The Nightmare Road (series)

[gryphon]

Traveling...we did more of that than even the Rus, or the Romany...part of being what we were. Wrestlers, but more than that. I risked a slight glance to the right at him, my mentor and teacher. He still drives like a Demon, but even a Demon needs a moment to stretch his legs and I think that he relishes these moments. Away from humanity, a part of it but never...what's that word he said...amalgamated into the mass of it. I took advantage of the rest area's generous women's room to wash my face and arms, toweling off with the thin rust, black, and gold flannel I'd had on loosely over my tank top, tying the arms around my waist so it could dry as we 'rested'.

With us, the silence is not uncomfortable, but even though I despise many of my gender for their foibles there is one that I share. The need to fill space with sound. But at least I ask the good questions, or so he says. I wonder if he is just indulging me, but then I see that answering fire in his eyes...I think he likes the challenge.

"Why are we waiting?"

'Amalgamated', but never quite absorbed. I tried to explain the concept to Sabra. She seemed to understand it, but appearances are always deceiving. I couldn't be sure she understood, but for good or bad she stuck beside me. She was my support network, I guess. They say everyone needs a support network, but spending years on your own, on this road was enough to alienate anyone. Donne says that no man is an island, but Donne didn't have a life as -ACW Forced Censored- up as mine. -ACW forced Censored- you, Donne. You were an optimist--I'm a misanthrope. Kiss my ass. I could feel her looking. I could feel the eyes, the concern. I kept a lot hidden from her, but no student should ever know all that the Master does. I teach you everything that you know, but not everything that I know. Sabra was patient, but she was too trusting. She didn't know exactly who she was dealing with. At a moment's notice, I could decide that she was no longer a worthwhile investment. I could decide that she was too much baggage. At the next rest stop, I could cast off this dead weight. I could be free from her, but then again, misery loves company. He heard what she said, but it took a long while before he responded. Black leather creaked, the worn in, aged leather jacket groaning under the sudden movement as he turned away from the sunset he'd been watching, studying, as if to glean some unknown secret or plumb some undiscovered truth. It was a long while, and even as he turned, it was slight. A faint acknowledgment of her and understanding of what she'd said. Wraparound sunglasses reflected the glaring, red-orange glow from the sun off of the right lens, his left shoulder turning toward her.

"Why?" After a moment, he shook his head. "Why not?" A question with a question. Was this a pop quiz, or simple conversation? Could she even be sure?

With him, it was always likely a pop quiz...he was a demanding teacher, a perfectionist to a degree that some who didn't understand why such perfection was needed might even say was torturous to himself and her. But it was that steel and darkness inside that had drawn me in the first place...someone who could understand the darkness of Vladivostok without ever having set foot there.

"Because the face of the company changed, while you were gone. There are new men there, and the old ones...including him you despise most...are gone now. But I note...that remnants of him, of them remain."

A pause. Did I dare mention to him that I had seen his expression when we watched that news report? I was Sabra. I dared much because with no daring there is no triumph.

"Who was she?"

I kept my tone light, curious despite the heavy accent I would bear to my very grave. No one would ever mistake me for anything but Russian...but my English was flawless.

"A good friend." He had answered her quietly, and his voice, rather than rough, raspy baritone that would have carried that distance, it might have registered to the Russian as barely a whisper. I could feel myself slipping. I wasn't sure if it was what I wanted Sabra to see. I knew she'd been looking when I watched the interview, when I saw the news report. I'm sure she saw it--she was observant enough. The tick; the twitch in my eye. The grimace. The tightening of my knuckles. It might be hard for her to understand and grasp the concept. Maybe not. I turned to her, and closed the gap between us. She and I were nearly at eye level. It wasn't something I was used to--not with a woman, anyway. "I'm the last of the old guard." He nodded slowly, gently. Acknowledging her statement, he looked past her for a moment, his head turned slightly, marginally to his right. Thinking, almost, though she couldn't see his eyes to be sure. She could most definitely feel his gaze. It was as if he was measuring her up for something. Weighing options maybe. His lips twisted slightly as he began to think, the gears in his mind turning slowly. Eyebrows narrowing faintly, and then? Then he relaxed, and returned to that neutral expression. "So it's even more important that we go. That we impart lessons of respect on these new faces. More importantly, that they come to know fear, just like the people who came before. That company used to be afraid of the dark, Sabra, because of me. Even now, they won't use my name--out of fear, perhaps, that I'll hear and they'll attract my attention again."

My heart sped up, that simple spike of adrenaline that happened as he stepped in close. My body reacted to him on an instinctive level, instantly fight or flight from the intensity of how we trained. He and I, Gryphon and Sabra in the ring for the eternal Danse Macabre of violence, the god he was Messiah for though I doubt even he would put voice to that depth of blasphemy...but then again, he dared everything and anything.

But his voice...it was rare that it was not that raspy and rough baritone so well known in the dreams and nightmares of those he'd faced. Something twisted, in me at the hint of oddness that this man before me, my Mentor and teacher that I knew so well...accepted the man as I accepted his philosophy and teachings...but that he would call anyone friend with that tone of voice? I was not jealous! Amazed, perhaps that another human could earn that sort of regard from a man who was the creation of the primal war of light and dark.

