Ending Joke

GrimskullGrimskull, Promo

A desolate alleyway in Arcadia, graffiti on the brick. Grimskull sits on a broken cinder block.

“Hatchet… I’ve known a lot of people like you.

You want to be the one who ends Grimskull.

You think you’re the one who can do it. I see it in your beady little eyes. You believe you’re the one who can break me, split my skull wide open, and scatter my ashes in the gutter.”

Grimskull leans forward.

“But you won’t.

You could drown me in your filth, let your Gathering take their knives to me and dance in my blood. You could suffocate me in your vomit-stained depravity, force my corpse into a shallow grave, like you did the Rijen woman. You could do it a thousand times, Hatchet. A thousand times. And still… I would survive.

Because I am not what you destroy. I am what survives.”

Grimskull tilts his head.

“You’re a scavenger, not a conqueror. You pick at the bones of the weak, you prey on the desperate and the depraved, but I am neither. I am more. You want to break my spirit? You think I still have one? You want to take my hope? Hope is for the living. Hope is for people who think their suffering might one day stop.

I stopped believing in that a long, long time ago.

So what will you do when you realize that I am not afraid? That the violence you wield is nothing but a child’s tantrum to me? That your brutality is just another storm, and I am the mountain it crashes against?

Will you scream? Will you rage? Will you call your Gathering to hold me down and cut me into pieces? Will you look into my hollow sockets and see that no matter what you take from me… I will still be here?

No, Hatchet. You are not my executioner. You are a sideshow.

You put on a good act, I’ll give you that. But you’re small.

You have ambition, but no vision. You think you can carve out an empire from the filth, but you’ll never be more than a rat king in the sewer.

And me? I am Conquest. I am what remains when everything else burns to the ground.”

Grimskull lowers his head in contemplation.

“You think I fear the Gathering? I’ve fought worse. You think I fear you? I’ve bled under the hands of men greater than you, and I’m still here. You think you can break me? You cannot break what is already dead.

A slow, joyless chuckle escapes him.

“And that’s the joke, isn’t it, Hatchet? You’re a killer who can’t kill me. A monster whose teeth will break against my bones. A man who wants to leave his mark, but all you’ll find is a void that swallows it whole.”

He rises, the cinder block crumbling beneath him.

“When it’s over, when your hands are shaking, when the Gathering stands in stunned silence because they’ve never seen their leader fail like this before… when the blood dries and the laughter dies, you will understand.

That I do not end.

You do.

Choose Life, Eat Chocolate

Mr. SunshineMr. Sunshine, Promo

The scene before us is a massacre.

Dark splatters from wall to wall. Not of blood, but chocolate.

Wrappers strewn about, ripped to shreds.

In the centre of the massacre lies a dog, whimpering.

Mister Sunshine kneels beside the dog.

“They say nothing can extinguish a light that shines from within.”

“That even when there’s nothing else to hold onto, the human spirit will cling to life.”

“When given a choice, who would ever choose death?”

“Our light must shine, Sunbeams, because life isn’t simply a game that is played until it’s over. There’s more to live for.”

He reaches forth, stroking the dog’s coat slowly. A smile forms on his face.

Rex, you greedy little mongrel you. You’ve gotten into all the Valentine’s Day chocolate for the Sunshine Club! Don’t you know that chocolate is deadly for dogs?”

Why? If you know that it’s going to kill you, would you eat it all anyway?”

“Why choose death, when there is so much to live for, Rexxy boy?”

“Choose life! Let your sun shine!

The Dog’s eyes begin to fade. Sunshine holds his head up.

“Some choices are final. Once you sit on that Ferryman’s boat, the journey is one way.”

The dog, blinks and looks up at Sunshine with disapproving eyes…

“That’s right, he’s a Valkyrie now. Who would willingly choose to be the Valkyrie of death? One who chooses, like death is a sick lottery.”

“Gravedigger does. He’d rather exist for an eternity serving death than truly live for a fleeting moment. An eternity of shackled power, where no matter what you achieve for death, you’re nobody in life.”

