.

Darius: All right, that's enough.

Everyone in the room turned to look at Darius, who had been leaning on the door frame.

Darius: This martial arts stuff is good practice, and it will give him an edge since most people have never even heard of.....

Kyrian: Eskrima

Darius: Yeah, that. But he needs some classic hardcore training too. Give him a taste of what his opponent will bring. So I made some preparations of my own.

Azreal: Uh-oh.

Darius gestures to someone in the main room and then pulls in a garbage can filled with weapons. Dumping it out on the floor, Azreal sees street signs, kendo sticks, a steel chair, a timekeepers bell and a baseball bat.

Tiny: You have to run before you can walk....

Darius: And I found a student who would be only too happy to help you prepare. He fancies himself a hardcore specialist, so he should be a sufficient challenge. Let's go.

**************************************

As the grueling match started to wind down, a ragged, bruised and beaten Azreal locks up with his opponent. Grabbing him for a chokeslam, it's reversed into a facebuster. As Azreal stumbles back to his feet, he's met full in the face with a stiff chair shot. His opponent goes for, and gets, the pin.

Darius: Fuck.....

Tiny: MAGGOT!! THAT WAS PATHETIC!!!!

Azreal rolls over, unable to believe that he lost.

Tiny: I TRAINED YOU BETTER THAN THAT MAGGOT!! YOU ARE A DISAPPOINTMENT!

Darius: TINY! Drop it. He's beat, he needs to rest. We'll be back tomorrow.

Azreal: I don't think I can move....

Darius helps him to his feet, and walks him out the door.

Darius: Come on man, you look like you need a drink.

**************************************

Darius and Azreal are sitting at a bar table. Unlike their last place, this was a brightly-lit, spacious, and clean. The bartender, a young, handsome Hispanic man, brought fresh drinks, replacing Darius' beer and Azreal's whiskey. Sipping his drink, Azreal sat back in his chair and replaced the icepack on his forehead.

Azreal: I don't get it Dar, I couldn't even beat a fucking student, and I'm expected to beat a full-fledged pro?

Darius: Don't bring yourself down man, you put up a hell of a fight, and you did it after Tiny and Kyrian beat the shit out of you for a few hours. If you'd been fresh, you'd have won.

Azreal: But I didn't! I can't afford to lose this Darius. This is my first chance to prove on live TV, that I can go harder, longer than anyone else. If I lose this, I'm back at square one.

Darius: No you aren't man, you came out of nowhere and beat four men. You are just starting on your path, and there's not a lot of things that could stop you. I know you, I've known you for longer than anyone else. When something drives you, you're unstoppable. You remember, oh what was his name, Jacob Carter, the LA gang boss that brought you to me?

Azreal: What about him?

Darius: You chased him across three states, took out an entire gang and broke into a high-security building to take him out.

Azreal: Allegedly.

Darius: Bullshit, you did it and I know you did. That was the case that brought you to my attention, and it was the first case that I didn't get a conviction. I've spent more time studying that case than any other I've ever had, and I know that it was you. Thankfully, there wasn't enough evidence, but you did it. The only thing I haven't been able to figure out is why. Why'd you do it?

Azreal: It has to do with my past.

Darius: Your past? You never talk about your past.

Azreal: With good reason.

Darius: What's your reason.

Azreal: I don't remember.

Darius: Remember what?

Azreal: Anything. My past, my family, my home, hell, even my real name. I woke up one day, and I didn't remember anything.

Darius: Shit man, you don't remember anything?

Azreal: Nothing. I had nothing, so I created myself anew.

Darius: Why did you become, what you are?

Azreal: Because of what I saw when I woke up.

Darius: What did you see?

Azreal: I'm sorry Darius, but I don't trust you enough to tell you that.

Darius: What the fuck! You don't trust me!?!? How long did I keep you out of prison? How long did I spend fighting so that you could get out of the Institution!?!?!

Azreal: Darius! I phrased that wrong, I'm sorry. You know I trust you more than anyone, and I've put my life in your hands before. But there are certain parts of my past, certain things I've done, that I can't tell anyone. You've helped me stay out of prison, hell, you've broken quite a few laws to help me in my crusade, but my past is my own.

Darius: Alright man, I'll let it drop, but one of these days I'm going to find out what happened.

Azreal: So time for a story from you. What have you been doing since I got put away?

Darius: Well, after your trial, some of the higher-ups realized how much I'd helped you over the years. I damn near lost my job, but someone intervened. I was taken off your case and bumped down to fraud instead. Then I got word that you were getting out, and sent in a request to be your watcher. Basically, my life has been dull as shit since you got caught.

Azreal: You said someone intervened, any idea who?

Darius: None. None of the higher-ups like me very much, so it had to be someone from outside but beyond that.....

Azreal: Oh well, a toast to your anonymous benefactor!

Darius: Hear, hear!

Downing the last remnants of their drinks, they pay the tab and stumble back to their rooms. Dropping Darius off, Azreal heads to his room and falls asleep.

**************************************

Azreal and Darius are driving to the gym the next morning.

Azreal: What can you tell me about him?

Darius: Nothing.

Azreal: Nothing? This is the first time you haven't been able to get info on my opponents.

Darius: He's a mystery, man. I had to go to the FBI database to find anything about him at all.

Azreal: What did you find?

Darius: He's an addict. I'm not sure how true that is now, but literally, the only scrap of evidence that he exists at all was a record made during an FBI sting.

Azreal: Damn, I thought I was supposed to be the mystery.

Darius: Good luck with that.

Azreal: Looks like we're here.

Clambering out of the car, they head inside, where Tiny is waiting for them.