-ACW forced Censored- that was poetic, and I didn't have a poetic bone in my body or so I'd thought.

"So you wait, to learn of them and the landscape of the company...because information is power. They do not expect you? They can not prepare for you."

Perhaps he was the embodiment of duality. Perhaps he was something akin to a physical manifestation of the Great Dichotomy. He approached, and closed the distance between those two while he listened to her, and watched her reaction. He would have smiled, if it wouldn't have tipped his hand and made apparent his approval of Sabra. He was a teacher, a mentor, but although he praised her, he also encouraged her to do better--usually through what some might perceive as brutality, or undue punishment. It wasn't punishment, however; or at least, he didn't see it as such. If she could survive the rigors of his training regimen and his mercurial nature, then she could survive anything the industry could possibly throw at her. Any match, any opponent. If she could survive him in the long term? She would be prepared.

"I watch. I observe. I learn them, all that I can, so that way, when I come into their lives, they aren't prepared for me and they can't prepare for me. When they step against me, I've already beaten them." He tapped the side of his head slightly. "I have the tools to dismantle them. Mentally, physically; however I choose to do so. That's the key, Sabra: It's cerebral, much more than physical."

I nodded, I felt that almost involuntary motion but my eyes would tell him that I not only listened but that I understood what he was saying. Any fool could beat a man or woman down with fists be they skilled in a method like Systema that I was, or a rank amateur who barely knew how to ball up his fist but was strong enough to make it hurt. But to truly dismantle an opponent, Gryphon was right. It was just as much mental pain as physical, and a true fear could develop in those that had to face you after such a thing happened.

I'd seen it myself with some of the people that tried to work with him, wanted him to train them and couldn't comprehend that he only let them in for me to whet my talent on. That look in their eyes was universal, they feared him for what he'd done, but more...for what he was capable of.

"And now that you are focused on them again...who is a threat? Who could be a threat and lacks focus? Among the men, that is."

I'd already formed a few opinions on the distaff side of the roster, but would not speak of them unless he asked.

"A threat? None of them are a threat, and they all lack focus. These are men in this company, Sabra. A man can be beaten, broken; destroyed. It's when men become monsters--monsters like Jackson, like Spiral, that you approach with caution. Those are men only in a physiological sense. Their minds aren't easy to target. Someone with nothing to lose? They can't be broken in the sense that you're thinking. Men like Brooks, like Mayhem? They have weaknesses. They've surrounded themselves with what the status quo accept eagerly: Morality, ethics. To these men, those things are concrete. To the sheep, they're tangible. But you and I know that good and evil exist on an intangible plane. Concepts, trivial notions that don't have a place in the world. They are reliant wholly on a point of view; on a philosophical bend. These men I won't have to worry about. They'll be easy to beat, long before they get into the ring." Did she expect that answer?
Sabra stretched, arms over her head and drawing up her lithe 5'10 frame before relaxing, though her eyes had never left his face. A quick look down, and she looked up at him from under those thick dark lashes, a slight crease between her brows as she considered something.

"Even though Mayhem was trained by that one you dislike? Brooks is too rigid in what he thinks and feels...and his woman is a weakness. She could fight, but I could remove that obstacle and make him so maddened he would be rife with mistakes."

A pause, as she considered something.

"But they know you, from before. What you are capable of and what you have done that none else dared to do. I...don't understand. You never underestimate any foe, yet you are dismissive of them so easily. You see something I do not?"

She made it a question but she knew the answer already, of course he did.

"No, I don't see anything you don't. That's why I've discounted them so." He shook his head. "What I haven't seen, Sabra, is that killer instinct. The motivation that every hunter, every predator--every true predator--has when he is about to bring down its prey. They haven't been pushed to that limit. They haven't been pushed to see how far they are willing to go. Brooks' woman, and Mayhem's woman won't be involved, won't be touched. Unless they get involved first. Then? You destroy them." He spoke flatly and shook his head. Hesitating for a moment, he opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it just as quickly. Brows knitted together as he shook his head, a slightly annoyed tinge held in that raspy baritone.

"Nevermind. If you haven't seen it, I can't explain it. You'll know, though, when you see it. It's unmistakeable and it can't be missed. It's at that point that we'll find out what we're up against. If Mayhem can handle the pressure, and just how he performs under it. He'll either break--and I'll crush him--or he'll rise against me. He'll tap something he never knew he had, in which case, I'll destroy him. He failed her, and you know how I feel about failure."
"So that is what you will do. Push them...push them all. Starting with Mayhem...?" A slight rise of her tone, but she didn't wait. That annoyed tinge of voice motivated her the way a belt would someone else.

"I will not touch them, unless they interfere...though from what I have seen they stay out of matches and get in trouble elsewhere. But I will watch, and learn what you do to someone that fails so badly that you have to get involved."

It made sense to me, even if I wasn't too sure I liked the implication that came with everything. Something dawned on me then and I looked at him with a hint of realization in my eyes that was mixed with surprise.

"He does not know, does he. This Mayhem, he doesn't know why you're going to do this."

