Lords of Darkness III
Mark Callaway sighed as he slowed his motorcycle, turning off onto the dirt road that led to the remote ranch house he shared with his wife, Sara. The WWF had just finished the taping of Smackdown in Houston, Texas, and Mark was taking advantage of the fact to sneak home for a couple days. When he had left the arena after he and Kane had handily defeated Kaentai in all of six seconds he had been on an adrenaline high, more tightly wound than a spring, but as he drew closer to his home he could feel himself relaxing, his entire demeanor shifting from that of the newly reawakened 'Lord of Darkness' to ordinary Mark Callaway.
Sara had that affect on him.
With her, he could just be himself. He could forget about all the anger and frustration that were his usual companions and escape from the darkness that constantly threatened to overwhelm him. She had been the first person, other than his brother, Kane, to see past the exterior he showed the world. When they had met he had been at the lowest point in his life, he had hated everything and everyone, taking out his rage in bouts of senseless violence. Then, suddenly, she had been there, unafraid despite his intimidating character. She had somehow found the tiny kernel of Mark Callaway that, at the time, had been all that had been left of him, and had helped it grow, helped to separate him from the 'Lord of Darkness'.
It had taken a long time, and a great deal of patience on Sara's part, but eventually Mark had regained his perspective on life...in the process falling madly in love with the golden angel who had inspired him.
Sara had been understandably worried when he had told her about his plan to 'resurrect' the Lord of Darkness persona, but she had in the end understood. Mark had reassured her that, with her at his side, the Undertaker would never again overwhelm him. But, he had explained, the other wrestlers in the WWF didn't fear Mark Callaway; they feared the Undertaker, the Lord of Darkness. And, since it had become obvious that he wasn't going to get the respect that he deserved, he would settle for regaining their terror.
Mark shook his head, banishing these thoughts from his head. Now was not the time to be dwelling on the injustice he had suffered of late in the WWF. He promised himself that for the next four days he would concentrate only on the woman he loved...and how to keep her in bed for as long as possible.
As his thoughts returned to the present, Mark noticed a flashing of lights through the foliage of the trees and bushes that lined the road. A sudden cold gripped his heart, and he chided himself against jumping to conclusions. Rounding the final turn before his home, however, he felt his heart clench as the house came into view...along with the police cars and ambulances that sat in the yard in front of it.
Heedless of his own safety, Mark sped up, gravel flying in all directions as he pulled into his driveway and stopped next to one of the police officers that were prowling the territory. Immediately he cut the motor on his bike and, turning to the officer, demanded, "What the hell is going on here?"
The other man had watched Mark's homecoming, and the sympathy that showed on his face sent dread coursing through Mark's body. "Are you Mark Callaway?"
"Yes, who the fuck else would I be? Now will you tell me what the he..." Mark's words came to a choked halt as, at that moment, two paramedics stepped out onto the porch carrying a stretcher between them. Lying on the stretcher was a small form...wrapped in a black body bag.
Mark barely noticed the hand that the officer brought up and rested on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, sir. Your wife was already gone when we arrived."
Mark didn't respond to the officer, he merely stared in emotionless shock as the body was loaded into the waiting ambulance and the paramedics closed the doors to the back of the vehicle. As those doors closed, taking with them his view of Sara, Mark felt something inside him give a desolate, wailing cry as it died.
*******
"You did WHAT?!" HHH screamed, staring at his partner-in-crime, Stone Cold Steve Austin in abject disbelief. "You were supposed to kidnap Sara, not fucking kill her!"
"She nearly scratched my damn eyes out when I went to grab her. She disrespected Stone Cold Steve Austin. I couldn't just let her get away with that."
"So you kill her?! She scratches you, and so you decide to forget all our plans and fucking kill her? What the FUCK were you thinking?!"
"Hell, I didn't plan on killing her, just dope her up so she was easier to handle," Austin explained, his own voice beginning to rise in response to HHH's outburst.
Hunter ground his teeth, trying in vain to control his fiery temper. "You emptied the entire syringe into her."
"You're the one who gave it to me. How was I supposed to know it would kill her?"
Hunter's face was, by now, dark red, and veins on either side of his forehead had popped out, making it look as if his head could explode at any moment. "Because I fucking TOLD you at least five damn times not to give her more than a quarter of what was there! I gave you extra in case Taker was there too!"