Tiny: Come on! You gotta move faster than that if you ever want to graduate from my class maggot! We decided to edit your plan today.

Azreal: What do you mean?

Tiny: You'll see.

Azreal and Darius follow Tiny into the main room and over to the practice rings. In the middle of the closest ring, Kyrian is kneeling.

Tiny: Here's the deal. You're going hardcore against Kyrian. You are going to survive as long as you can.

Kyrian: Surviving ten minutes with me will count as a pass. Am I understood?

Noting the hint of steel beneath Kyrian's soft voice, Azreal agrees. Sliding into the ring, he tosses his jacket aside and grabs a pair of tonfa. Darius grabs a stopwatch and Tiny rings the bell.

Kyrian, who also chose tonfa as his weapon of choice, starts the attack and the match quickly devolves into a blur of strikes, block and counters. It doesn't take long for Kyrian to gain the upper hand, and he slowly drives Azreal to the corner, where he pummels him relentlessly. Unable to defend himself, Azreal gives up.

Darius: 3 minutes, 34 seconds.

Frustrated, Azreal decides that his best plan of attack would be to blast through Kyrian's impressive defensive skills, and beat him down through superior strength, however, over the next several matches, Azreal saw his plans fall to pieces around them. Every time Kyrian would defeat Azreal, he would grow more and more frustrated with himself. Darius announced his times, each of them failures, none of them even remotely close to hitting the 10 minute mark he needed.

Darius: 4 minutes, 15 seconds ... 2 minutes, 51 seconds ... 5 minutes, 9 seconds ... 1 minute, 47 seconds ... 3 minutes, 32 seconds.

Calling for a break after his latest defeat, Azreal takes a drink of water and fumes. Finally an idea starts to form and he calls for the bell. Instead of attacking, he switched his grip on the tonfa and threw them at Kyrian's face. Kyrian managed to deflect the weapons, but couldn't readjust fast enough to avoid a charging Azreal. Locking horns, Azreal drove Kyrian to the ground and brutalized him. Eventually Kyrian escaped and rose to his feet, having lost his weapons as well, he and Azreal switched to hand to hand combat. Kyrian's speed gave him the advantage, and so the battle raged. A flurry of strikes and kicks marked his attack, before a headbutt caught him off guard. Pressing his advantage, Azreal swung but his strike was reversed into a chokehold. He held out as long as he could, but he eventually passed out. Some time later he was awakened by Tiny dumping a bucket of water on him.

Kyrian: 10 minutes, 14 seconds. Congratulations. You passed.

Tiny: You cost me twenty bucks, kid. I bet it would take you at least twenty tries to figure it out.

Azreal: Figure what out?

Kyrian: The secret. You have a remarkable pain threshold, and you move quickly for a man of your size. Just remember that you won't be able to win every battle through strength and skill. There will always be someone better than you, faster than you, stronger than you. Do you know how you were able to survive that match?

Azreal: Not really....

Kyrian: You did the unexpected. In basic combat, I came out on top every time, and you recognized that, so you changed the game. Your ability to adapt will serve you well.

Tiny: Oh don't tell him that! He'll start thinking he's worth something.

Azreal: I love you too Tiny.

Tiny: Shove it, impertinent bastard.

Kyrian: Now I must bid you farewell.

Azreal: You're leaving?

Kyrian: Don't worry, Tiny knows where to find me should you ever need a refresher course.

Azreal: Goodbye Kyrian.

Kyrian: Goodbye my child.

Gathering up his weapons, Kyrian slipped out the doors. For some time after he left, Azreal, Darius and Tiny swapped stories in the office. When they finally stumbled out, doubled over with laughter, they realized that night had fallen, and snow was piling up outside the door. Tiny offered to let them stay at his gym, and they pulled cots out into the back room. Falling onto his pillow, Azreal fell asleep instantly.

**************************************

Azreal is sleeping soundly, mentally and physically exhausted from the beatings he received over the past day. Suddenly, a soft voice rings out in the darkness.

Uriel: Wake up....

Azreal: Hello Uriel.

Uriel: We have a problem Azreal.

Azreal: Of course, you're here, aren't you. What do you need?

Uriel: We are losing the war Azreal. There were not many of us to begin with and Azariah, Ariel, Kerubiel and Malachai have fallen. My people are dying, and still you sit on the sidelines. We are assembling the Malach HaMavet, which means we need you back in the battle, as quickly as you can.

Azreal: I am only one of the five, can you not survive without me?

Uriel: You were one of five, now you are one of three. We cannot afford to lose this battle, Azreal. You need to complete your mission.

Azreal: Don't you get it? I'm a prisoner. I'm allowed to walk free, but everything I do is monitored, pre-approved and guarded. I need to be pardoned or released before I can be of any help to you.

Uriel: You need to be released? I will see what I can do.

Uriel reaches out, but is stopped by Azreal.

Azreal: Wait. Uriel, I'm sorry about Ariel, she was a great warrior. Ana Silchi Li

Uriel: And a better friend. She fought by my side for millenia, but do not worry, it was not your fault. She fell in battle, as shall we all. It was the death she would have wanted. Now sleep, and when you awaken, your work can begin.

***************************************

It is God who arms me with strength, and makes my way perfect.
He makes my feet like the feet of deer, and sets me on high places.
He teaches my hands to make war, so that my arms can bend a bow of bronze
I have pursued my enemies and overtaken them;
neither did I turn back again till they were destroyed.
I have wounded them, so that they were not able to rise;
they have fallen under my feet.
For You have armed me with strength for the battle.
Psalm 18:32,37

Azreal · « **Reply #4 on:** June 06, 2012, 06:28:35 PM »

******After Insanity LIVE from Memphis******

Azreal: Fucking pothead.