He shrugged his shoulders dismissively, and perhaps that was the coldest thing he could ever do. Casual, so casual--it was second nature almost to disregard that man, the ACW's World Champion. To talk of what he would do, to allude to what he was thinking. Sociopathic, perhaps, but that was Gryphon. He removed the sunglasses slowly, as the sun had sank low enough in the horizon that they weren't all that necessary any more. Those shocking blue eyes locked onto her brown, and that flicker of life? Strangely absent. Gryphon's lips curled in a slight frown, dismissive, 'take it or leave it' kind of gesture, expression. "If he knows, then he did this consciously and deliberately. If he let this happen and didn't warn them? Then I'll see to it that he spends the rest of his days in agony, confined to a wheelchair, dependent on someone's care. I'll cripple him. If he wasn't aware this would happen, then he'll be made to suffer for his ignorance."

Gryphon turned slightly, cutting his eyes to his left, and then? Right back onto target. "Devon Mayhem will be pushed, he'll be pressed to his limit. His wife can tell him, she can warn him, but until he experiences this...experiences me, he'll never be able to fully lay claim to it. And if his big friend gets involved? He'll suffer a similar fate. But alongside the Wolf? Carnage. I'll make him pay. He's obsessed with sinners and saints? Let's see how he likes coming face to face with the God Damned Devil."

Gryphon's smirk was cold as it formed; a thin, flat, and quite malevolent smile flattened dry lips. His attention focused off to the side once again and lingered, as if he contemplated something. His attention turned back toward Sabra. "Does that make me a hypocrite, Sabra? To punish a man for an unforgivable sin, and then turn around and punish a man for not being there to protect someone unaware that they needed protecting?"

This took me aback a moment, that he would ask me a question like this as if he truly might ...not care mind but be curious as to what I thought. I felt my tongue wet my lips and my gaze steady on those blasted arctic blue eyes of his that held such empty cold wastelands...but I was from Russia, and this was almost comforting to me.

"No, Gryphon. It makes you the nightmare, it makes you the reminder that there is a standard and it is not your fault they failed to realize it - or could not have met it in the first place."

I was not going to let it bother me, that this person that needed protecting was a woman. I did not need protecting, except perhaps from myself...but part of me burned to ask why he cared. But while I was bold with him sometimes, my teacher...I was a good student because I was not an idiot and only an idiot would ask him what was on the tip of my tongue. So instead I gave him something more worthy.

"And when you have finished with them? Take back what is yours?"

He inclined his head once, briefly, before putting those sunglasses back into place and then extended his hands to her. He held them palms up, and lifted one, then the other. Indication. He looked to his left. "On the one hand, I have a man who was either ignorant of the fact that she was a target, or aware and allowed this to happen. If he warned David, then the burden falls on David, doesn't it?" He paused, and then smiled again, shaking his head. "It doesn't. It falls on Mayhem, because if he was aware of the possibility, he should have taken steps himself to ensure she was safe. A personal appearance. Be it ignorance or ineptitude, he has wronged her, and he has wronged me. On the other hand, her attacker did so deliberately..." And then? Then that smile widened. His tongue lashed briefly to wet his lips, dried in that harsh Mojave wind. "...and because of that deliberate and malicious intent comes the wrath and retribution of Biblical proportions." He nodded his head slightly at her, apparently pleased. "Excellent, Sabra. You're learning quickly."

She certainly was. I hadn't expected her to pass that test, but she surprised even me. This Russian, whose blood ran nearly as cold as mine, was tragic in her own way. Tragic, merciless, haunting, cunning. She had admirable traits; she was the perfect student. She understood what I was trying to teach her, and more importantly, why it was necessary to learn this way. The world--this one especially--was cruel and merciless. Better to be prepared. And while some would decry Devon's innocence, and that of Brooks and the ACW as a whole? Innocence and guilt aren't things I concern myself about. Both Devon Mayhem and Carnage have crossed a line, and there is no turning back. There is nothing left for them but inevitability. I am coming, and I am coming for them both. The World Title, the United States Title? Irrelevant bonuses; fringe benefits to my Second Coming. I smirked, thinking of the headlines. 'The Messiah of Violence Has Returned, and Every Knee Has Bowed'. Accept my rule, or suffer for your hubris. Kyle Travis has a move he calls the Pridebreaker. Kind of fitting: He named it after me. I knew that Sabra was wondering why. Why this? Why for Aurora? Why for a friend? Friendship was just as intangible a concept as good and evil. Greed and jealousy destroyed friendships in the blink of an eye, and alliances in this industry changed with the setting sun. Sabra knows this, and she knows not to trust anyone fully--not even me. I wouldn't even trust me fully, but she sees something in me, somewhere. Something that I guess I can't. I owe her an explanation: At the very least she needs to understand why.

Gryphon gave a little tug of his head and backed up from her, moving toward the driver's side door of that '69 Oldsmobile. The shining black paint job was covered in desert sand and dirt. It would need a wash soon, but for now? Now they had some miles to make up. He opened that driver's side door and paused before getting inside. He lifted the sunglasses from his eyes again, briefly, and when she came to the passenger side, he made sure to find her gaze and hold it. "You want to know why, Sabra?"