The Dog coughs, wheezing. Sunshine shushes him gently.

“You have a choice, Rexxy boy. Choose to live each moment as if it’s your last, then death has no power over you.”

“I’d rather go out in a blaze of sunshine. When I’ve smiled my last smile and sung my last ditty, I will know that I truly lived – not just existed.”

Sunshine picks up a heart-shaped block of chocolate from the floor and thrusts it into the Dog’s mouth.

“Choose to eat the chocolate, Rex. Enjoy your life, right up to the last moment. Go out with a smile on your face. Be your own master of death.”

“The consequences for a dog eating this much chocolate are simple…”

Rex closes his eyes again.

Sleep my friend…”

Sunshine looks up, smiling.

“Choices have consequences, Gravedigger, my Sunbeam.”

“You take what you think is yours to take. A wife, a boat… an eternity of servitude. It’s all empty. Nothing can come close to the feeling of truly living. The heart beating in your chest knowing that every moment may be your last.”

“You will never feel that, and it leaves you empty… Without a light to shine.”

He stands, the lifeless body of the dog at his feet. A tear rolls down his cheek.

“The sun will continue to shine in Arcadia as long as people choose to live life, and the Ferryman’s boat is rowed by an imposter who wants to merely exist forever.”

Blood and Canvas

Reverend Ezekiel GravesEzekiel Graves, Promo

{Reverend Ezekiel Graves sits before a blank canvas, a brush dipped in deep crimson resting between his fingers. He does not look at the camera immediately his gaze lingers on the untouched surface, as if weighing its worth before the first stroke.}

“Jasper Redgrave. An artist in the basest sense of the word. You see beauty in suffering. You call it creation. You dip your hands into the blood of the fallen, smear it across your so-called canvas, and claim it to be art. But tell me what is the difference between an artist and a butcher when all they know is the color red?”

{He lifts the brush, letting the red pigment drip onto the canvas, each drop staining the purity of the white surface. His tone remains steady, unwavering, but there’s something behind his eyes, something deeper, something colder.}

“You believe yourself a visionary. A creator. But creation is not destruction wrapped in aesthetics. A man who only knows how to tear down will never build anything of worth. You are no architect, no sculptor of fate you are a vulture, circling what is already decayed, feeding on what is already broken.”

{Graves places the brush down, his fingers tightening into a fist as he finally turns his head to face the camera, his voice carrying the weight of certainty.}

“I have walked through the fire, Redgrave. I have been swallowed by the earth, buried beneath its weight, only to rise again. My hands do not tremble. My faith does not waver. You think yourself a force of nature, but you have never stood before the storm of the Almighty.”

{A gust of wind rattles the old wooden shutters, but Graves does not flinch. He leans forward, his presence filling the room like an unshakable force.}

“This is not your gallery. This is not your stage. You are stepping into something beyond your understanding, where the price of arrogance is not admiration but ruin. There is no masterpiece waiting for you here, Jasper. Only judgment.”

{He picks up the canvas, now splattered with red, and tilts it toward the candlelight. The flickering glow makes the stains seem alive, shifting in the dimness. He stares at it, then lets it fall, the frame cracking as it hits the floor.}

“You call yourself an artist, brushing death onto the canvas with a careless hand. But when this is done, you will come to know a shade far darker a color not of mere blood, but of judgment, of wrath, of a reckoning ordained by the Almighty Himself.” 

{Graves exhales, slow and measured, before leaning back into the shadow. The candle flickers. The screen fades to black.}

Do The Job

GravediggerGravedigger, Promo

Two men wanted to get a boy to do a job for them. A simple job. The problem was that the job they wanted the boy to do was dangerous. It came with an unenviable risk that didn’t affect the men as much as it did the safety of the child they planned to send into harm’s way.

The boy didn’t wanna go. There was nothing they could pay him to make him change his mind. He knew that walking into danger like that was paramount to suicide and what do credits mean to the dead? If you ain’t alive, you can’t spend em.

