Post by Seth Iser on Apr 26, 2020 14:43:06 GMT -5
There is an ominous look in this particular room. There is a slight illumination in this chilly room where the only thing in sight is what looks to be a stone throne with a barbed wire crown and a hard concrete floor. The sights are not fully light however as there is ominous darkness around in every corner surrounding it. And while this is going on the loud echo of footsteps start to get a little closer with passing second. And it isn’t just one set of footsteps, it’s two. Before we even get to see the two however, one of the voices booms in and it’s got that familiar low almost rasp to it.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had to step foot in this place…” the voice of Seth Iser cuts through the tension.
And soon that first figure steps in with his arms crossed and it is indeed the man who has been anointed The Deity of Destruction. The man still has that towering presence of being over six foot five as he steps into full view and he’s dressed in a simple manner, a black and red professional three piece suit that has quite the hitman vibe. And for a moment he puts his hand on the stone throne’s arm, not flinching in the slightest at the various cracks and imperfections that are there and there isn’t a change in facial expression. Just a cough he lets out, a side effect presumably of an illness that he’s had to deal with for a couple of weeks.
“It’s certainly been an old, unstable ride to say the very least…” he continues as he eyeballs the darker light around just waiting for the second set of footsteps to come in.
“Jesus H Christ, Seth! You know I’m not as young as I used to be!” the high pitched shrill of Moretti breaks through all the walls, “Christ, I know that I wanted to see what you were working on and flew in from Vegas but what the hell!?”
And with a couple of huffs, Vincent has caught up to his long time associate, using the cane to support himself as he’s labored on his left foot heavily and he even uses the other arm rest to try to brace himself, not paying attention to his surroundings as he heaves in oxygen for a moment. The moment he lifts his hand up, his palm skims across the barbed wire crown in the corner and he retracts his hand in a sudden, violent movement.
“OW! Motherfucking shit!” he howls, shaking his left hand in discomfort.
“That’s what you get for not paying attention…” the taller Iser deadpans toward his colleague before glancing around in this room further.
The silver fox, dressed equally professionally in his own three piece suit of the black and silver variety, continues to shake his left hand before eyeballing the end of his palm and letting out a high, elongated sigh.
“Oh look...the blood is going to stain parts of the suit…” he mutters darkly to himself, “Aw damn it...I just had this dry cleaned…”
After coming to grips with his suit and the fact that Seth’s more glancing around at the atmosphere rather than paying attention to his mumbling, Vincent gives up on the suit and uses the cane to brace himself to lumber over toward him. He’s a little off put by all of the darkness as a curled frown seems glued to his face.
“I don’t think staring into the abyss is my line of fun, you know…” he muses as the Russian accent is starting to bleed in more as he’s slightly calmer, “It kind of reminds me of certain regrets y’know.”
“Usual response…” Seth replies with a shake of the head, “Just when everyone else stares down into the darkest parts of themselves, they blink. Me? I prefer staring back to see what’s there…”
He pauses for a moment scowling through in the darkness and looking at Moretti who has buried his cut hand in his suit pocket while still balancing on that cane of his. He shivers ever so slightly with a slight teeth rattle before straightening himself out. Meanwhile, Iser’s just a statue staring out into the darkness a little further before a relaxed smirk creeps onto his face that’s as comforting as a group of sharks smelling blood.
“But I guess it’s time to see what’s in this darkness that I haven’t revisited in a while…one last reminder of who I've been.” Iser offers with a shrug before clapping.
As his clap echos deeper into the darkness the entire room then starts to illuminate and we then see the sick room that Moretti and Iser have found themselves in. The higher level of the room has various chains with rusted bars and a couple of dog collars on the left. It seems like that spot was more for future use. The center part behind the throne is a literal parade of spikes with skulls over the top of it with the stains of blood on the concrete still there and the discoloration of the wood obvious from it.
And then there’s the worst part of it all and it’s to the right. It’s a literal shrine of where people have hung and the people hanging are all various people of Seth Iser’s past. The first one that’s obvious is a life sized copy of Father Nathan, the preacher who Iser helped convert to a much more wicked manner after hanging the man. Next to him is a more recent rival in Owen Gonsalves and they ended up waging war after both left NEW for several years. There’s even a lifelike twitch in said hand of that particular life sized copy and Seth seems to have a particularly nasty smirk thinking about that particular one.
And then there’s one between both of those that’s of a familiar Texan that Seth has been at war with the last couple of months in Alan Envy.
“Holy shit…” Vincent blurts out, a little freaked out.
“It is beautiful isn’t it?” the Deity of Destruction asks in a rhetorical manner.