When I slid into the car it was comfortable. Some might complain about being cooped up and driving everywhere like we did...but they hadn't had the upbringing I had either. This was luxury to me on a scale that most Americans couldn't conceive of. I did not however feel sorry for myself about my past, because after all it led me to make the decisions that I made, including the one that let me be bold enough to talk to this man in the first place. I swiveled my legs into the car before shutting the door, that little lady-like mannerism something I didn't try to change, because it was a part of me. Just as it was a part of me to make sure with a quick look that he had a full bottle of water at hand, and that I'd kept all the trash neatly in its bag getting in and out of the car.

His eyes locked with mine, and while I knew what most others never would, that I could be content with learning things as he decided to teach...it was rare he would offer up a prize like this. I would not let it escape me.

"Yes I do. I want to hear it in your words...out loud. I want to see if they match your voice in my mind."

I did not have a...conscience so to speak, not like others might. I was innocent in ways, jaded in others and my mentor was right. Sometimes I was for all my worldliness painfully naive and too trusting. Even though I know, not to trust anyone fully even if my heart tells me to risk. The mind must discipline the heart in my case or I would be deeply in trouble very quickly. But conscience I lacked the way again an American woman would have...no whining, wailing, second guessing myself or being guilty for being a woman with me. What I had was his raspy baritone voice in my head, pushing me to improve, to better myself...to become the force and weapon, as well as the woman.

The key was thrust into the ignition as he closed the door. He let the chain dangle there for a few moments, and just...listened. To his heartbeat. To the wind whipping through the opened windows. To the gentle swaying and twisting of that metal chain, dangling on the end of that key. His foot planted on the floorboard and he turned the ignition as that car roared to life with a defiant, throaty snarl. American muscle flexed as he smiled thinly, teasing that snarling beast by tapping its accelerator and watching that red needle on the tachometer leap with caged fury. His left hand lifted to grip the steering wheel, tightening slightly. With those sunglasses removed, he turned to her again and spoke.

"I owe her this, Sabra. She gave me something important to me, to Mayhem and Carnage and the rest of the ACW. Most importantly, she gave you something, too." He paused, and returned those sunglasses to their proper place. Looking westward, he threw the clutch and the shifter into place. That white sphere caught in his right hand, he looked back at her and arched an eyebrow. "She saved my life."

My gift, my curse. The Nightmare sustained.

[gryphon]

"It's done, then?"

He called out to her quietly. The footsteps he had heard, the shuffle, the scrape of the leather on concrete as the woman from Vladivostok came closer. The most dangerous female in the building--his pupil.

"How was their reaction? Was it what I told you it would be?"

To look at me, is perhaps not to see me - though I have never truly thought that he saw me as anything but what I am. Even that moment when I came up to him and he thought me a fan...or a ring rat...I saw that flash in his eyes. When I blocked the strike he sent at me, I was impressed because he had known instantly that it was Systema and after all that was where it all began. Almost as if hearing it from outside my own head I heard my voice, the heavy accent being unmistakably Russian but my English was flawless.

"It was better. I noticed something more as well."

A slight pause, my gaze drawn by a flash of movement before I stepped closer. It was warm inside the Idaho Center so I had unbuttoned the longer sleeved shirt I wore over a clean tank top.

"They revolve around him, like planets in orbit around a sun. Each person is like a thread that leads to another. Do you think this is why he was able to stop your enemy this last time?"

"It may have been because they present a unified front. They're strong together, but that unity we'll turn against them. Divide, conquer, and re-establish dominance."

He turned then to face her. He'd removed his jacket, since it was so hot in the Idaho Center; the sleeves of a black turtleneck sweater were rolled up over flaring forearms to make it less sweltering. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and that sharp-eyed gaze leveled on Sabra as he turned to face her. Arms crossed his chest, folding comfortably as he regarded her for a moment. He tilted his head softly, and watched her for anything. A tick; a twitch--anything that would constitute a lie. Satisfied, he nodded his head.

"Understand? We unravel them. We tug on their heart strings until we shut down the machine."

I think I was one of the very few on this planet...at least that I had seen...that could take the weight of his gaze without flinching. I had watched him turn those blasted eyes at every day people and without saying a word make them wither like delicate blossoms in the harsh sunlight. He had that way about him that warned the timid - that made their inner warning signs light up and shriek in clarion call to beware! Run! But to me, it was almost like a balm. Soothing to know that I could not hide, could not pretend to be other than myself. In fact while I could lie and make it believable to anyone but him, he had taught me that the truth was a far more devastating weapon.

"Yes. And if we can take out one of the stronger strands, it would cause the lesser to fall away even faster."

"That's right. 'Cut the head off the snake', Sabra, and the body will fall. We could pick and pull, snip at people like Brooks. Like Alexa. But really, in the end, that's what the others have tried to do. They've failed. Whether it was their execution or not, or just the resolve, the glue that holds that band together I can't say."

He tilted his head to the side, leaning over what appeared to me a metal guardrail. He stepped to his right, putting his hip right against that cold, tubular steel. He inhaled softly, and closed his eyes. Leaning ever so softly across that barricade. And then? Then the smile began to spread over his lips. "While they gather together in their locker room, while they're busy gallivanting they'll never see what's going to happen. Lambs for the slaughter, Sabra. It's beautiful, isn't it? The deception. The game. I live for it."