The first man argued that he could get the boy to do what they wanted. All he’d need to do is be nice. “I’ll kill him with kindness” he said. So, he bought the starving boy food and drink. He gave him a place to stay and a kind shoulder to lean on. He drew the boy into a false sense of security and made him believe they were friends. The boy, in such a short time and starved of affection came to dote on the man.

But when the man asked him nicely to do the simple job, the boy refused.

The second man argued that he could get the boy to do what they wanted. All he’d need to do is make the boy more scared of him than he was of doing the job. So, he beat that boy to within an inch of his life until he was so afraid that he’d end it, that he thought doing the job was paramount to a chance of survival.

Scared out of his wits, the boy did the job.

I remember those days as if they were yesterday, Sunshine. I remember the warmth in my belly of the hot food and the knuckles of his fist hitting my face. I remember what it felt to be lured into a false sense of security with kindness. It felt safe. It felt like I could refuse to do what was asked of me because I had protection… love.

But when I was being beaten, that protection wasn’t there. When I was being beaten, I knew that if I didn’t agree to do the job, I’d get killed. I knew that my only chance of survival was to escape that beating and take my chances on doing what was asked of me.

Two very different methods resulted in two very different outcomes.

And I learned a life lesson that you’ve apparently yet to learn.

Nice guys finish last.

I’m not a nice guy, Mister Sunshine. I’m not a nice guy and I don’t finish last. You can’t kill me with kindness and we both know you’re not capable of the level of violence it’ll take to make sure my shoulders stay pinned to that canvas and I do the job.

That means that on Warzone, only one us gets his way and for the other, it’s the end of the road.

And you should never fear the end, Mister Sunshine.

The end is where we meet….

And I send you on your way.

Promise

HatchetHatchet, Promo

“You ever realize how fuckin’ fragile a promise actually is?”

“Shit’s made outta glass with how easy it is to break.”

“Lemme give you a lil insight.”

“I once had a bitch ass chemist named Nox offer me a lil deal, right? I go out of my way to beat the piss outta Destructo Bitch and his dead ass dad, and in return I get a nice, fat payout. Pretty easy shit.”

“Except, when I went to get my money? This mother fucker refused to pay. Nah, more than that, that fuck face poisoned me. Took that promise, broke it in his grubby little hands, and shoved it right back in my god damn face. By the time I got outta that fuckin’ office I was shit outta credits with a week long hangover.”

“But, shit, it’s a learnin’ experience.”

“Because now I know, don’t I? Words ain’t worth dick. Contracts ain’t worth the paper they’re printed on.”

“And your boy Hatchet? He ain’t takin’ shit at face value. Because promises can break, contracts can be torn.”

“All it took me was one bad deal to learn that.”

“It raises the question, though, Grim. If it it only took one broken promise for me to learn… Then why the fuck are you still so god damn stupid?”

“Now, I ain’t gonna say I’ve been watchin’ you, not with that fucked up face. But I heard, man. I heard about every last promise you clung onto, and I also heard about how every last one of those promises blew up in your face.”

“Vision was the first, right? Ya boy Vincent said you were his best friend, he promised to be by your side… And next thing you know he broke that shit in your face. Turned it to glass and shredded off your skin until you were left a changed man. He killed the man you were and you were just ganna refuse to learn?”

“Apokalypsis was next, right? Promised you to see the other side of that big door, promised to be by your side until the very end! Or until they decided they wanted to save themselves more than they wanted to be your friend. Shit, Nox was there to make sure they broke the promise in style, wasn’t he?”

“Even now, you stand by Muerte’s side all because he promised he was trying? You have his word he’ll do better?”

“You must be retarded.”

“Lemme lay it out for you, Skull Fuck. What sets us apart is what we took away. You’re so fuckin’ gullible that you’ll believe anything someone says to you even if every promise, every oath, ended with you sufferin’.”

“And I learned my lesson.”