“Wha--?” Moretti squeaks out for a moment, “...I prefer a fine looking woman and a margarita myself but…”
It seems that Seth ignored Vincent’s reply as he just nods his head looking at the insanity that it seems like he has created. Yet for a brief moment it looks like the smile on his face, rather than carrying the air of intimidation and creepiness is genuine. It’d almost be peaceful if it wasn’t for the man who was actually smiling for a moment.
“It’d been a long time since I’ve been here and the three people hanging there are representative of something…” Seth continues, “A part of me, Vincent if you think about it a little deeper. The first one, the good father himself over there, is a wonderful representation of how human beings discard their morals when faced with stress and war. Or if it’s convenient for them to do so…”
There’s a dark chuckle that escapes from Iser’s lips as he states that.
“Quite how certain people haven’t learned that lesson yet while still declaring to have purity in a sport that is the real successor to the gladiators I’ll never know…” he shrugs.
“There ain’t nothing pure about any of that…” Vincent half laughs knowing where it is going.
“But you put a gun to someone’s head and the first thing that goes is our morals after all. We’d only care about survival. Not what it looks like. I’ll always remember that from breaking other people, sure but doing that to a priest is just...far more satisfying…” Seth offers up, a particular malice in his words.
Vincent takes half of a step back after that sentence and he opens his mouth looking to comment but refrains from doing so. But the joy from Iser’s face is gone as he eyeballs the second person hanging there.
“Then there’s Owen Gonsalves…” he continues with far more edge in his voice, “That damned little rat that wouldn’t be exterminated for several years…”
He even spits on the concrete floor after mouthing Owen’s name repeatedly.
“As much as I hate the man...as much as I enjoyed running him out of professional wrestling for good over a year ago...he did teach me one thing: the importance of change.” Seth continues, “For to be in stasis forever would leave you behind...forever trapped as the sands of time pour over head, unable to swim away. And that isn’t a fate any of us wanted to go. He went from hardcore wrestler to submission specialist…and breaking him was worth it.”
And then he turns to the last and freshest person that’s dangling over there.
“Then Alan...oh Alan Envy…” he muses while he puts his index finger over his eye briefly.
There’s more of a softness when he speaks that name as he rubs his index finger and thumb together and even Vincent hobbles over curious to see what Seth just did.
“It’s a tear, Vincent…” he informs calmly, earning him a confused look to which he just shakes his head at, “No, not from sorrow. It’s actual joy. It shows how I am indebted to him, really for bring me back here.”
“Of course you enjoyed passing out in that submission match…” Vincent cringes.
After Moretti states that there’s a soft chuckle that escapes from Iser’s lips that soon turns into a full blown laugh that’s malicious in tone but it’s a rare look of acceptance from the Deity.
“After I ran Owen out of wrestling, Vincent...I’ve been bored out of my mind with the sport. There’s a malise that had infected everything. People started saying the same vague threats over and over again without really wanting to stick to their guns and nobody had the presence or talent to back up or do something different, you know…” Iser muses with his arms crossed, “When you’re surrounded by all of that, it’s hard not to become content with what you have thinking you have nothing left to aspire toward. No real...goal. Nobody worth conquering because everyone is just aiming for you. It became a lonely existence, you know…”
And then Iser’s lips curl into a frown that’s disgusting in tone.
“Then Alan Envy reminded everyone what he could do...and the world tried to make his legacy greater than mine. And in our two matches...we’ve shown that we are equals as technicians.” Seth continues as he brushes the hair from his face, “Whether he wants to admit it or not he feels the same way. We both found someone who can take the other right to the edge of the fire...knowing that there’s a real honest to God danger that we could finish the other off entirely in more than one way. We might be different human beings but in that aspect...we are kindred spirits. Two different flames of monsters with too much ambition for our own good and the desire to fight equals or betters...and breaking them for our own benefit.”
And then there’s a sigh from Iser’s lips as he lets that out.
“It’s just a shame I have to thank him by ending him you know…” he concludes, “It’s the ultimate form of respect in our gladiator sport after all.”
“This is why I’m happy I retired when I did…” Vincent rubs his neck with his free hand forgetting that he was bleeding for a moment and then he cringes, “But I get that feeling I guess…”
“I need to repay him you know…” Iser continues, “It is his turn to have to pass out from this after all since he did it to me earlier. And with the end of Alan Envy I can finally feel myself starting to wake up fully from the malaise in who I am.”
“And that is…?” Vincent asks with a wide smile plastered on his face.