I like to watch him. How he devours life. How he drives like a demon, how he pushes himself when he trains. His brutality in the ring. As he moved, leaning against that railing I stepped closer to see past him at the floor below. My eyes shifting from that to his face as he spoke...never would it be said that I did not pay attention to him.

"They have forgotten. What it was like to have you there. What it meant to wonder if this would be the night you struck. Remembering as if it were a myth the night you crucified half of the locker room."

A pause, as the tip of my tongue darted out to wet lips gone suddenly dry.

"It is beautiful."

"They've forgotten. They've ignored. I told them, long ago, that they could lose their faith in these men who terrorized them. That they could stop being afraid of men like Voland or Hyena and that they didn't have to worry about what someone like Donavan or even Snake would do to them. Me, Sabra: It was me that preyed on this company. When the lights went out, I took another victim. When the world slept, I stalked it. I walked the night, and when I found those to be lacking, I took them, twisted them, and destroyed them. Hyena is the Great Destroyer? Only because I allowed it."

Gryphon shook his head ruefully, that baleful smile creeping onto his lips. He turned to look back at her, and waved a hand over to indicate what was far below them.

"There. Even the technicians, the grunts in the trenches--even they stepped out of my way. Now, I doubt that any one of them would flinch if I looked them in the eye. It's been a long, long time, Sabra, since I've been at my best. Since I've challenged them all. Since I laid down the gauntlet to this company, and dared anyone to pick it up. Few did; fewer still managed to survive a catastrophic lapse in judgment."

I smiled. It wasn't something I did a tremendous amount of, but his words had caused an almost physiological response I couldn't help.

"I like this word, catastrophic."

Certainly this would be allowable, and perhaps might amuse him. His own dark humor was so very Russian in outlook that sometimes I forgot he was not, that he had been born here in the United States. But it was a comfort to me, that I could say such things and he always understood. How odd, to think that someone with the capacity for violence and terror that lived under his skin could be a comfort for anyone, dark or not.

"They will learn again."

Dead certainty in my tone, the words holding weight with the caress of my native tongue highlighting them.

"Do you understand what it means?"

He inquired quietly, arching an eyebrow as he pointed, gesturing to all of the technicians down below, far down below. Tearing down the ring, removing the ropes, apron and the lighting. The whole arena was being torn down, disassembled to transport to another town, all to rinse and repeat the tragedy in seven days' time. He looked over at her and arched an eyebrow, but gave a simple nod of his head as that resolution, that absolution in his tone of voice and that methodical, laser-like precision with which he executed his plan may have been what caused the smile to form on her lips. Maybe that was it.

"They certainly will learn. I'll lay down the gauntlet soon, Sabra: We'll see whose got the balls to pick it up."

My voice grew hushed. Not because I caused it to, but there was something that made what I said need to be almost reverent.

"I do understand. But they...down there working, those who will perform again and again in that ring...they do not. For some of them the greatest tragedy of their lives is that the department store ran out of their favorite shade of OPI nail polish..."

A slight huff of my breath told the tale of what I thought about people like that.

"But that is not what it means. It is the absolute upheaval of all one knows, cares about, nurtures and loves. It is the Absolute, it is delivered by the hand of Violence...and for ACW they should know."

A glance at him, as the pulse jumped in my throat.

"The Messiah returns."

I moved to the railing myself, hands that didn't truly seem a part of me gripping that railing tight, whitening my knuckles.

"Someone will. And then, you will teach them what they should have already known."

He nodded, and that cruel sardonic smile turned into something else. Something almost...genuine. He gave a single, slight incline of his head in her direction, a nod. A nod of approval.

"Absolute. The Alpha, The Omega. I am the One for the ACW, Sabra. Very astute."

His arms uncrossed as he leaned over to grip the handrail, knuckles whitening slightly as he leaned over. Brooding, always brooding. His eyebrows narrowed and his eyes zeroed in on something. That sudden flash in dark blues that told all she needed to know--that something caught his attention.

"I hope, Sabra, that it's the Wolf that answers the call first. Every great story has a hero, but every great hero needs a villain, and Mayhem and his Cult? They'll be mine. I'll come to take this world back from them, and show them their place."

Curious...I couldn't help it. His words were strong and I expected no less of him. That confidence that was rooted in his experience and not some vast expanded form of hubris that some would have. I turned my own gaze towards where his was, looking to see what it was that he had seen, to see what it was that could have earned that sudden interest.

"I think he will. You saw how he stepped up to his former mentor...how he did not flinch, despite all he knew of Snake. I think that same thing will happen here, with you. He knows of you, and I think he will not be able to stop himself from seeing for himself what it is, that makes you the Great American Nightmare."

A soft snort, not quite laughter.

"I do not think he will be able to help himself."

"Hubris, Sabra..."

He lifted a single index finger into the air to emphasize that point that was to follow immediately.

"...will be his downfall. His, his friends, and everyone else who stands to get in our way. They will fall, they will be crushed, and once again I will claim the throne. Invictus, Sabra. 'Unconquered'."

A sudden thought occurred to me, and I felt both my brows lift just a touch, my eyes widen a hint, my nostrils flare.

"Do you think they will figure it out? Before the time has come that is? With the warnings, the...presents?"

