LOUISIANA, NEW ORLEANS
1830 HRS
He didn't want to be here.
There were things in his life he'd done before that made people wonder if he'd taken one too many hits to the head, from matches that had him bleeding like a stuck pig to the terrifyingly blithe disregard for his own wellbeing as he flew off the top of steel cages right to being assaulted within an inch of his life for daring to lead a rebellion against the very company he worked for, but had anyone asked Daniel Bryan if there was a single moment in his career he could have changed, the answer would have been a resounding no. The trials, the tribulations, all of it made him the grassroots leader that would have had fans following him up to the barricades.
All of it except for one decision made in what seemed a lifetime ago to follow a Preacher with a voice like poisoned honey who had reached out to him when he was at his lowest and he had accepted. If he knew then what he did now, what he wouldn't have given up for a moment to stop the man he had been then from ever agreeing to cross the threshold of this swamp.
He didn't want to be here.
Yet here he was knee-deep in the stinking bog somewhere in the black heart of Louisiana which made him ill to the pits of his stomach not so much from the putrid smell of stagnant, algae-choked waters and decay and something dead left out to dry in the summer sun for too long, but for the crippling fear of what would happen if he was caught and he didn't want to go back there-not again-and it was this crippling fear-not again-which made him bullet through the unmapped bayou like a hare being tailed by hunting dogs and from the deep, booming barks that echoed closer and closer behind him, he knew that wasn't too far from the truth.
"GUYS!" Daniel hollered to no one on particular as the cylindrical saddlebag of old leather was clamped tightly under one arm while a hand furiously tapped at the earpiece he wore. "COMEINCOMEINCOMEINCOMEIN-"
He sailed clear over a mass of rotting logs and heard the trundling of several feet and splashing behind him that surged even more strength into his legs to put as much distance between him and the hillbilly hunting party that had shambled to life the moment they had been alerted to a thief in their midst and he had fled like a bat out of hell from the ramshackle, two-storey log cabin that held a decorated place of honor in his nightmares.
"Copy Ahrairah! You have the-" the crackling voice came over the static in the earpiece when baying of attack dogs caught up with him and Daniel felt the weight of something holding him back as he whipped around to see a slavering bearhound, two hundred pounds at least ripping into the end of the saddle bag. Two more which were heavily scarred with cropped ears lunged for his face and for a second he froze like a deer in headlights up to the point where the animals' heads exploded mid-air to shower him with bits of blood and brain matter and the bodies that fell into the water spattered horrified features with brackish green slime.
"CLAUDANDUS! WARN A MAN, JESUS!" Daniel yelled, half-outraged and half-relieved as he wrested the bag away from the remaining hound which had been startled to a standstill by the sudden, violent deaths of its comrades.
"Waste of good dogs." the voice from the other end of the earpiece spoke up distastefully and not without a hint of regret as a fleeting shadow from above made him look up to the canopy thicket where a tall man in Swiss camouflage uniform was barely visible in the foliage, the glint of gunmetal and smoke in one hand enough of an indication as to what had happened.
If he had questioned Cesaro's claims to a past in active military duty, he certainly didn't now.
"Don't dwell on it. It was you or them, keep running sirrah. Are you certain?"
Clenching his teeth, Daniel tore away the saddlebag and flung it into the undergrowth-it was enough of a distraction for the last dog to run after it and all that was left of his cargo was an ornate, antique lantern seemingly carved from obsidian that was dangling precariously from one hand. The jagged edges and spikes which adorned the framework gave it an air of creeping malevolence that made the man want to hurl it as far away as possible and douse his hand in lye before whatever resided inside infected him, but here he was holding on to it like it was the motherfucking Holy Grail.
If it was evil they were looking for in this neck of the woods, he was pretty sure they'd hit the motherload.
"JUST TRUST ME WHEN I SAY I'M DEAD CERTAIN!"
God, when this was all over he was going to punch a man. So fucking hard.
The same man who had roped him into this madness though Cesaro or Claudio to close friends already sported an impressive shiner from when the inability to leave him the hell alone had reached its boiling point two weeks ago when the man had mustered the sheer audacity to follow him to his and Brie's home, the latest incident in a long line of failed attempts at persuasion that this entire idea hadn't been completely insane.
It wasn't that he didn't want to help even as his wife had assured him that he didn't need to, but it had taken a lot for him not to become immediately ill at the mere mention of coming back to this place and that much more not to outright abandon the cause when the hulking forms of Luke and Erick had loomed barely ten feet away from him looking like Christmas had come early.
They had tried to convert him to their twisted little family once upon a time that was better left forgotten and this was a family reunion he wanted no part of whatsoever.
Cesaro was a tough bastard though; another shiner wasn't going to hurt and was heartily deserved if reinforcements weren't here within the next few sec-
"Remus! Romulus! Cut them off!", he heard the man's voice come to life once more as the unmistakable sound of battle roar rocked the bayou and Daniel threw a glance over his shoulder just in time to see the synchronized tagteam of a Cincinnati street brawler and a Samoan war tank shoulder-checking Erick and Luke with enough force that it sent both men hurtling back close to twenty feet away to crash into the splintering base of weeping willow.