Backstage, paramedics peel off Azreal’s shirt, revealing a huge bruise covering his entire back. As they start to tape it up, Darius ambles over.

Darius: Damn man, it looks like you lost a fight with a steam roller.

Azreal: Go fuck yourself.

Darius: Chill man, I can see that you aren’t in the mood for jokes.

Azreal: Well what makes you think that? I’ve taken worse hits, but it’s never fun.

Darius: Just remember, you won. I’d also garun-damn-tee you that Trey is hurt a lot worse than you.

Medic: Try to sit still Azreal, that sign stomp cracked two or three of your ribs, and the chair shots didn’t help either. You’ll need to stay out of the ring for a week or two.

Azreal: That shouldn’t be a problem; I’m off the card next week.

Medic: Good.

Darius: Hey doc, can he still move around? I need him to appear in court tomorrow.

Medic: He’s fine for everyday tasks, even light exercise, but I would advise against trying anything.

Azreal: I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse injuries, and I’m a quick healer.

Medic: If I had a nickel every time one of you guys said that to me…… Just, try to take it easy.

Azreal: Alright, thank you Doctor.

The medics shoo them out of the training room, so they head towards the garage.

Darius: You’ve got two days to rest up, but then we need to head to New York.

Azreal: Why? What’s in New York?

Darius: Your hearing.

Azreal: What?

Darius: Someone pretty damn high up had a talk with your therapist, and he’s decided to recommend that you go free. The judge just needs to ratify it, but with the testimonies of your therapist, Tiny and myself, you should be a free man by Friday.

Azreal: Wait, they’re letting me off the hook? I’m going to be able to just walk out of there? No more weekly visits to the therapist, no more security vans outside my hotel? Thank god, I thought they considered me too dangerous to go free.

Darius: They did.

Azreal: Then....

Darius: They reconsidered. I don't know why so don't bother asking.

Azreal: Alright, let's go.

********Later That Day******

Darius: OK, in order to get what you want, you'll need three things. You'll need a stable job, a permanent residence and someone the courts will trust to check up on you. Your work with LPW takes care of the job, and Tiny can act as the guardian, so all you need is a house.

Azreal: Actually, I'm set in that department too.

Darius: We found your safe-houses, and none of them would pass inspection.

Azreal: Well, if it were that easy to find my safe-houses, they wouldn't be very safe, would they?

Darius: What are you talking about?

Azreal: The hearing is in New York, right?

Darius: Yeah.

Azreal: Excellent, let's go, I'll show you when we get there.

*******The Next Day******

Darius: This is your house?

Azreal and Darius are standing in front of an warehouse, obviously long abandoned.

Darius: You think they'll count this as a permanent residence?

Azreal: Not exactly, follow me.

Azreal strides through the open door, across the empty floor of the warehouse and down a set of stairs. Once in the basement, Azreal starts tapping on the wall. Eventually he grins, turns to Darius and slams his fist against the wall and a section falls off. Climbing through the newly-created hole, Azreal calls out.

Azreal: Well, are you coming?

Shaking his head in disbelief, Darius follows him through the wall. They climb through a darkened tunnel for some time, before emerging into a small, dimly lit room. Knocking some things out of their way, Darius came to a sudden realization.

Darius: Azreal, why the fuck are we in a broom closet?

Azreal: Well, my secret tunnel can't exactly open up into the lobby can it?

Darius: The lobby of what?

Grinning, Azreal opens the door, and they step out into the lobby of a large hotel. Darius looks around, puzzled, before realization dawned on his face.

Darius: Az, why are we in Trump Towers?

Azreal: You wanted to see my “permanent residence” and this place is as close as I come to having a home. I bought a couple of rooms before they even started building, and I had them built to my specifications.

Darius: How did you afford that?

Azreal: I made some good coin off of my bounty hunting, and I invested it well. I'm not exactly wealthy, but I'm far from broke.

Darius: All right. Well. This will take some time to digest.

Azreal: Come on, we need to go prepare for the trial.

******* Two days later******

Azreal, dressed in a nice suit with his hair slicked back into a ponytail, is leaning on a wall of a courtroom hallway. Darius, also in court clothes, leans next to him. They're talking about the hearing when a booming voice interrupts them.

Tiny: You son of a bitch! How the hell have you been!

Azreal: Tiny, keep your voice down. We're in a courthouse.

Tiny: Bah, they don't mind. Anyway, I'm glad you're getting out.

Azreal: So am I. I'd given up hope. Four long years, I never thought I'd be allowed to walk away.

Darius: We're here for you kid.

Tiny: Don't you go getting sentimental on me. I've got better things to do, and so do you. I expect you back at my gym by the end of the week.

Azreal: Sure thing Tiny, but for now, I've got to go. It's time for me to celebrate my new-found freedom.

Tiny: By doing what?

Azreal: Fuck if I know, I'll probably end up at a strip club or something like that.

Tiny: Well, don't get into trouble, you've got that challenge against Storme tomorrow.

****After Insanity Live from Norfolk Scope****

Azreal: Hey, McDaygo!

Azreal stops McDaygo, the backstage interviewer, in the hallway.

McDaygo: Shit kid, I didn' think you'd be up so soon.

Azreal: I was told I have interview time now.

McDaygo: Oh, right.

McDaygo makes some wild gestures with his hands and a cameraman runs over with a microphone.

McDaygo: Alright, joinin' me tonight is one o' tha competitors in the ...hic... “Rookie Superstar Match” at At All Costs, Ariel!

Azreal: That's Azreal.

McDaygo: Wha?

Azreal: Azreal, with a Z.

McDaygo: I don't give a damn. Now, what're yer thoughts on yer ...hic... opponent, the li'l girl, ..err... Storme?