“But since you didn’t, lemme give you some more promises for me to break.”

“I promise I won’t kick the shit outta you.”

“I promise I won’t curbstomp your teeth in.”

“And most of all? I promise, from the bottom of my fucked up lil heart…”

“You, and everyone you know, ain’t gonna get downed by the clown.”

A Whisper on a Scream Part II

TombstonePromo, Tombstone

I once met a man whose voice was but a whisper. He spoke delicately but impassioned. His voice was aged and wise, yet calmly quiet. When he spoke, I listened. I was brought to my knees. I was compelled not only to listen to every single word but truly hear them. They resonated inside my mind, bouncing off the walls like an echo chamber.

All this with a whisper.

All this with such damning quiet. Such calmness. Such restraint.

I once said that a whisper on a scream didn’t mean a thing. I claimed that a thousand whispers were lost in the audible violence of a guttural roar.

And then he whispered at me.

Then I heard it.

You’re loud, aren’t you Mighty? You’re brash and excitable. You’re full of fun and joy. When Mighty Mighty enters a room, there’s not a head that doesn’t turn. Your voice carries a boom, just like every footstep you take.

But that loud voice of yours hasn’t helped with Klaus Way or the Way & Company circus, has it? You’ve screamed at the top of your lungs, searching for a way to escape their clutches.

But your services they continue to retain.

Despite your protestations, despite your loud cries and wailing screams, you’ve been indentured into servitude and there’s nothing your mighty voice can do to change it.

You’ve asked to be released.

You’ve begged to be let go.

You’ve likely spoken until your mighty voice has gone hoarse, yet nothing has changed.

Do you still believe that the Mightiest of voices – that the loudest of them all, are the only ones that can be heard? Or do you think that sometimes men like you with a big bark, carry only a little bite?

Because let me tell you something Mighty.

When I heard that whisper and it compelled me to my knees, there was nothing I could do to stop it. He spoke and I listened.

And do you know who that voice belonged to?

The Grim Reaper.

One of the most powerful beings in all of Arcadia spoke to me with a whisper and it was like a thousand decibels of screams. It was then that I learned the very truth, Mighty.

A whisper on a scream may not mean a thing…

..Unless that whisper belongs to the voice of someone truly mighty.

And in our match this coming week on Warzone, only one of us is truly Mighty.

When my whisper meets your scream, the whole of Arcadia will learn just how much it means. Gravedigger will learn.. just… how much it means.

Because you can’t kill what’s Already Dead, Mighty.

And I will send you on your way.

One

Anton SavorAnton Savor, Promo

The scene opens in Elysium’s kitchen, where the gleam of a single knife catches the low candlelight. Anton Savor stands before a polished wooden counter, the blade resting before him. His fingers trail along its spine, the weight of memory settling in his voice.

“There was a time when I was an apprentice, Red. A time when I stood in a kitchen much like this one, beneath a chef whose discipline shaped everything I have become.

And in those years of training, I was given only one knife.”

Anton lifts the blade, turning it in his hand.

“At first, I resented it. I watched the others switch between tools. Paring knives, cleavers, fillet blades – eager to prove their worth through versatility. They believed that by handling everything, they would become great at something.

But the lesson was clear.

A man who learns a hundred tools masters none. But a man who masters one tool? He controls the world.”

His grip tightens. 

“I honed this blade for years. I learned its weight, its balance. Its limitations. I did not seek another. I did not change. I did not adapt.

I simply… mastered.

And that is where we differ, Red.”

Anton sets the knife down, his gaze narrowing.

“You have spent your life picking up different tools, wearing different hats, moving from role to role. Convinced that perhaps reinvention is the key to survival.

First, it was a scalpel. Precise, surgical, the weapon of an agent trained to strike in silence. Then, a dagger. Thrust in desperation as a fugitive, carving your way through the dark with no purpose beyond escape. And now? A brutish cleaver, swung with excess, absent of precision or control.

Yet, you’ve mastered none of them.