“I am Seth Iser. The Deity of Destruction. One of the best professional wrestlers in the world…” Seth answers, “...And one of the most diabolical human beings that has ever existed in the profession. I finally have an equal...now it’s time to eliminate that to prove my superiority over one Alan Envy…”
And with that Iser delivers one last clap as he starts to snicker and the lights start to go off everywhere around them. The laughter gets louder and echos further until everything goes black, the laughter becoming more ominous and foreboding before it concludes.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had to step foot in this place…” the voice of Seth Iser cuts through the tension.
And soon that first figure steps in with his arms crossed and it is indeed the man who has been anointed The Deity of Destruction. The man still has that towering presence of being over six foot five as he steps into full view and he’s dressed in a simple manner, a black and red professional three piece suit that has quite the hitman vibe. And for a moment he puts his hand on the stone throne’s arm, not flinching in the slightest at the various cracks and imperfections that are there and there isn’t a change in facial expression. Just a cough he lets out, a side effect presumably of an illness that he’s had to deal with for a couple of weeks.
“It’s certainly been an old, unstable ride to say the very least…” he continues as he eyeballs the darker light around just waiting for the second set of footsteps to come in.
“Jesus H Christ, Seth! You know I’m not as young as I used to be!” the high pitched shrill of Moretti breaks through all the walls, “Christ, I know that I wanted to see what you were working on and flew in from Vegas but what the hell!?”
And with a couple of huffs, Vincent has caught up to his long time associate, using the cane to support himself as he’s labored on his left foot heavily and he even uses the other arm rest to try to brace himself, not paying attention to his surroundings as he heaves in oxygen for a moment. The moment he lifts his hand up, his palm skims across the barbed wire crown in the corner and he retracts his hand in a sudden, violent movement.
“OW! Motherfucking shit!” he howls, shaking his left hand in discomfort.
“That’s what you get for not paying attention…” the taller Iser deadpans toward his colleague before glancing around in this room further.
The silver fox, dressed equally professionally in his own three piece suit of the black and silver variety, continues to shake his left hand before eyeballing the end of his palm and letting out a high, elongated sigh.
“Oh look...the blood is going to stain parts of the suit…” he mutters darkly to himself, “Aw damn it...I just had this dry cleaned…”
After coming to grips with his suit and the fact that Seth’s more glancing around at the atmosphere rather than paying attention to his mumbling, Vincent gives up on the suit and uses the cane to brace himself to lumber over toward him. He’s a little off put by all of the darkness as a curled frown seems glued to his face.
“I don’t think staring into the abyss is my line of fun, you know…” he muses as the Russian accent is starting to bleed in more as he’s slightly calmer, “It kind of reminds me of certain regrets y’know.”
“Usual response…” Seth replies with a shake of the head, “Just when everyone else stares down into the darkest parts of themselves, they blink. Me? I prefer staring back to see what’s there…”
He pauses for a moment scowling through in the darkness and looking at Moretti who has buried his cut hand in his suit pocket while still balancing on that cane of his. He shivers ever so slightly with a slight teeth rattle before straightening himself out. Meanwhile, Iser’s just a statue staring out into the darkness a little further before a relaxed smirk creeps onto his face that’s as comforting as a group of sharks smelling blood.
“But I guess it’s time to see what’s in this darkness that I haven’t revisited in a while…one last reminder of who I've been.” Iser offers with a shrug before clapping.
As his clap echos deeper into the darkness the entire room then starts to illuminate and we then see the sick room that Moretti and Iser have found themselves in. The higher level of the room has various chains with rusted bars and a couple of dog collars on the left. It seems like that spot was more for future use. The center part behind the throne is a literal parade of spikes with skulls over the top of it with the stains of blood on the concrete still there and the discoloration of the wood obvious from it.
And then there’s the worst part of it all and it’s to the right. It’s a literal shrine of where people have hung and the people hanging are all various people of Seth Iser’s past. The first one that’s obvious is a life sized copy of Father Nathan, the preacher who Iser helped convert to a much more wicked manner after hanging the man. Next to him is a more recent rival in Owen Gonsalves and they ended up waging war after both left NEW for several years. There’s even a lifelike twitch in said hand of that particular life sized copy and Seth seems to have a particularly nasty smirk thinking about that particular one.
And then there’s one between both of those that’s of a familiar Texan that Seth has been at war with the last couple of months in Alan Envy.
“Holy shit…” Vincent blurts out, a little freaked out.
“It is beautiful isn’t it?” the Deity of Destruction asks in a rhetorical manner.
“Wha--?” Moretti squeaks out for a moment, “...I prefer a fine looking woman and a margarita myself but…”
It seems that Seth ignored Vincent’s reply as he just nods his head looking at the insanity that it seems like he has created. Yet for a brief moment it looks like the smile on his face, rather than carrying the air of intimidation and creepiness is genuine. It’d almost be peaceful if it wasn’t for the man who was actually smiling for a moment.