Before Austin could reply, Vince burst into the room, an anxious expression on his face. "The Undertaker is aware of the situation. He arrived at the ranch just as they were removing Sara's body."
HHH collapsed onto the couch at that news, rubbing his face wearily with his hands. "Fuck. That's it, then. We're all dead."
"Now, let's not jump to conclusions," Vince advised, the nervous gestures of his hands belying his calm words. "There's no reason to assume that the Undertaker will figure out who was responsible for Sara's death."
Hunter shook his head, falling backwards against the back of the couch. "Oh, he'll figure it out. You can count on that." He sighed resignedly, silently asking himself how he had ever gotten mixed up in the whole mess in the first place. "I hope the two of you are happy. I was against involving Sara in any of this. It was you guys who insisted on using her against Taker."
Austin angrily strode over to where HHH sat dejectedly, looming over the Game. "Now wait one damn minute. You can't blame this all on Stone Cold! You went along with Vince and me. Do you really think that IF he finds out what happened, the Undertaker is going to go easier on you just because using Sara wasn't your idea?"
HHH raised his head up from the couch back to meet Austin's gaze with hazel eyes that were devoid of even the slightest glimmer of hope. "No, I don't."
*******
An incredibly annoying ringing woke Kane from a sound sleep. Rolling over, he slammed a massive fist down onto the alarm clock on its nightstand, sending the helpless machine to an early grave as it shattered into pieces. The ringing continued, however.
"Mmph?" Kane blearily opened his eyes, staring dumbly at the mutilated alarm clock until the realization of what the true source of the persistent noise was penetrated his sleep-addled mind.
Kane slowly picked up the phone receiver, bringing it up to his head. "Mmm...'ello?"
"Kane, come out to the ranch. I need you to do a fire reading for me," the Undertaker's voice instructed, sounding frighteningly dead to Kane's ears and shaking the last grasping fingers of sleep from Kane's mind.
Now fully awake, Kane sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Mark, what's wrong? What happened?"
There was a short pause, as if Taker had needed time to compose himself before answering. His reply, though, was completely lacking of any emotions, and sent the receiver tumbling from Kane's suddenly lax fingers.
"Sara is dead."
*******
Kane broke several speed limits on his way to his brother's ranch. When he arrived he found Mark standing stoically in front of the house, a blazing torch in one hand and the reeking aroma of gasoline heavy in the air.
Kane quickly jogged over to where Taker stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Mark, how did it happen?"
The Undertaker tensed under Kane's hand, then turned, dislodging his grip. "That's what you're here to tell me," he answered in a monotone voice, his dead eyes staring at the peace he had called home, the first place he had found real happiness.
Then he threw the flaming brand onto the porch, which was almost immediately engulfed in flame, violent testimony to the amount of fuel the Undertaker had poured over it.
"Mark, no!" Kane had recognized Taker's intent the moment he had seen the torched and smelled the gasoline, but he had hoped to talk his brother out of destroying his home.
The Undertaker turned, staring at Kane with stormy jade eyes. "It is the only way to learn the truth of what happened. Besides, there is nothing for me here anymore. Now, will you perform the ceremony, or do I need to contact the dark spirits?"
Kane froze at that. Whatever else happened, he could not let Taker call on those terrible powers again. Not when it would certainly cost him his soul. Kane took one last look at the Undertaker, shaking his head and sighing at the unshakeable resolve in his face. "No, Mark. That won't be necessary, I'll do it."
So saying, Kane drew closer to the roaring fire, which by now had engulfed the majority of the house. Curiously unaffected by the intense heat, Kane closed his eyes, a frown of concentration on his face.
For several minutes he stood motionless, struggling to call on abilities he hadn't used in ages. Finally he felt the familiar call of the flames, and he momentarily lost himself in the power and raging energies of the inferno as his spirit joined with it. The dark shadow at the corner of his consciousness that represented his brother drew him back, however, and he composed himself to begin the ceremony.
Kane brought his left hand up until it was even with his eyes and clenched it into a tight fist. Firmly grasping it within his right hand, he intoned a single word, "Terra."
Then he steepled the index and smallest fingers of both hands, calling out, "Aether," in a deep voice.
Once more forming a fist with his left hand, he straightened his right, holding it perpendicular to the ground. "Aqua."
Finally he straightened his left hand as well, pressing his palms together almost as if in prayer. "Ignis," he chanted, then returned his hands to their original formation and repeated the series several times. Each repetition came faster than the last, and Kane's voice began to resonate with an ancient, elemental power.