Azreal: I think that he's a great competitor, and it's a good thing for me to be put in this match.

McDaygo: Whaddya mean by that?

Azreal: Well, he's been claiming that my opposition has been less than stellar, and he's right. I've had it easy, and he's trying to use that against me. But once I beat him, then all of that goes out the window. I'll have proven that I deserve to be called Insanity's Rookie Superstar.

McDaygo: A'ight. Now, you were in jail fer a while, right?

Azreal: Yes........

McDaygo: Did'ya ever drop the soap?

Azreal: I don't, I mean, I can't think of how to respond to that. Just, just no. You are a very strange man.

McDaygo: That I am.

*******The Day Before At All Costs********

Azreal: So then it kicked him out of a fucking window!

Azreal and Darius are sitting around a small table in Azreal's sitting room, an almost empty bottle of whiskey between them. Darius bursts out laughing as Azreal tells funny stories from days long past.

Darius: No way!

Azreal: Fell straight down, fifteen stories! That damned donkey cost me a $500,000 contract. I'll be honest though, I have no idea how the hell he got it up there.

Darius: Shit, that's awesome! But it's time to get serious again, I saw your interview with McDaygo, but what are your real thoughts on Storme?

Snapped out of his good cheer, Azreal grows cold.

Azreal: I'm not worried.

Darius: That's it? The eve of your first big match, and all you can say is that you're not worried?

Azreal: What do you want me to say? That this is my first legitimate opponent and I should be absolutely terrified? That's what they told me about Trey, and what happened there? I beat him pretty damn handily. I've fought the dregs of humanity, psychopaths, fighters, warriors and fiends. I have stared death in the face and opened fire, and you seriously expect me to be scared of a glorified Indy wrestler?

Darius: So you don't consider him a threat?

Azreal: Oh no, he's a threat, but if I worry about every threat, I'll never get any rest. He's fast, strong, determined and he's driven, just like I was.

Darius: What?

Azreal's face relaxes as he slips deep into thought.

Azreal: Storme would risk death in order to become what he desires, he would laugh at the Devil himself if it made him into the man he wants to be. I was like that once, a time long, long ago.

Darius: What happened?

Azreal's mouth twists into a grimace at the painful memories overwhelming him.

Azreal: Everyone I had ever loved was torn from me in a single act of brutality, I heard their voices cry out for help, but I could do nothing. I was rendered helpless as my family was brutally murdered, and on that day the man I was died. In his place I rose, consumed with a burning desire for vengeance. I armed myself and dove deep into the darkness, and from my hands a torrent of blood flowed. In my anger, I had become Death, the personification of the night, of darkness, and of vengeance.

Darius: What happened?

Azreal: I became what I feared most. I had started out trying to stop people from getting hurt, and ended up causing the death of the girl I loved. When I realized what I had done, I threw out my mask, and swore to never take another life. I became the vigilante you know of, using my fists instead of guns and trying to keep the world safe one night at a time. Then you and your boys caught me, and I've been in prison ever since.

Darius: Well that's...... dark.

Azreal: I told you, my story isn't a happy one, and I doubt it ever will be.

Darius: But it's got to be turning up, I mean, you're a hero to all the people you saved.

Azreal: No. I am many things, but I am no hero.

Without another word, Azreal turned and retreated into his bedroom. Turning off his lights, he slumps into his bed and drifts off to sleep.

*****************************

I am no hero.

A woman stands in a dark alley, and though he is not there, Azreal's voice rings out.

There are many labels in this world, but two are used most often. There are heroes.

A young man in shining silver armor stands alone against a wave of shadow. Without flinching, he prepares to meet an unknowable darkness

The champions of light, they go to battle against evil to defend the innocent, risking life and limb without thought of reward. Motivated by love, compassion or empathy they are the greatest thing humanity has to offer.

The man swings his sword, and the darkness evaporates.

And then there are villains.

A cloaked being sits on a throne of spikes lit with a background of fire. Looking up, light glints off his fangs and his cold, red eyes burn right through you.

The envoys of darkness, villains take pleasure in the pain and suffering of others. Soulless, terrifying, and evil, they kill and destroy without mercy or remorse. The lowest dredges of humanity, a villain is nothing but hatred.

The being starts to laugh, his voice booming in the great cavern.

I am neither.

The woman is back, walking down the deserted alleyway, moving toward a noise in the distance.

I am neither good, nor evil. Neither hero, nor villain. I am a rōnin .

Turning the corner, she sees a small group of thugs beating up a young man. She ghosts behind them and grabs the swinging fist of the largest man.

A rōnin, a warrior without a home or master. Swept up in a war that did not concern me, a war that has been raging for millennium.

Startled, the man turned and barked for his men to attack. The closest one charged and was halted with a chop to the throat. Before he could fall, she met him with a fist to the jaw, taking him out of the fight.

Some say that this war exists solely in our minds, but I know better. Forced to take a side, I chose to battle against the forces of darkness.

Grabbing a pipe, a third man charged her, and she dodged. Grabbing the man's shirt, she wrenched his arm around and struck him on the shoulder. With a sickening pop, the man sank to the floor.

All men take a side in this war, whether they acknowledge it or not. They choose between good and evil, between light and darkness, and too often, they choose wrong. When they choose to live life as servants of the darkness, they become just another soldier in an endless army.

The last three men regroup and charge, one catching a boot to the face, the other two taking her down. Once on the ground, they rained fists and boots down on her.

Meanwhile, the forces of light are failing. Outnumbered, outmatched and overpowered, the last heroes of this world are dying. They cannot win these battles alone, the numbers of their foes are too great.

