Post by Kimitsu Zombie on Sept 3, 2018 5:19:32 GMT -5
Zombie Risng Part 2: The Yanaka Five Storied Pagoda Double Suicide Arson
The youngest Zombie girl came out of the mausoleum covered in ash. She was beaming behind her corpse makeup as she came up to Kimitsu. Fukushima idled by like an Igor to Kimitsu’s Frankenstein. Kimitsu puts a shovel in Fukushima’s hand and starts walking away. Kimitsu looks at Fukushima, and lets out a big puff of smoke from her cigarette. She hands it over to her little sister in combat. Fukushima shakes her head, but Kimitsu keeps her arm out. Fukushima takes a short pull from the cigarette, and coughs. Kimitsu laughs at her, and takes it back.
“Did you get what you were looking for?”
Fukushima holds up her bone with pride. Kimitsu gave her a bemused smile. She brings up her own shovel to her shoulder, and leads Fukushima down a dark path lit only by the faint light of the camera.
“As you all must know, everything I do has its purpose. My purpose in Union Battleground has been to show every single one of the other competitors what I’m about. This is the place where I come to let off steam. This company has become a sort of playground for me. I come her and bust some skulls, and win. After season one I have taken on all challengers out. The accolades I got from it have been secondary until I worked my way up to Emery Layton. I was the workhorse without even trying. None of the people I faced to get my War Horse Championship are still here anyway so fuck those guys. I outlast people and I made it look easy. Then I redeemed myself and undid any failure I had in season one by kicking Emery Layton and Rogan MacLean’s asses to get my Trench War Championship. And I did it without any of Salvation’s bullshit. Nobody would dare and try any of that shit with me. I’m just a straight up warrior. Fuck what happens in the other places that I wrestle in. Here in Union Battleground I am the most consistent fighter. I am the one to beat…”
She scowls at the camera and grips her shovel tight.
“And beat me they did. Finn Whelan took away my title. I had plans for that. To further embarrass Layton, I wanted more defenses than her. I brought in some eyes to this roster by defeating the renowned Annie Zellor, and I trimmed some of Salvation’s back fat by taking out Alexander Devin. Then I lost it all to another wall in my career. I just have not been able to decipher Finn Whelan. When he took my title this became more than just my playground. Defeating Emery Layton was a given. That was a wound I bandaged over. Whelan was that key to make me doubt myself here for once. Then it became a real fucking bloody battleground. This is the one that I am looking forward to. I get aches all over my body when I think about this match; I want it so much… But there has been a problem that has come up lately.”
Kimitsu points at a clearing in the cemetery. There is an enclosed square area where there are nothing more then five long stones placed into the ground. Kimitsu moves over these stones where there is a small section of the ground prepared for a burial. She stands next to the shallow grave, and motions for Fukushima to begin digging right next to it. Kimitsu stabs her shovel into the dirt to break ground. Fukushima runs up, and starts her work.
“This is the Yanaka Cemetery. Some of the most famous Japanese cultural landmarks are here. We got the ashes of artists, poets, novelists, and leaders. Hell I could have done this over by that enclosed area where the last emperor of the Edo period is buried, but Finn is no fucking emperor. Not anymore. So I come here.”
She waves her shovel over the area and looks up.
“There was a huge structure on this site. It was a Buddhist temple that stood five stories tall. It was fucking magnificent. Nobody can see it now because it was burned down to the ground by an act of stupid love. Back in 1957 a man and his mistress ruined this place and then killed themselves. They selfishly took down this sacred place in order to protest the fact that they couldn’t be together for real. This is where I’m coming to talk about Finn Whelan. That over there?”
Kimitsu walks over to the first prepared grave next to the one that Fukushima is enthusiastically preparing.
“This is the one where I want Finn to bury all his distractions and doubts. See, lately I find that Finn hasn’t been half the champion that he is supposed to be. When he beat me for that Trench War Championship, he comforted himself by highlighting all the failures I had elsewhere. He got into that mindset of dominance by supposedly exposing me for fucking up everything else I had ever done, even though he ignored the whole story. That’s fine. That limited thinking allowed the Bloody Whelan that dominated So-Cal to defeat me. That allowed the Whelan that won the Ignition Championship to defeat me, but now it seems that time has caught up with him instead. Time and circumstance have whittled that Whelan down to the ghost of what he once was. I mean, for fucks sake, he couldn’t even deign to give us an appearance to promote his match with Izumi. He drags my title down along the ground with him as he goes further down to Hell. I’m here to help him along.”
