Title: Bloody Shredded Souls

Author: TheVampireLucinda

Featuring: The Undertaker, Kane, Bray Wyatt

Disclaimer: Rated T for violence (some torture), language, and...themes. Also, I naturally write slashy, but this isn't romance, haha. Also, kayfabed, as usual.

Summary: The Wyatts have the Brothers of Destruction in their possession, and the only thing they want from them is their souls.


"Ah, shit."

The first thing that the Undertaker became aware of as consciousnesses slowly returned was his violent, throbbing headache.

The second was that he was bound in thick chains that felt ice cold against his warm skin. Both his wrists, his ankles, and even his neck were wreathed with metal, and the slightest movement seemed to make the shackles tighter.

The Deadman sighed, kneeling in his bonds. He recalled the match with Lesnar, feeling no small rush of anger when he thought about how it ended. Even worse, those damn freaks had come out before he could even gracefully bow out, ensuring that his long night would extend into an even long night...or longer.

"Hey, how long are you bastards going to keep me here?" 'Taker called out, short on patience and wanting nothing more than to sleep in his own house, in his own bed. Hell, the least they could do is let him shower and change...

"You don't like the accommodations, Deadman?" a cackling voice asked from the shadows. The Undertaker turned his head, scoffing as Bray Wyatt came into view. "I thought it'd be to your liking: cold, dark, silent."

"I guess you don't know me all that well, then," the Undertaker replied, relaxing his stance, sitting comfortably with his back against the stone wall. He wanted to make it clear to Wyatt and his followers that he did not fear them at all, and never would.

"I much prefer a casket."

"Oh, you'll have your casket soon enough, trust you me, Deadman."

Bray grinned as he knelt, just out of reach of the Undertaker's long arms, and his smile was growing by the second.

"Your body will long for the comfort of the grave once my family and I are finished with you. Fortunately, your soul will have long since fled it's mortal coil, and lent its power to my own."

Although the Undertaker had already prepared smart-ass retort, that last sentence gave him pause. His bright green eyes narrowed as he stared at the young man in front of him. He couldn't read much from him, but the one thing that he could read was stamped clear as day on his face:

Desire.

But for what?

"You're a crazy fucker, aren't you?" the Undertaker asked, crossing his arms. "Do you really think that you know, that you can even handle the Darkness?" Slowly, he rose to his knees, pulling the chains as far as they could go, so that he could be face-to-face with Wyatt.

"I am the Undertaker, the Reaper of Wayward Souls. That is the path that I chose, so long ago. If you want to travel the Highway to Hell, you'll have to find your own way. Taking my soul will do nothing for you...trust me."

Bray Wyatt threw his head back and laughed. "You really are terrifying," he said with not a trace of sarcasm. "And that's all the more reason why I want—why I need you. I need your soul, your powers, your terror. I need to become One with the Darkness, and I'll prove myself by destroying you.

"I will be the new Lord of Darkness, the new Face of Fear. They will tremble at the very sound of my name, and fall at my feet as they beg me for mercy!"

Bray's voice, already shaking with excitement, rose higher and higher in pitch until he was nearly screaming even as he laughed.

"It's oh so beautiful, Undertaker! And how fortunate you are to be a part of it!"

There was a long silence. The Undertaker shook his head, almost sadly, and sat back on his heels.

"You don't know what you're asking for," he said softly. "Not that I give a damn about you, but you really don't know what you're saying."

Wyatt's eyes slowly refocused at that, flashing briefly with long-buried rage. He reached out quicker than eyes could follow and grabbed the Undertaker's chin, forcing their eyes to lock once more.

"I'm really tired of people telling me what I know and don't know," he remarked in an almost-sane voice. "I know exactly what I want, and I know exactly how to get it."

All at once, he pressed his lips hard against the Deadman's, who first stiffened in surprise, and then shoved the younger man violently away, spitting immediately.

When 'Taker looked up again, Bray was licking his lips.

"See, that's the taste," he whispered. "That's what I want. That raw power, that raw danger...that deep terror..." He stood up slowly. "That is why I need your soul, Deadman. And I'll do whatever it takes to get it."

The Undertaker stared up at the man defiantly. "You'll never break me, Wyatt. No one has, and no one will."

Bray smiled once more. "You of all people should know better than to say never," he scolded lightly. "I'm going to tear your mind, body, and soul apart, and then sift through the pieces for what I need."

"And just how in the hell are you planning to do that?"

Wyatt shot the Undertaker one last smile before heading over to the large metal door. He opened it slowly, lovingly running his fingers over the many locks and bolts.

"Now where would the fun be in telling you what I'm going to do to you? I'll leave the details up to your imagination for now. Have a good night, Deadman."

And just like that, the Undertaker was alone in the room once more. He had no idea where, exactly, he was, or how long they planned on keeping him...or if he would ever leave there alive.

With a sigh, 'Taker moved back to the wall, resting against it once more. Surely the silence and waiting was a part of whatever torture was planned for him, and in the back of his mind, he wondered vaguely if his soul even could be taken. Bray Wyatt really was trying to do something that had never been done, or even attempted before.

The Undertaker was intimately familiar with Death; but what did it mean to lose one's soul to another?

Questions plagued him, until at last he found himself drifting off to sleep. He didn't know what the next days were going to hold, but he was certain that it wasn't going to be anything good.


"Let me go, you son of a bitch!"

The Undertaker jolted awake at sudden noise; even more so at the voice than the sound of chains being locked and the door being slammed. He knew that voice too well, and when his eyes adjusted to the darkness once more, he found a familiar set of eyes staring back at him from the shadows, just out of his reach as Wyatt had been.

"Oh, God dammit," the Undertaker said aloud, feeling at once a rush of happiness and sadness.

"What in the fuck are you doing here, Kane?!"


Next chapter up soon! I love that the WWE is devoting this week, and Survivor Series, to the Undertaker!