Azreal comes charging down the alley behind them, barreling the men aside. Grabbing the last man, Azreal throws him to the ground and breaks his nose. Returning to the woman, he finds that he has come too late, and a knife handle is sticking out from her side. Overcome with rage, he returns to the other two and grabs the first. Picking him up, he spins him around and snaps his neck. He does the same to the rest of the men before picking up the woman and carrying her away.

I am no hero. I fight, not for honor, compassion or love, but for vengeance for what was torn from me, and redemption for what I caused to be lost.

Faces flash by, an old man smiling, a happy couple kissing, a young woman crying, and a young girl, not more than ten years old, calling out for help. More faces flash by, men and women, young and old, moving faster and faster until they blur together, a seemingly endless stream of humanity. Suddenly it stops, and Azreal's voice sounds again.

I am constantly haunted by the ghosts of those I killed, and by the ones I failed to save. I do not deserve to be called a hero. I am just a warrior, one of the last warriors who are locked in a war that has raged from the beginning of time, a war between good and evil, light and dark, Heaven and Hell. It is a war which will only end at the End of Days, at Judgment Day and Trumpet's Sound. The last remnants of Heaven's Armies are gathering, preparing for an epic battle, a turning point in this damned war. This battle, and this war, they were not my choice, but they are my purpose and my cause. I swore to do all that I could to protect the innocent, and a failure in this battle will lead to the deaths of thousands. So I will fight, though I fear that, without help, we will fail. We will fail, and the world will fall into darkness.

As the clock struck 1 a.m. Azreal wakes up. He checks to make sure that Darius is still sleeping in the other room and then ghosts into the sitting room. He starts fiddling with the wall before eventually, a section of the wall slides up, revealing a hand scanner. Pressing his palm against the scanner, the system recognizes him and a sound is heard from the closet.

Azreal: Now that I'm free, I can get back to work. I have been gone for far too long.

Azreal heads into the closet, and opens the vault. He grabs the footlocker lying inside and brings it to his room. He opens it to reveal a cache of weapons, pistols, knives and a tomahawk. He straps the weapons on and heads outside, as he closes the door he whispers.

Azreal: It's time to remind the world that the night does not belong to evil. It is time, for Archangel to return.

Azreal · « **Reply #5 on:** June 09, 2012, 10:37:55 PM »

Azreal is standing in the middle of a bare room, so dark that you can barely make him out. Taking a pack of matches he lights several sticks of incense in a circle around him. Closing his eyes, he kneels, and his voice rings out from the air around him.

I am an old, old man, the last surviving member of a once-great civilization. When humanity first crawled out f the mud, it was my people who greeted them. We raised them from nothing, and it was our gifts of knowledge that allowed them to thrive.

Fur-clad humans gather in a cave, cold and hungry. A man dressed in robes, carrying a torch, drifts through the entrance and shows the humans how to start a fire, when the scene shifts. Now another robed figure shows a crowd the basics of farming. Another helps them build a forge, while another helps them to tame horses. Scenes flash by of these robed figures teaching humanity many of the various skills they require, farming, fishing, horseback riding, spear-making, archery, writing and mathematics.

They worshiped us as gods, or the servants of gods. The Greeks called us Titans, the Hebrews called us Angels, but now the ones who know of us, call us the Atlanteans. We worked beside them for centuries, but eventually our own greed brought us down. We turned from their teachers, to their masters; we enslaved them, and our leaders grew fat on their sacrifice.

A throng of humans mill about an enormous courtyard, bowing before a large statue. A battalion of horsemen ride into the crowd and cut their way through with riding crops.

But humanity would not be contained.

One of the humans, filled with rage, grabs one of the riding crops and pulls him down to the ground. The other humans, spurned into action, swarm around him, and together they tear the riders apart.

They rose against us, throwing off their chains and taking up arms against their oppressors. My people fought for our lives, but humanity was strong, and they were many.

Huge legions of men, armed with spears and rocks, rally outside a palace. Inside, a small group of Atlanteans gather, and they armed themselves, preparing to meet the death that was coming for them. The mob outside tore the walls of the palace down, and they clashed in a fury of death.

My people fell, all but myself, and my brothers, the feared Spathi. The Spathi were the greatest of our warriors, five hundred strong. Led by a man named Thanatos, we had never been defeated in battle.

Five hundred Atlanteans stand, dressed in golden armor, each of them young and strong. The sun shone off of their armor as they raised their fists to the sky and roared in a single voice.

We stood alone against an army over one hundred times our size, and we would have succeeded, but for the betrayal of one of our princes. He stabbed Thanatos through the heart, and with his dying breath Thanatos told us to flee, to save ourselves, and in doing so, help our people to survive. We complied, and melted away into the mountains.

The force of five hundred vanishes, and the human horde descends on the last remnants of the Atlantean leadership, slaughtering all of them.

Our people destroyed, the Spathi dissolved. Some stayed together, but most went off on their own, each seeking only survival. The great war ended, the humans turned towards the survivors, hunting us down and exterminating us. They were almost successful.

A man, strong, young and handsome, with long dark hair kneels in a small cave. From outside the cave comes the laughter of men, the whinnying of horses and the baying of hounds, the sounds of a hunting party. The man straightens, revealing the designs he has drawn on the floor. Lighting several candles around the design, he starts chanting in an ancient tongue.

When they came for us, most of us fought, but I am more than a warrior, I am a survivor. The humans had proved that no place in the physical realm was safe from their wrath, so I went beyond.

A dark shape appears before the man, and it whispers in a voice dripping with evil, smoke obscures the scene, and when it clears, the man is gone.