“It’d been a long time since I’ve been here and the three people hanging there are representative of something…” Seth continues, “A part of me, Vincent if you think about it a little deeper. The first one, the good father himself over there, is a wonderful representation of how human beings discard their morals when faced with stress and war. Or if it’s convenient for them to do so…”
There’s a dark chuckle that escapes from Iser’s lips as he states that.
“Quite how certain people haven’t learned that lesson yet while still declaring to have purity in a sport that is the real successor to the gladiators I’ll never know…” he shrugs.
“There ain’t nothing pure about any of that…” Vincent half laughs knowing where it is going.
“But you put a gun to someone’s head and the first thing that goes is our morals after all. We’d only care about survival. Not what it looks like. I’ll always remember that from breaking other people, sure but doing that to a priest is just...far more satisfying…” Seth offers up, a particular malice in his words.
Vincent takes half of a step back after that sentence and he opens his mouth looking to comment but refrains from doing so. But the joy from Iser’s face is gone as he eyeballs the second person hanging there.
“Then there’s Owen Gonsalves…” he continues with far more edge in his voice, “That damned little rat that wouldn’t be exterminated for several years…”
He even spits on the concrete floor after mouthing Owen’s name repeatedly.
“As much as I hate the man...as much as I enjoyed running him out of professional wrestling for good over a year ago...he did teach me one thing: the importance of change.” Seth continues, “For to be in stasis forever would leave you behind...forever trapped as the sands of time pour over head, unable to swim away. And that isn’t a fate any of us wanted to go. He went from hardcore wrestler to submission specialist…and breaking him was worth it.”
And then he turns to the last and freshest person that’s dangling over there.
“Then Alan...oh Alan Envy…” he muses while he puts his index finger over his eye briefly.
There’s more of a softness when he speaks that name as he rubs his index finger and thumb together and even Vincent hobbles over curious to see what Seth just did.
“It’s a tear, Vincent…” he informs calmly, earning him a confused look to which he just shakes his head at, “No, not from sorrow. It’s actual joy. It shows how I am indebted to him, really for bring me back here.”
“Of course you enjoyed passing out in that submission match…” Vincent cringes.
After Moretti states that there’s a soft chuckle that escapes from Iser’s lips that soon turns into a full blown laugh that’s malicious in tone but it’s a rare look of acceptance from the Deity.
“After I ran Owen out of wrestling, Vincent...I’ve been bored out of my mind with the sport. There’s a malise that had infected everything. People started saying the same vague threats over and over again without really wanting to stick to their guns and nobody had the presence or talent to back up or do something different, you know…” Iser muses with his arms crossed, “When you’re surrounded by all of that, it’s hard not to become content with what you have thinking you have nothing left to aspire toward. No real...goal. Nobody worth conquering because everyone is just aiming for you. It became a lonely existence, you know…”
And then Iser’s lips curl into a frown that’s disgusting in tone.
“Then Alan Envy reminded everyone what he could do...and the world tried to make his legacy greater than mine. And in our two matches...we’ve shown that we are equals as technicians.” Seth continues as he brushes the hair from his face, “Whether he wants to admit it or not he feels the same way. We both found someone who can take the other right to the edge of the fire...knowing that there’s a real honest to God danger that we could finish the other off entirely in more than one way. We might be different human beings but in that aspect...we are kindred spirits. Two different flames of monsters with too much ambition for our own good and the desire to fight equals or betters...and breaking them for our own benefit.”
And then there’s a sigh from Iser’s lips as he lets that out.
“It’s just a shame I have to thank him by ending him you know…” he concludes, “It’s the ultimate form of respect in our gladiator sport after all.”
“This is why I’m happy I retired when I did…” Vincent rubs his neck with his free hand forgetting that he was bleeding for a moment and then he cringes, “But I get that feeling I guess…”
“I need to repay him you know…” Iser continues, “It is his turn to have to pass out from this after all since he did it to me earlier. And with the end of Alan Envy I can finally feel myself starting to wake up fully from the malaise in who I am.”
“And that is…?” Vincent asks with a wide smile plastered on his face.
“I am Seth Iser. The Deity of Destruction. One of the best professional wrestlers in the world…” Seth answers, “...And one of the most diabolical human beings that has ever existed in the profession. I finally have an equal...now it’s time to eliminate that to prove my superiority over one Alan Envy…”
And with that Iser delivers one last clap as he starts to snicker and the lights start to go off everywhere around them. The laughter gets louder and echos further until everything goes black, the laughter becoming more ominous and foreboding before it concludes.