View this post here for the original format: https://creaturewrestling.com/megaverse/viewtopic.php?p=3252#p3252
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Charon of Death was out and about New York City to pin-point any leads to Hell Cat and whatever she was conjuring.... meanwhile, The Darkspade was left at the manor- specifically in the server room.
Once there, Darkspade focused on his next moves, especially considering his upcoming opponents: Fear and Loathing. So far, with one win against The Punchies, heads were turning. The current tag team champions were Breedlove and X. The road to challenge them will be tough, but Darkspade's sinister smile briefly appeared as he envisioned going toe-to-toe with Breedlove- a wrestler he deeply wanted to face- and to draw blood.
The Darkspade recalled his epic adventures running as one-half CWE Tag Team Champion with the purple fruit loop- and demon lord- Dalkiel.... The adrenaline coursing through his veins was an all-time high as he thought about the carnage that they executed together.
With his daughter, the thought of what they could do together as The Death Family sparked intense excitement in him. Charon, by contrast, is a competitor with an impressive background in her own right- especially holding the Absolute Undisputed Championship- but Darkspade knew that Charon's mission right now is more focused on weeding out whoever got their mitts on the Silver Mirror and caused Darkspade's ability to control The Unholy Darkness.
After viewing current promotions of wrestlers on the computer monitor he was seated in-front of- one flashed in his face- holding the title that was destined for him once. The Unholy One rose from a seat he was at- with a monitor phasing in and out with grey static- whipping his long ceremonial cape in the process- then- other thoughts brought back that sinister smile- namely Ricky Tenet.
Thinking a lot he confessed:
The Darkspade: "Ricky. You have been groomed to become quite formidable. Dark forces circled you- like bees to honey- because they could feel the power within- or rather- the chaos. My reign was cut short because the forces of good joined during a time that my own corruption blinded me- paralyzed me.... made me do the one thing I would never admit- submit. However. My boy. I may be controlled- but if for a reason you can hear me- feel me- experience me- you're still a specimen worth probing- but for the sake of my daughter.... I won't invade your mind. At least..... for now."
Again. The Unholy One circled the once ball-room- but now littered with servers.... he came across THE destroyed prop from the past.... the mirror that Napalm destroyed.... its crumbling glass still falling from their seismic encounter... And then- yes- the flashback of Vito Valentino- getting away like the hyena that he was- The Darkspade's gripped his right hand so tightly that more blood flowed. Sweet. Sweet blood.
Indeed.
The Darkspade: "They lost time. ALL of them. They just don't realize what I know... that time is merely a construct of lies...."
The Unholy One plucked a jagged shard of broken glass from the floor and studied it in silence. A slow, unsettling smile crept across his face. Without hesitation, he pressed the shard into the tip of his right index finger, drawing a thin stream of blood. He lifted the crimson drop to his lips and drank it.
Then, with eerie precision, he raised the bloodstained shard toward his right eye...
Unbeknownst to him, one of the security cameras silently whirred to life, its lens rotating before locking into an extreme close-up. The monitor captured every chilling detail as the razor's edge touched the very surface of his eye. A microscopic incision formed, and within moments crimson veins flared outward beneath the sclera, spreading like cracks through glass as the wound awakened something unnatural.
The Darkspade suddenly let the shard slip from his fingers, the glass clattering against the floor. He could have sworn he heard Charon's voice.
"...Charon?"
Silence.
Only a lone cat sat motionless upon the windowsill, its unblinking eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the glass... staring at something outside.
Or perhaps... at something staring back.