The Grove.
Igor Mortis sits, bound, in front of a large tree. Gemini appears beside him.
“In the heart of a desolate wasteland, there thrived a single, defiant tree,” she says, approaching the tree, “its roots grappling with the scorched earth for nourishment, its branches clawing at the empty sky for solace.”
“This tree was cursed to devour itself, its leaves turning to ash in its own flames, only to sprout anew from its own destruction. It was a grotesque cycle of self-consumption, an eternal battle for survival that yielded only perpetual suffering.”
She runs a sharp fingernail down the bark of the tree, letting it chip as she does so.
“Tombstone is no different from this tree,” Pestilence says as she circles Igor Mortis. “Each soul he ferries ignites a flame that consumes a fragment of his being. Of his humanity. That’s why he came to OSW, isn’t it?”
Gemini pauses.
“Grasping like those branches to an empty sky, your Ferryman wishes to remember the man he was. That Championship he holds, it’s not a symbol of triumph, it’s a fucking shackle. It tethers him to his humanity, instead of the task you’ve given him.”
She grins, reaching out to touch Igor.
“OSW has become the pyre on which his humanity is sacrificed, leaving behind nothing but ashes of the man he once was, the man he wishes to find within.”
Running her hand down Igor’s side, she lingers on a turned-out pocket.
“I gave him the lighter,” she whispers, “but will he ignite his flame anew?”
Standing to her full height, Gemini’s eyes turn black as she seems to revel in her power.
“I think not, Igor. For I have done that which his foes dared not. I do not strike at your Ferryman’s considerable strength, or his steel resolve. I strike at his mind, at the man you can’t seem to extinguish, Igor. You were his nourishing roots, but I’ve taken that from him, too.”
Insects crawl over her body, causing her to writhe at their touch.
“I will not rest until I have dismantled him piece by piece,” Gemini moans, “until the fire that burns within him is snuffed out by my rot.”
Her fingernails grasp Igor’s coat, pulling him towards her.
“I will not only strip Tombstone of the World Championship but also of his identity, his very soul. I will show him that his victories are but illusions, ephemeral flames in the vast darkness of oblivion. I will crush him, not as a champion, but as a man, leaving him broken and bereft of the will to rise again. The ring will be his pyre, and Pestilence the executioner, delivering the final blow that ends the cycle of his self-destruction.”
The insects crawl away, and Gemini is left to kneel beside Igor, spent.
“As the belt slips from his grasp,” she whispers, “so too does the last vestige of the man he once was, leaving behind only a hollowed-out, dead, tree.”
She smiles a black smile.
“And then, Igor Mortis, you will have your compliant Ferryman.”
Igor says nothing, his expression remains unchanged.
Cut.