You are a man who has held many tools, Red. But none of them have ever truly belonged to you. You are not an assassin. You are not a strategist. You are not a ruler.

Still, you drift between lives, hoping that the next one will finally sustain you. That the next identity will be the one that makes it all make sense. But it never does, does it?”

Anton picks up the knife once more, effortless in his control.

“Because identity is not something you change like a tool in your hand. It is something you refine. Something you perfect.

But you have spent your years believing that movement is the same as inevitability. That the ability to change is the same as the ability to endure. But a blade that is never sharpened only dulls. A tool that is never mastered becomes useless.

And you, Red… are exactly that.

Dull. Unrefined. And utterly fucking useless.”

He tilts the blade, letting it catch the light one last time.

“At Warzone, I won’t need to adjust. I won’t need to adapt. Instead, I will do what I’ve always done.

I will carve away the unnecessary. I will correct what is lacking. And I will show you just what it means to wield something mastered, Red. 

Because while you have spent your life switching tools, changing identities…

I have only ever needed one.”

Dad

Destructo BoyDestructo Boy, Promo

“Wait”

[James waits for a moment, hearing the door creak underneath Felix’s weight before sighing deeply]

“Families do suck alright. You either get the crap end of the stick like you did or you get perfection…and even though it feels great in the moment, you soon realize that it’s a curse. 

My mom was the purest soul, the sweetest, kindest person you’d ever meet who not a single person had anything bad to say about her. And my father, the most selfless, giving bastard you’d ever meet. Two of the most angelic beings in a shitty world that they tried to make a better place at every moment.

And there I was, this normal kid expected to not only follow in their footsteps but be better then them.”

[James scowls, punching the nearby wall in frustration]

“I hated him you know. Not because of anything he did but because of the shadow he cast over me. I never got to be James, I had to be the second coming of Maxwell, and even when I thought he died, I still did everything I thought he wanted.

So when Doom put me in that pool for the first time and all the anger and rage came bubbling up to the surface, I thought I was free. Free to walk my own path and you want to know the first thing I did?

Try and show the world he wasn’t perfect by proving that even he could be corrupted. And all I did was prove my vengeance was miniscule compared to his. The tiny embers of the Black Heart were easily overwhelmed by the raging inferno that was Blaze.”

[James breathes deeply]

“And then I fixed him. We hunted down mom’s killer together, he went along with my plan, everything I started to do was because I wanted it, not because someone else did.

And then the shadow came back with a different face.”

[James lowers his head, visibly breathing deeply stopping himself from breaking down]

“I don’t want to be like this Felix, this anger, this rage, this pain. I hate every second of it but even the briefest thought of Nox makes it overwhelming.

Even at his worst I never wanted to end Stubbins. Even at his most rabid, I didn’t have it in me to end my dad, but every part of me wants to rip Nox limb from limb and end his miserable existence.

I’m not strong enough to resist killing him and I’m terrified about what that’s going to take away when I do.”

[James opens the door slightly, placing a tag team title through, the name plate reading The Burned Man.

“I loved him, I loved them both so much and they took them away. They ripped apart of my soul away and I can’t lose anything else.

This is the last thing I have left of him, don’t let them take this too. Help me protect it, help me show them enough is enough and they can’t take anything more from us.

You do that…

And maybe we can talk.”

Three Secret One Target

Mighty MightyMighty Mighty, Promo

“This month hasn’t been on a great run for myself, hasn’t it? Ever since I lost my match against Ajax on Red Snow, I’ve been working for Klause every day. It’s slowly taking it’s toll on me, and somehow, every passing day, Klause’s words are starting to take a great effect on me, and I can’t let that happen to me right now, but that has to wait. I have to deal with Nero first.”

“Secrets, such a funny thing, isn’t it? Everybody has them. We locked them away, thinking that no one will ever be able to find the key except the ones you entrusted them to, but someone likes you come along. Nero, I know that you thrive on getting other people’s secrets and weaponizing them. I believe that you are the leader of a rebellion. The puppet master that pulls strings in the shadow. I have to deal with one puppetmaster, and now I’m dealing with another one.”