Using magic long forgotten in this world, I journeyed to the spirit world, the parallel world from which our ghosts and nightmares emerge. I became a spectre, barely a whisper in the darkness, and as such, I survived. At a cost, the magic I used to become a spectre had destroyed my physical body, and I could not regain it. I wandered this earth for a thousand years, slowly going mad. Until one day, I was taking shelter in a cave just north of the Red Sea, when a young man stumbled upon my hiding place. As a voice in the darkness I spoke to him, offering him power, wealth, anything he desired, as long as he would save me from my torment.

A young man stands in a dark cave, mist swirling all around him. He nods his head and the mist slowly creeps up to him before disappearing beneath his skin.

He allowed me to live on inside his body, giving me slight control in exchange for a gift of knowledge. Using his body, I studied ancient tomes and using the knowledge within, I was able to assume my own form, albeit temporarily. There were drawbacks of course, and so I survived for thousands of years in other peoples bodies. As time passed, I grew stronger and stronger, but my true form is still just out of reach.

Azreal · « **Reply #6 on:** June 09, 2012, 10:47:01 PM »

A small room backstage at Madison Square Garden, windowless, seamless and dark, shelters a kneeling Azreal, pain clearly etched onto his shadowed face. He is kneeling before an old wooden shrine, filled with dozens of pictures, portraits and plaques. Lighting several sticks of incense, he falls back into meditation.

Every warrior has loss, it is an inevitable truth of life. Family, friends, and comrades, love, happiness and peace, these are luxuries that any warrior must be willing to sacrifice. I have lost it all. I have seen the ones I love grow old and die, seen my friends fall in battle, and yet I live on. Through all the loss, all the pain that I have lived through, I have kept my honor, and my pride. Failure is unacceptable.

*****After At All Costs*****

Steve Storme hits Azreal with the Forgotten Works and goes for the pin, getting the 3-count. Dazed, Azreal stumbles backstage and, as the realization of his loss sets in, grows angry. Roaring, he flips over a nearby table and starts rampaging through the area, destroying anything in his way. After a few minutes of destruction, a swarm of security officers run in, trying to restrain him. Throwing one away, Azreal raises his fist to strike another, but his hand is caught. Raging, Azreal whirls around, stopping short as he sees Justus. Pulling him close, Justus speaks in whisper.

Justus: Don't do this Azreal. There is nothing to be gained with this.

Azreal: This isn't your affair Justus, my honor was sullied tonight.

Justus: Don't make this about honor Azreal, this is pride, pure and simple. You lost a match just as you thought you were invincible, and now you're getting pissy about it.

Azreal: You just don't understand Justus, I CAN'T lose.

Justus: You already lost Azreal, what you do now determines whether you get a chance to redeem yourself. Either continue on this path and get fired, or come with me, and one day you will earn your redemption.

For a few moments nothing happens, and then Azreal nods his head, and all the tension flows out of him. Helping the fallen guard to his feet, Azreal leaves the arena in silence.

* * * * * * *

At At All Costs, I failed, and it left a stain on my honor, a stain that cannot be easily removed. I allowed my anger at my defeat to cloud my judgment, and almost betrayed my beliefs. Then, last week, I took the first step towards redemption. Even so, simply being on the winning team is no way to regain my honor, I need something more. Now I am being given the ultimate chance, the pen-ultimate test of my strength, my will and my raw determination. There are sixteen men in this match, fifteen opponents, fifteen stories, and fifteen threats. I do not kid myself, every man in this match is a threat, but I do not have limitless resources, so I must focus on a few.

A voice interrupts his meditation, as the beginning of Insanity is announced. Brushing his hair from his eyes, Azreal pulls a picture of Styxx from beneath the shrine.

Styxx, the leader of madmen, the savior of fools. You have arrayed a force of men to back you in your quest, but in this match, they cannot help you. Men like you rise and fall like the tides, emerging from the masses in a storm of hype, only to fail in your goals and fade back into the shadows from which you came. Your “friends” believe that you will bring them honor, glory and fame, but I know better. You care only for yourself, and in your greed, I will watch you fall. Pray that Crispy fails before you do Styxx, or you will know what happens when men lose their faith.

Drawing a small object from his shirt, Azreal sets the picture on fire, pausing long enough to watch it burn before dropping it to the ground. From beneath the altar, he pulls out another picture, this time of Big B. Brown.

Brown, I have much respect for you, since you laid claim to the Hardcore Championship, you have defeated several tough competitors. No one has been able to put a halt to your dominance, but now you face a threat greater than any before. I am not coming for your head, I'm not even coming for your belt, but you stand between me and my redemption. Do not stand in my way, or I will throw you out.

Lighting the picture of Brown, he tossed it aside with a grimace. From the same place as before, he draws out yet another picture, this time of Steve Storme. As Azreal looks as the photo, his lip curls up into a scowl. Without a moment's hesitation he lights the picture and doesn't drop it until his fingers burn. Dropping it to the ground, he grinds it in with his heel.

I will not lose to him again.

Shaking his head to regain his composure, he moves on to the next photo. This time the passive face of Cynical gazes up at him.

Cynical, the last of the Titans, the unquestioned G()d of LPW. You regained your position in this tournament by proving you worth even in defeat, but I do not use that to belittle you. Though you were defeated, you did well, and even in defeat, you were impressive. Now, not only do you have a World Championship match, but you have another chance in the tournament, and I know that you will do all that you can to redeem yourself. The question is, will that be enough? Your power is impressive, but you have two dangerous matches tonight, which one will you focus on? You are a mart man, you know that people fear fire, and so you challenge people to Step Into The Flame. However, I have already stood in the flame, and I have felt it sear my flesh. Do not overestimate yourself, save your strength for you match with Morpheus, because in this battle royal, I will emerge victorious. You may have mastered the Flame but what fear does fire hold when one has already been burned?