For some reason the thought excited me in a dangerous way. I knew he'd be able to see it, but I also knew better than to hide any reaction from Gryphon.

"Do you think they will understand the nature of their fate before it is revealed?"

"Do I think they'll understand it? I don't. How could they? They couldn't see the danger that Aurora was in. It was obvious who was being targeted. And yet? They couldn't see it."

He paused, and then smirked faintly. There was a very gentle chuckle as his eyelids closed for just a moment, before they lifted and his attention went to Sabra again.

"That, or they saw it, and then let it happen anyway. I'll extract an answer. Hopefully they're just stupid and incompetent."

I answered despite that flash...that thing that made my pulse leap that I would never call jealousy.

"Because if they are, you may spare them..." I couldn't help it, I laughed, accented yet womanly.

"But if they knew...they failed you. It does not matter if they realize they did so or if they simply discounted that anything would come of it, then."


"If they failed me, they failed her. If they discounted me, or my ability to get to them, then they failed themselves. Failure, Sabra, is never an option that is acceptable."

Gryphon turned to her and nodded his head. His hand lifted and slowly settled, calloused fingers gripping, squeezing her left shoulder. With a faint nod, he turned his head toward the exit.

"Come on, Sabra. We've got another show to catch."

'I knew that, of all the lessons I've taught her thus far, this was the most important. Failure will not be tolerated: Other people's failure, failing yourself. People disappoint, and even the best laid plans sometimes fail. That is why I teach her to be ahead of her opponents. When they react, she has anticipated that reaction and responds accordingly. I've tried to impart this, make it imperative. She'll see it in action soon. Then she'll understand it. I knew that, somewhere, there was a twinge of...something. She tried to keep it hidden, but I could see. There was something when her name was mentioned, alluded to. A flash in her eye, maybe. A heartbeat skipped. I couldn't quite pick it out, but there was something that changed. Subtle, almost too subtle--but I caught it.'

I smiled then. Back on the road, to that Oldsmobile that was far more of a 'home' than any building with walls and a roof had been to me in my life. It should have taken me aback, that someone my age had traveled across the world to be here, and that I was more like the Rus than simply a girl from Vladivostok now. I turned to him then with a nod, leading the way. I gave him my back because I knew something so many others did not. If he wanted to destroy me it would not matter if I saw it coming or not...so I would give him this measure of my naivety and trust where none other had earned it.

"Perhaps we shall even beat them there."

[gryphon]

"Here, watch this..."


Gryphon smirked over at Sabra as he dropped a handful of popcorn out over the edge of those rafters. He watched as the puffed kernels of corn, complete with salt and butter tumbled out of his hand and somewhere over the ring. Would it land in the ring? Would it land in the crowd? He couldn't be sure and didn't really care. He chuckled, nudging Sabra with an elbow.


"Still, even with this, they'll never know where it came from. They'll fight amongst themselves. They'll argue and they'll bicker, like children. Whoever it hits. I think that's hilarious."


Even with all the ambient sounds of the arena...the crowd below, the music on the PA which was clearer here next to one of those small speakers, and the action in the ring I heard his voice clear. There was amusement in it that was rarely displayed and I felt the corners of my lips twitch in response to it. My eyes turned to follow his motions, and I tried to watch the path that those kernels would take...and felt a soft laugh come forth as I did so.


"Because it is easier to blame what is known, then to take the leap that would let you see the unknown?"


"I'm guessing."


He paused as he looked over at her, and then shook his head with a faint grin. He was, actually, quite amused. Hiding in plain sight, up in these rafters while the show was going on had been a remarkable stroke of genius. After all, despite being quite the bastard during his first tour with ACW, he'd managed to make a few friends backstage--one of which he still kept contact with. It was that friend that managed to get them up above the arena, high into the rafters, to watch the show. Again he reached into his basket of popcorn, a few kernels snatched up and quickly stuffed into his mouth. Another handful taken out as he held it threateningly over the arena, releasing a second barrage of puffed, popped kernels onto the unsuspecting victims below.


"There's no real lesson involved here. No test. I'm just genuinely enjoying harassing whoever is down there. I wonder if that's a charge? 'Assault by snack food'?"


I couldn't help it...I laughed again, this one louder. There was no fear that anyone would hear me up here after all. Maybe during set up or break down but not now. I found that if I leaned just a little over from where we sat I could get a perfect view of the 'Tron...and noticed a streaming 'news' line across the top. A quick touch of fingertips to his side, and then I murmured in my voice...I've been told it is distinctive because of the accent, but to me it is just my voice.


"I would think it would be a lesser charge then what that...Seg...a...dor...? Did to the one called Cowboy."


My English was flawless...Spanish however was an entirely other matter, a language that I found useless and soft.


"Yeah."


There was a great view of that giant screen from in the rafters where they were. They had everything: The best seats in the house. No idiots in front of them standing up throughout the entire night. No drunks nearby spilling beer or screaming in their ears. No, they had speakers, they had a screen, and they had all the action that the ACW could give them. The excitement, the chills, the thrills--they had it all, right there and quite literally, almost at their fingertips. He gave his protege a gentle nod in agreement at her observation.


