Post by zaigon on Jun 26, 2020 1:11:31 GMT -5
The gates creak as Zaigon Carter pushes them open, still stumbling from his early morning intoxication. He’s now soaked, as the rain picked up during his stay in the graveyard. The taxi he arrived in left, leaving him all alone with his booze addled thoughts. So he begins walking.
And walking.
And walking.
And walking.
All alone
It feels like miles, but it’s closer to minutes before he comes upon a small stone building. It shows wear, but otherwise stands tall in the storm. Zaigon comes up to the wooden doors, reading the weathered text above.
SHINING LIGHT TABERNACLE
Partially fueled by desperation, more though by not wanting to be rained on anymore, Zaigon pushes open the creaking doors. He finds an empty sanctuary, pews devoid of their patrons. It’s noon on a weekday, there’s no reason for people to be there. Zaigon walks down the center aisle, plopping into one of the wooden benches.
The thud of his body against the back of the pew sounds, but only to him. There he sat, head leaned back and eyes closed.
Alone.
Inside his mind, all he hears over and over again was the laughs of the crowd the night before.
Taunting him.
Laughing at him.
Reveling in his pain.
Consuming his suffering with pleasure.
“Can I help you young man?”
The voice cuts through his mental despair, as Zaigon’s eyes open back up. Looking at him is a tall man, in his 50s. He’s wearing a black dress shirt and slacks, with a kind face that has clearly been through things.
“Probably not. I just came from visiting my father.”
“That sounds nice..”
“He’s dead.”
“Oh. So he must be interred up the street then.”
A nod from Zaigon this time, as words fail him some as he tries to shake off still his slight buzz and the mental torment swirling around his brain. The pause is enough for the man to sit down in the pew in front of Zaigon, but without taking his eyes off him.
“So why are you here then?”
“Taxi took off; my feet carried me here. Figured you true believers didn’t mind someone lodging in your joint while they nurse a hangover and a bruised ego. Isn’t that your whole gimmick, take in the wicked and all that?”
The man chuckles.
“Something like that. Though you don’t seem to be wicked by first impression, more just lost and hurt. Is that about right?”
“Yeah that’s about right Mr...what the hell’s your name anyway?”
“Kirk, Priest Jason Kirk. This is my monument to the Lord who has blessed me so. He put me here to corral the lost souls He’s yet to reach.”
“And I bet you think I’m one of them don’t ya?”
Priest Kirk takes a moment to adjust in his seat, leaning in a little closer to Zaigon who has straightened up a little but is still largely slumped in his seat.
“That depends, do you give your life over to the Lord and act in his service?”
“‘Fraid I don’t. I act in my own service, in my own life. I don’t really have much belief in the guidance of the Heavenly hand, and by much I mean any. My success and failures are largely my own...even if I've had a lot more failures lately.”
A chuckle from Kirk, which draws the ire of Zaigon. He sits up a little taller in the pew, putting his elbows on his knees and his eyes directly on the priest.
“You laughing at me? Clearly you don’t know who I am, or you wouldn’t do that.”
Another laugh from Kirk.
“I laugh because I’ve seen this before, and it never ceases to amuse me. So many people think of our Savior as a pilot, with his hands on the wheel at all times. That’s not it. Our Lord is a general, a master planner who puts himself in people. He gives them purpose, identity, and then they go turn that into what they may. No matter what they do, it’s all because of Him.”
“So you’re about to tell me I lost my livelihood, my career, and had 20,000 people calling me a loser last night in the name of God?”
“If that happened, then yes. But that’s a good thing. The book of James tells us ‘Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him.’”
The words rattle around in Zaigon’s head for a moment, as Kirk watches the wheel turn with the look of a man that’s done this a few times before. If you didn’t know better, you’d see a grin on the priest’s face.
“I’m not saying I’m here to believe you…”
“Of course.”
“...but if I understand that, it sounds like this is all part of the plan.”
“Now you get it. Whatever failures you had, they needed to happen. Without them, you wouldn’t be about to achieve your end game. He may have let you fall, but it’s in the name of letting you stand up tall.”