He sets fire to Cynical's picture, but instead of dropping it, he allows the fire to consume the picture before crumpling it in his hand. The fire encases his palm until he finally roars in anger and crushes the fire out. As his rage and burns cool, he grabs the next photo, and sees Mass Chaos staring up at him. Smiling, Azreal shakes his head.

Chaos, you are everything I wish to become. Your determination and experience are matched only by your honor. You are a good man, and perhaps one day we shall fight side by side, but on this day, you stand between me and my redemption. I do not wish to fight you, but I will not allow you to stand in my way.

Forgoing the lighter, Azreal simply drops the photo. The picture he pulls out this time is the one of Drew Michaels.

Michaels, you are a stranger in a dangerous land, and you have set out to make enemies. Your hatred for Insanity is understandable, but it will make life dangerous for you. You want to disrespect the World Heavyweight Championship, Insanity and Eric Scorpio, and you know what, I'm fine with that. However, there is one thing I'm not fine with, you see, in your quest to disrespect the brand, you will have to disrespect the entire roster, and that cannot be allowed. No matter how talented you are, no man should be allowed to show such disrespect to so many. Whether I need to destroy you myself, or if your extensive list of enemies will help me out, I will make sure you are not the one to walk away with the victory.

His face passive, he burns the photograph and drops it. Once more he reaches for the altar and pulls out the last photo, and this time, the angry scowl of Ash Strife glares up at him.

Ah yes, Crazy Ash Killa, you are my worst fear made flesh, but not in the way you may think. You are a warning sign of everything that I could become should my strength fail me. The similarities are staggering, but even so, we could not be more different. We are both the muscle, seen as the brainless puppets of our veteran partners by the uneducated masses, but again, we know better. Even more than that, we are both monsters CAK, both remnants of a bygone era, both holding on through determination alone, even when nature itself wished for our deaths. But you, you are everything I fight against, a perversion of morality justified in your own mind through a twisted facade of righteousness. Your strength is matched only by your evil, and I will put you down. I will put you down, even if I die trying.

Azreal lights the last photograph, and watches as it burns to ashes.

Mike Announcer: The following is a 16-man battle royal!

Snapped from his reverie again, Azreal grabs his jacket and heads to the door.

I am the underdog in this contest, make no mistake. Despite my confidence, I'm still a rookie, and I'm going up against some of the most talented superstars today. Champions, former champions, fighters, monsters and living legends fill the ranks of this match, and the odds favor them. But I'm a gambling man, my strength is without equal and my will is iron. I will pour my heart and soul into this, and I will not allow myself to fail. I will fight through blood, and sweat and broken bones, I will fight until my heart explodes within my chest, but I must win this match. My honor depends on it.

Glancing one more time at the burned pictures on the ground, Azreal slams the door, leaving only darkness.

Azreal · « **Reply #7 on:** June 09, 2012, 10:49:21 PM »

Tiny is burning the midnight oil in the back office of his facility. An overzealous student had suffered some minor injuries, and that meant a mountain of paperwork. Pouring himself a drink, he sighs. He hates working late, as a money-saving measure all of the overhead lights shut off after 10 pm, and trying to read in the dim lamplight gave him a headache. After a brief internal battle, Tiny decides to finish his work tomorrow, so he shuts off the light and starts to head outside. As he reaches the office door, he hears the ringing bell that signals the front door opening. Years of running a business in the inner city had taught Tiny that robberies were unavoidable, and a smart man should plan for them. Tiny grabbed the shotgun off of his wall and made his way into the shadows of the main room. As he's hunting for the intruders he hears the steady thumping of a punching bag, and he relaxes. Tossing the gun on his shoulder, he turns the corner to find Azreal working out in the light of a lamp he'd brought along. Tiny shouts a greeting, but as Azreal turns, Tiny is taken aback. Azreal's normal grey eyes were now a vibrant blue and he carried himself far less rigidly than his usual.

Tiny: Azreal?

'Azreal' responds, but when he speaks his voice is far more clear than normal, louder and less subtle.

: Oh damn. No, I'm not Azreal, well, you know me as Azreal but I'm not him. Or do you know Azreal as me? Either way, normally I'm Azreal, but now Azreal is off taking care of some business, so I'm waiting for him to come back. Well, then again-

Tiny: Wait! Please, stop talking! Who the fuck are you?

: My name is Alexander Dukov, but you can call me Alex.

Tiny: Alright Alexander, now answer me slowly and only answer EXACTLY what I ask, ok?

Alexander: Ok.

Tiny: Good. Now then, why do you look exactly like Azreal, and why have I never met you before?

Alexander: You have met me, you just didn't know it. Listen, I'm bad at explaining things, since I don't really understand. Let's just wait for Azreal to get back, and then we'll talk it through together.

Tiny: This should be interesting.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tiny: So when is he going to show up?

Azreal: He's already here...

Azreal's dark, whispery voice rings out from the shadows behind Tiny, sending him up into the air in fright. Spinning around, he looks for Azreal, but instead he sees a much smaller man.

http://psd-dreams.de/render.php?image_id=38818&sessionid=e45d02e98a32461b27e575844b736390

Tiny draws breath for an angry retort, but stops short as the man glares at him, his gray eyes blazing through the curtian of his hair. Tiny stares at him, when suddenly he sees something familiar in the set of the man's face.

Tiny: A... Azreal? I, I just don't-

Azreal: Don't speak. Just listen. Yes, I am the one you know as Azreal. Alexander and I are symbiotic beings, neither one of us can live without the other.

Tiny: But I've never seen you before?

Azreal: You have, I just looked a little different.