Kimitsu suddenly kicks out, and the cameraman falls into the grave. She stands at the top as dirt falls over him. A chuckling Fukushima comes up next to her, and starts filling the hole.
“How the fuck is that wife of yours? It looks to me like that shock has finally hit you, Finn. Has the grief finally set in too? Are you tired of ignoring that shit, you asshole? You’ve been awfully lazy since you beat me, and honestly, you’ve been wrestling like a piece of shit. Have you been looking into the questioning faces of your twins when you don’t know what to tell them? Have the condolences from your coworkers finally gotten to you as they consider you with a look of pity? Maybe it’s time to pull that plug and put your stupid fucking wife into the ground where she belongs. End this sad fucking state of affairs that your career has amounted to so far. Then you can give me the challenge I need.”
Kimitsu reaches down, and rips the camera from the scared man’s hands. She puts it in front of her with the unfinished grave behind her. Fukushima looks at her.
“Well go on.”
The man yelps as Fukushima piles more dirt onto him. Kimitsu gives the camera her full attention.
“This grave is for you. After you get done with that bullshit that is assuredly occupying your mind, I want you to come at me correct. My win here is not going to mean shit if it isn’t against the same man took that title from me. I want that Whelan that was done with settling for scraps. I want the man that took down whole companies with his dominance like I ruled here. That is the only man that keeps me up at night. That is the thing that I want to kill. This is going to be the fourth time that we face each other in the ring. When I kick your ass, I don’t want any tears over your failures and your losses. Put that stupid wife of yours out of your mind. Bring your gangly emo ass to the ring and fight me like I know you can. I am doing this so that you can hate me just as much as I hate you. So that when I defeat you it will mean something. This is Coup de Grace. This is the end of a season of destruction on the Battleground that I alone have orchestrated. You have only halted it for a small moment. I will storm over that wall that you set up in front of me since the Quag Cup, and I’m going to kill what is left of you. Then I’m going to put you next to your wife. It can be in the hospital or it’ll hopefully be in a nice plot of land so that you can go out like a man.”
Kimitsu pulls Fukushima back to stand next to her. Fukushima laughs with delight.
“I’m not going to be embarrassed in front of the girl, Whelan. I won’t allow you to do it any fucking way. I’m going to run right over you, sad or not. I will put down what’s left of your ‘ultraviolent’ self so that the Zombies can rise.”
It would be so ignorant if Finn decided to do something that he’d done before. No one wants to be stagnant. No one wants to say the same things over and over again. No one wants to be a repeat of themselves, regardless if they find themselves in front of the same person again, fighting for the exact same thing they went to war over first. You could sit there and say that a certain formula hit the bar every time, that the equation you built would fill the void and the people above would see that, yes this is the motherfucker we want representing us. One of our champions.
But that would be stagnant.
Finnegan stands with his back to the camera, his eyes focused on a large corkboard that takes up the entire wall. Numbers labeled from one to seventy lay on the board, beneath them various images of different people -- some recognizable, like Union Battleground’s Elena DeDraca and Kimitsu Zombie, Emery Layton, and some unknown to this crowd, lost in the breeze and falling off to some unknown society never to be seen again. Some images have a picture of a championship belt attached to them. In fact, there are ten of the seventy that have a belt on them.
“Have you ever lost everything, Kimitsu?”
The lilt in Finnegan’s voice is deeper than it had been before, and his voice is rough. He doesn’t sound the same as he normally does. Confident. Sure. In fact, all the sound of his voice seems to indicate is an emotionless tone.
“Talk to me again about how you’re trying to bring yourself up from the gutter, where people would never give you the time of day. Tell me again how you hate to lose, that you let it defeat you from the inside until you get the opportunity to let it out. Rage. Anger. You let it control you. You let it consume you. But what have you truly ever lost, Kimitsu? A belt? Respect? You still go back home and fuck Tommy, right? You still go home and get to deal with the people you love, the people that will support you through thick and thin.”
He turns his head, looking over his shoulder at the camera. His stance isn’t defeated, as perhaps someone with the most recent loss he’d held on his shoulders. If anything, he seems stiffer than normal, less relaxed, less closed in upon himself. Rigid.
Angry.
“Tell me what it feels like when you lose everything that fucking mattered to you in the first place. Tell me what it feels like when you lose the one person who had held their faith in you for so long.”