"Bitch you thought." there was Roman's buttery baritone warbling through the communication set followed by Dean's obnoxious warcry of "WHO ELSE WANTS TA RIDE THE LIGHTNING?!" that made Daniel nearly piss himself with mad giggling, more so that the sound of fists making intimate acquaintance with faces like shovels smacking into wet cement could be heard in the background of their cacophony.
Perhaps there was a chance this sojourn could be a success after all.
"Disturbance to your left, Ahrairah-possible alligator sighting. Take the route to your right through the small opening in the moss canopy. Your path seems clear from there." Overhead, Cesaro could be seen moving swiftly from branch to bough, relaying what he could barely see ahead and as much spite as he had for the man for playing to his human decency to lure him out here, he was thankful for said veteran's extra set of eyes.
"Getting that lantern out of here is top priority. Do not compromise it. Head for the airboat, thirty paces to your north and ten to your right. If neither of us report to you within five minutes, leave."
"Don't have to tell me twice!" Daniel veered to his right as instructed, forcing himself to believe that the boys had this under control while tearing through the mossy undergrowth and resisting the urge to look back, an urge he broke instinctively when a howl of agony rippled through the marsh and he felt his heart sink.
Roman. Roman was hurt.
"DANIEL! FOCUS!" Cesaro's voice peaked, completely forgoing his codename to snap him back to attention as he whirled around to collide with a wild-eyed buck which lashed out stilt legs in his face to send him careening head-first through the undergrowth and into another section of the eerie woodlands where sunlight barely filtered through at high noon. Scrambling to drag himself up against the side of a Baldycypress, he could feel his heart was pounding hard enough against his chest that it had become painful to even breathe.
"Damn and blast, I've lost visual! Where are you?!"
"I don't-I don't know. Dark-daylight isn't cutting through the canopy." Daniel snapped back, letting out a cry of disgust as a piece of the tree hollowed out by wood-boring maggots fell apart under his touch. "Can't be far from the airboat Claud. Stumbled maybe ten, fifteen paces off the original course?"
"Stay where you are-Remus and Romulus are on the clear. Light the flare I provided you, they'll pick you up."
Taking in a deep breath, the hobbit of a man fumbled for the flare strapped to the side of his backpack as he set it off, the red sparks steeping everything around him in a deep reddish hue. The weak grin of relief that tugged at a corner of his mouth as he heard a set of footsteps running his way however was immediately dimmed by the feeling of hot breath gently bearing down his neck that made the minute hairs upon it rise in mounting horror.
Where he had been alone in this part of the wetlands just seconds before, he definitely wasn't now.
"I think..." The hypnotic, dulcet tones from behind spoke up with an off-handed casualness that felt as though he and Daniel were out for a cup of tea and he needed the sugar passed his way. "You have something that belongs to me, little lamb. I'd like it back if you please."
"O—of course." Daniel gulped nervously, clutching the lantern to his chest as he turned around to face the Preacher who had been the one to drag him back into the heart of this bayou when he realized just how deep the madness in the man's sermons ran and had taken away a piece of him no amount of months or years could replace. A part of him had died screaming in the old shack, the damp basement he was forced to call home for several weeks-he still mourned it some days, raged for it on others.
Today, it was one of the others.
The wicked smile of triumph that Bray Wyatt wore bathed in the blood red of the flare's light as he held out a hand expectantly, under the assumption that he had cowed the wrestling everyman once more shifted to wide-eyed and slack-jaw surprise that left him too mystified by the shifting trajectory of the object which instead of his hand sailed right over it to crack him in the jaw as the turning of the world seemed to slow down between them.
There was righteous indignation carved upon Daniel's face as he watched the preacher's head snap around from the force, the jutting spikes of the lantern leaving deep grooves in Bray's cheek which sent droplets of blood swinging upwards in a graceful parabolic arc to go with the flying spittle.
It was like watching poetry in motion. It made him want to weep.
And as he took in the full breadth of the spectacle right up to the point where a resounding splash could be heard from the preacher falling backwards into the brackish swamp water, there was a flash of teeth and a fierce grin of vindication as the notion struck him.
It needed an encore.
"No—" Bray had barely managed to stagger onto both feet dazedly when the lantern smashed into the crown of his skull instead, knocking off the man's fedora as stringy hair that hadn't been washed in days whipped around and through the curtain of it hanging lank over the portly man's face, Daniel could see panic in beetle-black eyes.
"THAT WAS FOR KANE!" came the roar as the smaller man swung again, the sight of Bray breaking before him by his hand a form of cathartic schadenfreude and by god, he needed more of it.
"Don't-" Bray struggled for some semblance of coherency as Daniel swung the object around like a bludgeon once more to clock him in the temple. It was deceptively heavier than it looked.
"THAT WAS FOR ME!" The smaller man's assault continued and at this point, the spikes of the lantern had become coated in blood as Bray's lower jaw swelled like he'd been stung by a dozen angry hornets and he raised his hands frantically to stop Daniel from swinging the damn thing around like a mace a fourth time. Daniel was quicker however, pulling back as Bray lunged wildly for him only to duck and jackhammer the top of the object into an exposed chin.