Azreal goes to take a step forward, but as he does so his body seems to blur, and with every step he becomes less defined until he disappears altogether. In his places lies a shroud of blue fog, pooling on the ground. Before Tiny can react, the fog starts to move, coiling around Alexander before reaching his face.

Alexander: Don't worry, it's ok.

As soon as he finishes speaking, the fog pours into his open mouth. Once all the fog is gone, Alexander drops to his knees. Tiyn rushes forward to help him, but is waved away as Alexander climbs back to his feet. Looking on, Tiny can see that his eyes have returned to their normal gray, and this time when he speaks, Azreal's voice comes out.

Azreal: Does this look more familiar?

Tiny: I.. I just don't-

Azreal: Oh shut up. What you need to understand is that this form contains two consciousnesses, Alexander, the body, is the physical form you have come to know. While he maintains a mind of his own, I am the dominant spirit. Meanwhile, you have Azreal, the spirit. I am the voice, and the will behind our existence. I am able to maintain my natural form for a time, but that brings about some problems.

Tiny: Like what?

Azreal: Death. In my own form, I am mortal, but as a spirit I am indestructible.

Tiny: But how does that-

Azreal: Simple, this body is not mine, so any damage it takes is not mine. If this form is killed, I will live on, and eventually I'll find a new host to live in.

Tiny: So what happens if you die?

Azreal: The same thing that happens to everyone else, except that there would be no body to burn.

Tiny: Well that's, odd. I gotta say though, you make yourself sound like a parasite....

Azreal: It could be taken that was I suppose, but I don't harm my host. Without me, Alexander would have died over a hundred years ago, instead he's 190 years old and had a prime spot on national television, about to take home his first LPW title. Does that sound like a parasite to you?

Tiny: I don't know, this is way beyond me. Just one more question, how did all of this happen?

Azreal: That's a long story, a very long story. A story that begins before time itself began. But it is a story for another time. If you'd like, I can wander off and you can ask Alexander his story.

Tiny: That's not necessary. So you guys can just shift back and forth, instantly?

Azreal: Not quite, I can leave whenever I choose, but he has to allow me back in. And before you ask, yes, the blue fog is my spirit and it does appear every time I enter or leave.

* * * * * ** * * * *

Tiny, who has by now stopped trying to make sense of it all, is sitting across from Azreal. On the table between them is an open manilla folder, topped by a picture of Nigel Vanderbilt.

Tiny: Alright, now do that creepy fog thing again, I want to talk to both of you.

Azreal: You can talk to us both in this form...

Tiny: I know, but the constantly shifiting eye color and voice changes creep me the fuck out. Please, just for now.

With an experated sigh, Azreal nods and the blue fog starts rolling again. Before too long, Azreal and Alexander are seated next to each other at the table.

Tiny: Alright, that's better. Now then, it's time to prepare. Physically, you guys, errr, Alexander has nothing to fear from Nigel. You are bigger, stronger and more pain-resistant than he is, but that isn't everything. You see, Nigel wants this title. Badly. He's coveting the damned thing like a newborn child. That makes him dangerous. You have to want this as badly as he does, so tell me, why do you want to win this?

Both men answer at the same time.

Azreal: We don't./Alexander: Immortality.

Tiny: Well this is interesting. Why don't you want to win Azreal?

Azreal: Because this isn't why we joined. I signed up to crush the thieves and villains who seem to congregate here, not to waste my time chasing foolish trinkets.

Alexander: We? That isn't why WE signed up. I signed up to earn for myself what you take for granted. You can live forever, but I don't get to. I want people to remember me after I'm gone.

Azreal: And you think titles are the way to do that? How about cleansing the world of evil. Isn't that enough for you?

Alexander: But no one knows that about me! They know you, they know your hate, your rage and your determination, not mine.

Azreal: But I-

Alexander: Stop. We aren't going to agree on this, so I want you to consider this. LPW is a haven for scum, correct?

Azreal: Yes...

Alexander: And they are constantly chasing after titles, correct?

Azreal: Yes.

Alexander: So, if we have a title, they will come after us. We won't have to chase them down anymore, they will line up to let us crush them. And it's the first step in my road to eternity. We both win. Not to mention, Nigel is far from an innocent man. This is a good way to reaffirm our goals.

A dark grin lights up Azreal's face as he considers the possibilities.

Azreal: I like that plan, let's do it! Those fools will line up in my sights....

Tiny: Hahahah! Excellent! Now then, let's get back to work, I want to see what you guys can do....

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Tiny: Hurry your ass up! Neither of you get to relax!

Alexander is in the ring, having just been dropped hard by his training partner for the night. Wincing, he yells back.

Alexander: Still, I think I'm having the worse time of it!

Azreal: I'd trade your fat ass in a heartbeat.

Azreal is seated on the far side of the ring, watching videos on an old television. Leaning back in his chair, he yells at Tiny.

Azreal: Oi! How many more of these videos do you have?

Tiny: I have every single match that asshole has ever wrestled, and every match wrestled by anyone you could ever face in that damned company. I want you to know those tapes backwards and forwards, so that you'll never be surprised by what he tries.

Calling a halt with his partner, Alexander takes a seat on the top turnbuckle.

Alexander: Seriously though Tiny, why am I doing all the work?

Azreal: Oi!

Tiny: Shut up! Alexander, you're doing the physical workouts because it's your body that will be in that ring. Azreal is watching the tapes because it's his mind that will be controlling it. You guys have the luckiest damn break in the entire planet, being able to do twice as much prep as anyone else. If Nigel beats you guys tomorrow, it will be because you fucked up. I expect you to win, and good.

Azreal: I think we can arrange that....
* * * * * *

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