"That's putting it mildly. They're grasping, Jack and Sarah, and the Board. My old friend Dick must not be doing so great with the shareholders if they'll bring somebody like that into the company. Street thug."


The snort was derisive, but amused. A faint grin found his lips again.


"Bringing a gang to my nest isn't smart. It's a quick way to wind up a broken man. Kaylyn knows that well enough; she'd do well to warn her flavor of the week."


Flavor of the week...odd American phrase I'd bet. But street thugs, being from Vladivostok those I understood and I nodded.


"Loud, violent...but not so unique. Violence used as a metaphor for lack of control of other areas of their lives..."


I controlled the urge to spit...after all it isn't like I could see where it would hit after all.


"But others will worry much about this, yes?"


"Some might."


There was a nod of agreement with her observation. The urge to spit wasn't denied from him after he'd managed to get a kernel stuck in his tooth. He grinned as it sailed into the crowd, no doubt landing on someone's head or--even better--in their drink.


"They shouldn't after I get through with him though. Him, and whoever's riding on his coattails, as pathetic as that imagery is. And it's most definitely not unique. It's been done. More importantly, it's been done by better."


'I'd seen it done before, but I couldn't remember immediately if I'd seen it done in American Championship Wrestling. That's what happened when you spent fifteen years or so up and down the road. Lines blurred. Memories ran together. Memories disappeared. Maybe it was all the blunt force trama to the skull. Maybe it was all the unnecessary falling on my back that I did. Maybe it was the booze, or the late nights, or the bad diet. Maybe it was all of that. I just couldn't recall directly. Maybe it was a brain tumor. Yeah, that's a hell of a way to go out. 'Unstoppable grappler KO'd by cancer'. I could see the headlines now all over the blogosphere, with that snazzy headline or something as equally moronic, concocted from the basement stronghold of some middle-aged loser, still living with mom and dad. Something about as creative as an enema, brought to life by another dirt sheet daredevil with a lobotomy. Or maybe one who was overdue for a lobotomy.'


I watched him get lost in his thoughts after he spoke, nodding to let him know that I had listened and understood but I doubt he even saw it. The action in the ring continued on, bodies colliding with pain given and received. Soon...soon enough these wrestlers would know once again the presence of the Messiah of Violence as he walked among them and the thought occured to me...and I couldn't help but turn to him and share it.


"They are not ready."


A nod, I knew he would know what I meant, even as I said it.


"You're right, they're not ready. Nobody here is. I see familiar faces..."


He smiled again, that slightly sardonic tinge evident in that little half-hearted smile, one corner of his mouth tugging up.


"...but they're dead inside. Cole Blaze? He's a shell of who he used to be. Hyena? A former World Champion, and now what is he doing? Nothing. He used to be a hot item, a top name in the locker room. People used to fear him, to respect him. Now he's barely an afterthought. A relic from a bygone era. He got neutered."


He shook his head again slightly and turned his attention from the match below to her. His eyes met hers, and he sneered almost.


"It's a shame. Kyle Travis said it was a new era for this company, and he's absolutely right. I ruled the previous one, Sabra, so why not rise again to rule this one as well?"


That got a smile teased from my lips. I couldn't help it, I had managed to get his attention away from that place he went inside and I was aiming to keep it.


"Why not indeed? I have seen none yet that could stop you...and some so oblivious that they could be your targets that the surprise on their faces when they fall to you...will be pleasant to me."


A sip was taken of the drink I had next to me, and a nod again.


"The closer the time gets...I admit, the more exciting the feeling becomes. To know you will be back in that ring...and teaching a whole new locker room why they should be afraid of the dark."


"That's right. And when it's time, it will be you that carries on the Legacy. You'll teach another locker room somewhere to fear the dark, and what it means to be hunted indiscriminately. What it means to always look over their shoulder. I've brought you here to observe this Second Coming, Sabra, but I've also brought you here to learn and so that you can move on when my time is done."


Was it possible to feel exalted and yet humbled all at the same time? I had never, in my life felt the sort of rush I did when he spoke those words and I know it glimmered there in my eyes. If I were not myself, if I were a lesser woman that would have moved me to tears. As it was? I smiled, and my smile was a dark and fulsome thing.


"I will learn all that you teach...and when I have, I will make you and the darkness you have shown me is real...proud of the violence I create in that ring...and in the locker rooms where ever I go."

[gryphon]

"I hate Canada." He grumbled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

"I thought I'd be done with this thing by now."

Uncomfortable, perhaps, or more likely anxious and agitated, he paced along the loading dock near the door to the backstage area, the entrance to the arena. His right hand moving to his breast pocket inside the lining of that jacket. A photograph retrieved and held close. Looking down to examine it, he seemed to calm down; his body language changed, his posture shifted into something less threatening. Something more...controlled. Briefly, though, as he pushed that photograph back into his jacket pocket and tugged the zipper.

"Marrow is going to lose it when he finds us in his office."

"I know. I remember the last time we were here."

I was a little pensive in my own stance, but only a little and it did not overshadow my natural confidence gained by the strength of my form and what I had learned at my mentor's hand. I couldn't help how my eyes shifted to his motions, a bit of curiosity rising. I knew it was a photograph...but of what? I would not ask, nor would I get into his jacket later to look. And no doubt he knew so or he'd have never trusted me enough to even show me where it was. It could have been a test. He would after all randomly test me throughout the day, but it didn't have that feeling to it.