"STOP THAT! DON'T YOU BREAK IT!" The preacher managed to sputter out in frustration as he reeled back clumsily from the blow.
"I don't know what that was for—" Daniel wheezed as the exhilaration raced through his veins and he lunged for Bray once more.
"BUT I'M DAMN SURE YOU DESERVED IT!"
Ducking Daniel's blitz at the very last second, Bray swiftly wiped away a slick of blood from his face onto his fingers to expertly smear it on the dark, grimy glass of the lamp as an incantation was murmured under his breath.
It was in no tongue that Daniel understood but a light suddenly came alive within the core of the lantern, purple and pulsating and blinding for a few moments that he had to shield his face from glow right before the steel that made up the frame of the object began to heat up.
A sharp yelp of pain passed the wrestler's lips as he dropped it like a live grenade, clutching his hand which had been holding the thing as burn marks were seared into his skin and Bray loomed up behind him to club him across the back to knock the wind out of him.
A second blow struck the back of his head and the world spun violently for a few seconds as he found himself gasping for air, forcefully submerged in the waters and his muted screams invited a torrent of stilt to invade his mouth much to the glee of the portly man straddling him with both meaty hands wrapped like a vice around his neck.
He was going to die here.
He was going to-
Bray's weight on his chest was suddenly lifted as a second pair of hands reached down into the murky depths and his first instinct had been to claw away at them wildly, but they grasped his clothes instead of his neck to haul him out of the water and he clung to Roman like his life depended on it, struggling for breath and coughing vehemently to clear his airways while the Samoan steadily supported his weight.
"The American Horror Allspark, goatboy." Dean harshly demanded of Daniel as he bristled like a rabid dog, hackles raised and a snarl curling up the corner of a torn lip at the sight of Bray up ahead who was studying all four of them like a curious anomaly. "Where the hell is it?"
The preacher now sporting a busted eyebrow from the brawler's interference made a show of casually licking off the blood on his hand which seemed more a bother than anything else and most of which was his own just as the glowing lantern rose of its own volition behind him and it was at that point that the murky bayou seemed to come alive, the surface of the water churning with activity.
Immediately both remaining members of The Shield herded Daniel into their center like well-trained dogs shepherding a lone sheep while Cesaro reached for his gun and the smallest of their team had a fleeting impression of being well-protected against whatever eldritch horrors Bray intended to send their way.
That feeling quickly vaporized as the lumbering shapes of what looked like Bray's entire cult; young, old, even the women and children pushed past the curtains of moss and forced aside the foliage and crawled out from the undergrowth, a manic light gleaming in their eyes as Bray spread open his arms as though to welcome the four wayward men into his fold.
"They answer her call. We don't usually get visitors into the neck of these woods. Not without a little….coercion." Bray crooned as the mass of swamp dwellers advanced upon them and he raised his hands to clasp the sides of the lamp with a gentle reverence, inspecting the swell of the glass for any damage.
"If it was an audience with her you wanted though, dear fireflies, all you had to do was ask. She is rather fond of you, you know. Tell me, do you plan on bearing witness to of a new world rising like a phoenix from the ashes of the old?"
The smile he wore swiftly disappeared as he jerked to a side just in time to avoid a deafening BANNGGGG that shattered the bark of a tree right behind him, narrowed eyes following the smoking trail to a grim-faced Cesaro who had the gun raised to face-level and was pulling back on its hammer.
"Attempt to bring on a Louisiana Ragnarok, and the next one goes through your head." Daniel heard the Swissman utter in complete calm as he frantically grabbed for the hunting knife that Roman who sported a massive gash in one arm wordlessly passed to him. This wasn't what he had signed up for. He was a wrestler, made for the ring in a sport of combat yes, but combat where there were rules and timekeepers and medics on call and generally lacking in the possibility of sudden death.
The glow of the kerosene lamp however mocked to the timid side of him, the simple everyman for whom family was everything that mattered to him outside of the ring and he thought of Brie, Brie who had been patient with him when he was lost and angry and self-destructing, Brie who had kept him from being driven half-mad from his ordeal here, Brie who had sat sleepless with him through his night terrors and talked to him about anything and everything until he felt safe enough to sleep once more.
Brie who had watched as he packed his bags to follow in Cesaro's stead and held his hand on goodbye for too long when he was at the doorstep and she didn't have to say that she didn't want him to go for him to have known it to the very core of his being.
He had promised her that he would be at RAW on Monday.
Through hell or high water, they were going to be there on Monday Night RAW.
"You heard the soldier." Daniel snarled as he deadlocked Bray in his sights. "Tell whatever the hell is in there to put off the end of the world for another millennium or two."
Blinking at him, Dean and Roman both flashed toothy, predatory grins as they side-eyed the approaching cult members who stood between them and the Preacher, seemingly dividing the numbers between them in an unspoken agreement. The moment Daniel sprung for Bray alongside Cesaro, all hell broke loose as both brothers-in-arms cut a path for them through the raging swathe of hillbilly humanity like they were parting the Red Sea.
"'CAUSE IT SURE AS HELL AIN'T HAPPENING TODAY!"