“Nero, I know that you like to talk big game about exposing our secrets, and I will give credit where credit is due, as you sure got dirt about us. Just because you’ve got dirt on Ezekiel, Red, and myself, you are holding all the cards. But let me tell you something, since you’ve now made an enemy out of three people.”

“But I want to talk about Ezekiel for a minute. Mr. Preacher himself—I don’t know what his full secret is, but from what I know, he seems to preach about salvation on Sundays while cutting shaddy deals the rest of the week. Last week, I’ve seen the look in your eyes, and you’re scared that Nero will pull back the curtain and see that your confessional booth is full of skeletons. You may have to decide real quick if you’re a man of faith or just another snake in the grass because we have to deal with Nero as he is our common enemy, but I have to warn you: if you try to backstab me before we get rid of Nero, I’ll make sure that you’ll beg for mercy.”

“Then we have Red. Last week you were the better man, and I will admit that I couldn’t beat you, but I didn’t know that your club isn’t that squeaky clean as I thought it would. I wonder what favor you want me to do, and I feel that it has to do with the secret that Nero gotten from you. I guess that we will need to make sure that Nero didn’t reveal our secret. It also could be another way that I can show that I can be a help as well.”

“Now, Nero, you forgot that there are three people in this match. Three secrets that you hold that we don’t want to be open for the public to see. You may want us to comply with you, but you will need to comply with us if you think what’s good for you. See you.”

Uno

Jasper RedgraveJasper Redgrave, Promo

[The Gallery.]

[The OSW Champion sits at a small table under a bright light. In front of him he holds a hand of cards.]

[Opposing him across the table is a shadowy figure who is also holding a hand of cards.]

“When I was growing up, all the neighborhood kids would gather on the weekends to play this card game.”

[Redgrave leans back a bit, examining his cards as the figure across from him places a card on the table.]

“The objective is to play all of the cards in your hand before the others.”

“Along the way, there’s such cards that could change the whole course of the game.”

“There’s such a thing that will even cause the next player to have to draw two cards.”

“But there was always one of those special cards that attracted me most.”

[Redgrave places a card down.]

“The wild card.”

[A slight smirk chisels its way across The Artist’s stone face as he calls the color he wants next.]

“Blue.”

[The shadowy figure across from him lets out a grunt. They shift in their chair and eventually, they have to draw a new card from the deck.]

“You see, the wild card can be the most powerful card in the whole entire deck.”

“Or, it could be useless.”

“It really just depends on who’s playing it.”

[A dry chuckle is given as the two continue to play the game.]

“A few weeks ago, I gave Klaus Way the opportunity to be on the winning side of this Arcadian War that we find ourselves in.”

“Him and I, we’re not so different on the surface.”

“But, he’s a fool.”

“A wild card, he thinks.”

[Redgrave reaches off into the darkness, pulling back the OSW World Championship and placing it across his lap.]

“But I’m the one holding all the cards, Klaus.”

“At Thunderstrike, you may enter this war as a third party. You may try to distance yourself and your family of misfits from either side of this war.”

“You may call yourself the wild card..”

“But when it comes down to it, Mr. Way.. you’re still just a card in MY hand.”

“And as long as I hold this Championship, that will always remain true.”

[Redgrave shifts in his seat, slinging the title over his shoulder as he examines the cards in his hand.]

“I’m the one that decides which way the cards fall and at the end of the night..”

[Redgrave places one of his two cards down as he whispers across the table.]

Uno..”

[The Artist holds up one single card left as his opponent fumbles about his cards placing something he thinks will keep Jasper from winning.]

“One man will be left standing.”

“The Killer King..”

[Jasper rips his final card in half with a smile before throwing it down onto the pile of cards.]

[Another wild card.]

“Your beloved World Champion.”

[A glance at the title is given before he hastily stands from the table and takes an abrupt leave.]

[Fade.]