"I think that will be very amusing. He is...competent in the ring, or was from what we have seen. Do you think he might...?"

"He might what, try me?" There was that laugh. Sardonic and cruel, mocking laughter. The notion was preposterous.

"Not if he wants to maintain his quality of life. Jack Marrow isn't a man to take lightly, but he knows who he can and can't lay a finger on."

"Or who he shouldn't."

His hands met, rubbing together slowly. Anxiousness, or eagerness, more likely. A man who was many things, however, impatient was certainly not among them. He turned his attention to his student, his protege, and an eyebrow lifted quizzically.

"We've passed the point of no return, Sabra. You do understand what that means, don't you?"

He waited for just a moment, letting a breath pass, perhaps, between the pair.

"There is no going back from here. We're committed to this course of action now, for good or for bad. We're going to see this to the end: A bloody, violent, spectacular end. It won't be easy and it won't be pleasant, but some things, Sabra, simply have to be seen to a conclusion."

I felt myself give a curt nod...because what he had said resonated in my Russian soul. It was right, it was something I understood to the core of my very being.

"I understand. I understand that now there is no more waiting. I understand that they will realize that the Messiah of Violence...has not forgotten them, or forgiven them. I am here, at your side...and your herald. I will be here as this begins, and when it ends. No matter how bloody, violent...or final."

"A herald, a successor to the throne."

A clarification. It brought a thin and almost imperceptible smile to his face, and when he cut his eyes from the goings on of technicians and backstage non-talent staff to her, there was something in his eyes. Something almost likened to...pride? Approval? It was hard to tell, and in that moment it was gone; the shimmer of humanity had been cast aside, and once more that hard, cold and machine-like gaze held her attention.

"Bloody and violent it will be. We have set the tone for this, Sabra, and we have done it with a touch of perfection. This is a masterpiece; this is probably my best work yet. This will be my Fifth Symphony--my Sistine Chapel. Mayhem, Carnage, Marrow; none of them see it coming. They've ignored these caveats we've left. Our warnings, Sabra, have gone unheeded, and it's Mayhem who has to suffer. It's funny, isn't it? His greatest threat isn't going to come from inside this locker room. It's not Carnage. It's not Mike Voland. It's something he hasn't anticipated."

That faint smile appears again. Thin lips curling up ever so faintly as his attention turns to her again.

"I can't wait to bring his world crashing down around him."

I couldn't help it. I could never help it though I used to try and he noticed and questioned me on why I would attempt to control something that could be used to my benefit, so when that faint smile of his came to those lips my own twitched at the corners in reply. I had seen many of these women strutting around backstage who claimed to be so proud of their looks but with all the makeup they wore who could say what they really looked like? So few of them looked 'themselves' without taking an hour...few exceptions to this and one of them I did not like to think about because it was 'her'. But my reaction to his declaration of what would happen to Devon? Genuine and it made my chest fill with a warmth hard to describe.

"It will, without doubt. He has taken a blow to his pride, but I saw his look this week. He bent, but he did not break. But his thinking that all of this is to be laid at the feet of Carnage, simply because they are fighting, that was remarkably foolish of him."

"Blinded by anger. Blinded by rage. He can't see anything other than what's in front of him. And that? That's why we're here. He couldn't anticipate what he would do. He didn't see what Carnage was capable of. He didn't...take the measures he should have. That's why he's going to suffer. Failure has never been tolerated. Ever. It's going to start with Mayhem. It's going to end with this company on its knees again. The Cult, The Church, the Ministry? Weep for those stupid enough to get in our way, Sabra."

He gave a slight shake of his head a half smile surfaced; an expression that was anything but warm and welcoming; comforting.

"They will be brought to an end by my anger and dismayed by my wrath, and they'll come to understand the one, universal Truth: I am the Truth. Mine is the only word that matters, and I am the only thing that they should truly, utterly fear."

I paused, and that twitch of my lips turned to a smile for just a moment. There was nothing sweet or soft about that smile, feminine because it was mine but the emotion behind it was more dark, more of my Russian humor perhaps.

"I will not waste tears on those that have failed. But perhaps if they are lucky I may laugh at their dismay when they realize the full import of what has happened to them, when it is all over."

I looked away, though as always I was aware of him and the reactions that he gained simply by being...him. A person I had seen toting a camera earlier came out the back of the arena, perhaps to steal a moment to smoke or just a breather from all the activity that came in moving a show like this across a country as often as it was. But that man looked up and his gaze went to me first, appreciative...and then he went ghostly pale looking upon the man I stood with so easily, clearly belonging right where I was.

Without another word he took the advantage that the surprise and fear offered to them. Without so much as another word spoken between the three, Gryphon inclined his head toward Sabra and then toward the door. Letting her in first, he offered the faintest of smiles as he paused next to the man. A single finger, his right index, was brought to his lips as they pursed, silently suggesting that the man maintain his silence. With his left hand, he brought it up to gently pat the fellow's cheek, only before slipping through the door that Sabra had just taken a second ago. With a click, the crashbar re-engaged, and the pair were tucked safely inside of the arena.