He turns further, a lackadaisical move as he turns to face the frame head on.
“Tell me what it feels like to stand alone in the back of the arena without one goddamn form of support for you. To have a target on your back. To have a belt wrapped around your waist that isn’t the thing you most desire, but the one you have to settle for.”
In his hand, he holds the Trench War Championship. He lowers his hand as he lifts the belt upwards by the buckle, looking at it intently, the silver of the belt setting a small reflective light upon his eyes as the light from above shines down upon it.
“I’m not fucking Salvation, whose intent to strike in fear is met with the ‘lolz’ from the general public. I can’t deny their reign. I’m not Dick Devereaux, who claims to love deathmatches but somehow seems to find himself in contention for a title he doesn’t fucking deserve. I’m not Emery Layton, who relies on the silliest bullshit to make her a charismatic fuckin’ champion.”
His fingers tighten about the buckle as he speaks, and for an instant, his nose twitches in irritation.
“I’m not a fuckin’ Japanese girl who seems to forget that up until now, she was jack fucking shit and useless to the wrestling world.”
Finn snorts then, shaking his head and looks upwards at the ceiling as he laughs.
“In reality, Kimitsu, I know where I’ve been. I know where I’ve fucked up. I know what I’ve done, and I know where I need to go from here. I haven’t been hard enough. I haven’t been strong enough. I haven’t been the same individual that I was when I came into Union, when I walked into Four Corners. I let my personal life get in front of the one that I should have been focused on. It’s true: I don’t give a fuck about losses, and I grow from them. I build from there and go up. This isn’t enough. This title that you crave, that you desire, that you told me I wouldn’t gain, that no one would be able to stop you with?”
He looks down at the championship one more time, before quite forcefully chucking out of the frame with a careless toss of his hand.
“This isn’t what I want. This isn’t the end. This is your end. This is your place. Bring up the QuagCup, bring up everything that we’ve done in the past three months, Kimitsu, but note in the grand scheme of the bullshit you corral in your head that you will never be anything more than this. You’ve hit your plateau. Watch as your boyfriend excels higher than you’ll ever go. Watch as everyone else flies high above your head, Kimi. And watch as I stand over you once more. One more fucking time. Coup de Grace isn’t the night where you’ll survive and become a two time Trench War Champion. It’s the night where I fucking bury you in the hole that you belong in. Six feet under.”
He lowers his head for a moment, a smirk still on his face from his laughter, before he lifts his eyes upwards to stare directly into the lens.
“I walked into Union with the intent of holding true to this version of an anti-hero. The dude with a chip on his shoulder, but good intentions riddled through everything I did. The one that you could rely on. The Underdog, the one that everyone wanted to stand by. And what happened when I failed? What happened when I needed people?”
He lifts his arms, looking around ostentatiously for someone to appear.
“That’s right. They’re not there. I stand alone, like I have and will always do. This is my championship, Kimi, but it’s not where it ends. Yet I will be damned if I let you take that from me. Coup de Grace ends the night with you on the fucking floor again because just like last time, my give-a-shitter is off. I don’t give a flying fuck about you, Kimi. I know where I stand. I know what I can do. And that is already thirty fucking levels above you, no matter what shit you try to paint on the walls.”
“I said it last time, Kimi: I’ll take it all by force if I have to. I meant it. I’ll win tonight. I will finish this season as the Trench War Champion while you find yourself with nothing left to show for yourself. I grew complacent. I refuse to let anyone, least of all you try to tear me down because you think you’ve found the holes in my armor. Tough luck, Zombie: there are no holes. There’s no chance of you surviving this one. Just like last time. I don’t give a fuck about my past. It’s all about the future. What I’m meant to be.”
Finn reaches into his pocket and pulls from it a lighter. He turns back to the wall with the matches, the images, the timeline of his tenure of a wrestler. Taking a couple of steps towards it, he leans down, and he flicks the lighter until it glows with a bright flame.
Clearly, some type of accelerant has been placed upon the board, as it goes up in flames quicker than a few seconds. As it burns, Finn looks up at the board, before reaching down and lifting the Trench War Championship onto his shoulder.
“2019 will be the rise of a new Battleground Champion. But in New York, Kimi? It’s the reign of the Trench War Champion that the Battleground needs right now -- someone relentless in their pursuit for greatness…”
He cocks his head to the side derisively and then shrugs his shoulders.