“Which is?”
This time Kirk gets up, looking down at Zaigon but with love not condescension.
“That I can’t tell you, because I don’t know. But if you give your life over to God, you’ll find out. After all, he can’t give you anything unless you’re willing to take it. You’re the most important person to your Savior, as long as you accept Him.”
Kirk places his hand on the shoulder of Zaigon, squeezing it gently before retreating down the aisle and through a door at the back of the sanctuary. Zaigon watches him disappear, before looking around with a blank stare.
Gone are the agonied cries of his tormentors from last night.
Gone is the image of that...woman...standing over him.
All replaced by a question that keeps getting louder and louder in his mind.
“Is he right?”
Zaigon glances down, seeing a well worn Bible on the back of the pew in front of him. It’s been handled a thousand times.
One thousand and one times, as Zaigon picks it up flipping through. Scanning the pages.
Looking.
Searching.
Wishing.
He stops on a page that catches his eye. Shaking his head to try and unblur his vision, he lifts the book closer to his face. Soon the letters become more clear, the text becoming readable. In almost a whisper, Zaigon begins reading out loud.
“Psalm 144…”
====
Do you all understand now?
Week after week I’ve done my best to explain myself: Who I am, what I want, and to what lengths I will go to achieve those things. For weeks I decimated my fellow man, my so-called “equals, in service of this mission.
Then this past week, you saw just how far I will go to get what I need.
What I deserve.
The scars Jason Ryan’s belt left on me will never fade, even if the physical ones disappear as the flesh heals. His mark is forever, his idea of brutality imprinted on my body and soul for eternity.
Thank you Jason.
Not just for being so foolish that you were willing to trade temporary success for what will be future failure, but for giving me a thing that I didn’t need but will gladly take at the hand of my future victim.
Motivation.
Every blow from you to me didn’t just draw blood, but it drew the plan for your destruction. Before it was just about that big title around your waist, but now it’s about even more.
It’s about your pain, your suffering, and your defeat.
All because you got cocky.
All because you thought you could scare me, then break me with your little sacrificial ceremony.
No Jason, you can’t stop me because there’s nothing that stops a man blessed with purpose from a higher power than even himself.
Six years ago I was a stupid kid who thought being rich, handsome, and a great athlete was enough to get the job done.
Until it wasn’t.
Until that mentality struck like a cobra, poisoning my entire life. Before my shining star ascended it exploded, leaving nothing but ruin and destruction behind me and no light ahead.
Until the next day, when my great suffering became not my end but my brand new beginning. The words of my revival were written millenniums ago, waiting for me to wrap myself in them:
“Praise be the Lord my Rock
Who trains my hands for war
My fingers for battle”
You said last week Jason that we’re a lot alike you and I, and you were almost right. We USED to be a lot alike, but with one critical difference. You fight for yourself, your own glory, your own benefit. It’s all about Jason Ryan, nobody else.
There’s the difference Jason. I’m not just fighting for me.
I’m fighting for everyone.
My fists are wrapped in righteous fury, my plans blessed for success regardless of the garbage placed in front of me. I’m on a crusade, ridding this place of darkness before replacing it with my image through Him.
That includes you Jason. Your selfishness and arrogance are bad things that must be purged in order to progress.
Which makes your match selection a blessing.
It allows me to use these heavenly gifts in any way necessary. There are no restrictions, no limits on what form my fury will take. Most of all though, it assures one thing.
I will not ascend the throne on my own.
You will put me there.
You will make me king.
All because your hubris and your arrogance led you down the primrose path. You will submit to me in every way, ceding your place to your better.
Which is fitting, because you didn’t deserve that place anyway. Ruling doesn’t fit you, because you only see an audience of one. I’m doing this for everyone, whether they like it or not. Whether they agree or not, I know what is best.
I am the all knowing, the almighty, and in Tokyo I will cement that at your expense.
