Title: Losing My Mind, Losing You

Author: TheVampireLucinda

Featuring: Triple H, the Undertaker, Shawn Michaels

Disclaimer: Rated T for language and (projected) violence. The Musi are totally running this one, in conjunction with Monday Night Raw...So...We'll see where this goes. But anything is possible, and I'll up the rating if it gets out of hand, haha.

Summary: Sequel to Obsession. Three sides of a battle. Three legends in a world of mortals. Two men willing to throw away everything for a mad obsession and one man determined to stop them.

A/N: Raw is killing me...It's basically writing itself...Props to Triple H, the Undertaker and Shawn Michaels for really, really making the show worth watching again! Of course...that means that now I have to keep up again...Oh, and please read Obsession first, for some background thoughts, if you've got a minute.

TVL: (raging at her three Musi) Dammit, Obsession was supposed to be a one-shot! One and done! You can't keep on... (turns to ShawnMuse) You can't just show up on Raw, and jump in the mix, and make this...! (turns to TakerMuse) And you! You...you... (eyes tear up, turns to HunterMuse) You're killing me too! Please, you guys can't...

ShawnMuse: It has to happen this way, L. (HunterMuse and TakerMuse nod)

TVL: But...I...I'm worried that...

HunterMuse: Don't be afraid, kid. We'll handle this one.

TVL: Is this...is this...like, a sequel to To Be Loved or something?

TakerMuse: Well, I wouldn't quite call it that. (small smile) You'll see. Just come along for the ride, Girl.

ShawnMuse: We promise, it'll be worth it. You've gotta trust us this time.

TVL: (concerned) I'll do my best...


The Undertaker sat in his large chair as he watched the images flash across the wall in front of him, green eyes narrow and focused.

The tape, playing at different speeds on two different, old-fashioned movie projectors, was actually a recent one. On it was Triple H's response to the Deadman's challenge for a Wrestlemania rematch. A chance for one of them to final lay their blood-feud—or, perhaps, the other man—to rest once and for all.

And the Game had said no.

Rejected him completely.

Since receiving the response, the Undertaker had sat, motionless, listening to it over and over until he could hear Triple H's voice in his head when he slept.

Now, however, he stood up, slowly, silently, as his rage at last overcame his control, and the images and voice seemed to sink into his soul and tear him apart from the inside out.

No, Hunter explained to the world, he would not accept the challenge because he felt bad for the Undertaker.

"I looked the Undertaker in the eyes...and what I was...was sorry."

The Undertaker made his way over to one of the largest pictures on his picture-covered wall. Ever-so-carefully, he reached out and touched the image, almost loving letting his fingers glide down its smooth, glossy surface.

'Vengeance,' his mind screamed at him, as it did every single day after that fateful match against the Game. 'Vengeance!'

This is not over.

He looked down at the tray in front of him, a tray positioned right below one of the many enlarged photos of Triple H. Almost reverently, he took off his wide-brimmed hat and set it down, next to an ominous looking jar of sharp implements.

But reverence was the furthest thing from his mind.

Again, moving carefully as if he had not moved for many days, the Undertaker reached down, and this time his hands found an old straight razor that he opened as lovingly as he had touched the photo. The cold blade felt almost soothing against his fingers as he tested its sharpness against his own cool skin.

'Vengeance.'

Vengeance.

"I will get what I want," he whispered aloud to himself, lifting the razor to his long, flowing black hair. The images continued to play on the screen, the voice continued to explain why he couldn't face the Undertaker again.

Suddenly, violently, erratically, he began to cut. Long strands, as many as could fit into his closed fist at once, began to fall at the Undertaker's feet. He pulled hard, straightening the lines so that he could cut clear across several strands at once.

"Keep your pity."

He continued to cut, his long hair now less than half its original length. The dark strands continued to pile up on the floor, but the Undertaker paid them no heed. When pressed, long ago, he had admitted to loving his hair; long ago, when he had cut it short, it had been for a very personal and painful reason.

Back then, he had been trying to embrace his own humanity; now, however, he certain that the last breath in his body that was human had been breathed out long ago.

And, in all honesty, the Undertaker didn't care. Not at this point. Not now, when there was something far more important and meaningful than hair or humanity on the line.

"Give me what's mine."

In the back of his mind, he knew that those he loved, that those around him, hell, even the fans would wonder what he was doing. And, in fact, he had even taken a moment to try and ask himself what the fuck he was doing.

Just how much was this thirst, this desire for revenge going to cost him?

The Undertaker turned his head to the left, to better reach his hair in the back, and came face-to-face with another image of Triple H. More of his hair fell to the floor, and he began to cut faster and harder, coming mere inches from slicing his own skin.

But he didn't care about all that, not really.

His rage had long ago taken over; his insatiable longing for the chance...just the chance of regaining his lost pride.

'No, it's more than pride,' he told himself, surprised to hear such clarity in his nearly-feverish mind. 'This is about something deeper than that, something much more substantial, and much, much more real...'

The hand holding the old straight razor stopped suddenly. Slowly, the Undertaker looked up.

There was no mirror.

He could not see himself.

And, so he thought in that moment, he may not have liked what he saw. The hair he could not care less about; it was the look, he knew, that resided in his green eyes. Eyes that had always been cold were without a doubt now burning with something akin to madness.

Out of the corner of those same eyes he could see both the ever-playing video, and the pile of hair on the floor.

What else was he going to lose before all of this was over?

What in the hell am I trying to gain?

As though the answer was obvious, a single word appeared in the Undertaker's mind, forever attaching itself to other word that dominated his thoughts.

Yes, this was about vengeance, but to what goal? To what end? The answer was startling clear, and, though there indeed was no mirror, the Undertaker could see himself smile.

"Immortality."


Gah, I hate writing serious fics!

Well, let me know if you like it. Another chapter tomorrow! Can you believe I've written about 3 chapters already, just from that one segment on RAW?

Oh, and, review?