Unless…
========
It’s backstage at Metal, and the show has just gone off the air. Walking into the locker room is Zaigon Carter and Prosperity, who are met with a loud cheer led by America Jackson, Riley Denton, and the rest of the Troops. Wincing, Mr. Carter sits down as America gets down next to him.
“You did it Zaigon, even with a back that looks like my backside after Pa caught me out after curfew you won.”
Mr. Carter nods, but something is off. He looks unhappy. America picks up on this, changing his tone.
“What’s wrong, you got what you wanted. You’re going to become the champion. We both are!”
In response, Mr. Carter gets up and throws his chair against the wall. The leg puts a hole upon impact, and a lot of the Troops are startled at the sudden action.
“That fucking bitch Irina took away what I bargained for, what I deserved. By inserting that...whatever the fuck he is into MY match. Into MY moment.”
Everyone is now uneasy, especially Riley who is conveniently behind two of the biggest members of the Troops. America, who had taken a few steps back, approaches his partner again.
“It don’t matter Zaigon. You and I, we’re blessed. We got someone on our six always, and that means we’re always gonna come out ahead. Ain’t no human can change what God makes so.”
His breathing slowing some, Mr. Carter looks at his young protege and gives a slight nod. He sits back down, this time on a different chair.
“You’re right America. There is a plan, there is a destiny. No matter what that dumb broad does, she can’t stop what’s happening. She can’t stop God.”
=========
This wasn’t supposed to involve you Masuda Jubei.
I struck my deal, I held up my end. Only to be betrayed by a Judas, someone who decided it wasn’t enough that her world champion was going down.
She decided to sacrifice another.
You don’t deserve to be here Jubei.
Not just because your distinction as first world champion in APW means nothing, even though it does.
But you’ve been placed into a hardcore submission match AFTER HAVING BEEN SUBMITTED ON METAL.
Maybe you should be a good sport, save yourself, and let Sarah Lacklan come lose in your place.
You won’t though, because that’s not your story. That’s not how you operate.
After all, it's perfect in your mind. The Master always wants power, wants the chance to be on top. That’s the way to power and control. It worked once before after all, it’s even worked outside APW.
This time you didn’t even have to work for it. You were just handed that opportunity, given it without any payment.
I paid in blood, scars, and victory. I have no respect for your entry, no respect for you, and no fucks to give about your past because after Sunday it won’t matter.
Which makes your entry, while undeserving and annoying, perfect.
In the same match I can purify the company of two things that must be eradicated.
In Jason Ryan, I can rid them of an arrogant snake who leads others to temptation for his own protection and glory. A selfish egotist who only wants that title not for the betterment of anyone but himself.
I can also wipe out a pillar of its history, an old man whose claim to fame is he beat people who weren’t fit to reside in my new Eden. Who wouldn’t be fit to wash my feet, or even look at someone like me.
You both represent a duality of obscurity, the end of an era that must be. A time that represents what was, as I become what is.
It’s not personal though. It just has to be this way.
For my ascension to be in full there can be only one leader. Only one person atop the mountain, and the only thing keeping me from that moment is time.
After Sunday, my testimony becomes my rightful glory. The crown will be bestowed, and my reign atop all will begin.
Nothing can stand in my way, nothing WILL stand in my way.
The redemption begins in Tokyo.
All praise be to Zaigon Carter.
The man who will deliver you from evil, and into paradise.
All hail.
=========
The sun is shining in Chicago, just days before Bulletproof. It’s a warm but not oppressive summer day in the Second City, as people are enjoying the late June experience. Plenty of boats dot the Chicago River towards the Navy Pier, as families and friends alike enjoy the outdoors.
There’s nobody in the small graveyard outside of the main drags of town. It’s been recently maintenanced, but nobody is using the day to visit those who have gone before them.
Well, except one person.
Standing before a familiar five foot tall obelisk is Zaigon Carter. This time clad in an expensive suit, eyes clear but hidden behind designer sunglasses. Looking the giant piece of stone up and down, not with impairment but with determination.
Mr. Carter watches the wind blow over, moving the grass blades and shuffling leaves around his feet, before breaking the silence.
“Hello Father.”
========