So lost was Kane in his ritual that he didn't notice the image forming in the dancing flames until he heard the Undertaker gasp.
Kane opened his eyes and gazed into the fire, watching sadly as the fire-shadow of Sara entered what used to be the bedroom. She sat down at her vanity and began to brush her long, golden hair.
Kane drew a sharp breath when the door behind Sara slowly opened and Stone Cold Steve Austin entered the room. Before Austin could reach Sara, something alerted her to his presence and she turned to face him, jumping up from her stool. The two shades spoke to each other, but whatever was said was lost in the crackling of the fire.
Eventually Stone Cold began to move towards Sara again. She backed up until she ran into a dresser, then she abruptly tried to dart for the door and safety, but Austin was quicker. Moving like the snake from which he took his nickname he struck, grabbing Sara's arm in an iron grip.
Sara still refused to give up. She struggled wildly to escape from Austin, kicking him and lashing out with her free arm. She raked her fingers over Austin's face, her nails leaving a set of angry red scratches in their wake.
Stone Cold threw her violently against a wall. Sara crumpled to the floor stunned as her head bounced off the unyielding drywall. Gingerly fingering the scratches she had left, Austin glared at her, the sheer malevolence and hatred on his face causing her to struggle to regain her senses and her feet.
Before she could do so, Austin was upon her, shoving a knee painfully into her chest and pinning her against the wall. He reached into a pocket in his jeans and pulled out a hypodermic needle. Once again grabbing onto her arm, he jammed the needle home and emptied it into her small body. Sara continued to fruitlessly fight against Austin, but as time wore on it became apparent that she was rapidly weakening.
Then she collapsed altogether.
Austin gaped at her in astonishment before bringing his hand up to her neck, checking for a pulse. Seconds later he jerked his hand back as if burned and looked wildly around the room, as if suspecting someone to jump out of the shadows and attack him. He jumped to his feet and began frantically pacing the room, gesturing wildly as he ranted to himself. After one final circuit of the room he approached Sara's motionless body, leaning over her and yelling into her face, his own nose only an inch from hers. Winding his right arm back, he slapped her across the cheek, never stopping in his tirade. But, in spite of his efforts, Sara remained unresponsive.
When Stone Cold raised his arm once more, preparing to strike Sara yet again, the Undertaker's voice finally broke the eerie silence that had reigned during the entire scene. "Enough."
Kane immediately broke his connection to the flames, and the images faded before their eyes.
The Undertaker continued to stare into the raging fire, hatred etched on every feature. "And thus, the Power Trip has sealed its own destruction."
*******
"Now wait a minute!" Kane protested, his heartbeat quickening as he realized the implications behind Taker's words. And especially how those implications concerned a certain hazel-eyed member of the Power Trip. "Steve was the one who killed Sara. There is nothing that suggests that Vince or HHH were involved too."
The Undertaker's stormy glare halted any further protests. "You don't honestly believe that Austin came up with this idea on his own, do you? He couldn't, he's an idiot, nothing more than a pawn of Vince McMahon...and HHH."
Kane's desperate eyes met Taker's resolute ones in a brief struggle, but he was quickly forced to look away, lowering his head as he nodded in agreement with his older brother. "You're right," he sighed wearily, "you're right. I just..."
The Undertaker interrupted him, his voice cruel and impatient. "You just refuse to accept the fact that you relationship with Hunter is over. Face it, Kane, he betrayed you. In the end, whatever it was that the two of you had wasn't as important to him as his career. YOU weren't as important to him. Pitifully clinging to a dead romance is beneath you, and more than a little disgusting."
Kane felt each of the Undertaker's words as if they were physical blows. His throat constricted and he found himself fighting back tears as the truth that he had been trying so hard to avoid was finally, brutally, forced home.
Kane had truly loved Hunter. He had thought he had finally found his life's mate in the passionate blonde, who for Kane had finally left his wife, Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley, and had begun divorce proceedings to end their farce of a marriage. After almost a year of bliss, however, HHH had decided to end their relationship, returning to his wife and joining up with Vince and Austin in the hopes of regaining championship gold. He hadn't even cared enough to tell Kane face-to-face about his decision. Instead Kane had learned of it after a vicious attack from behind had left him lying on the ground in agony, looking up into the face of his chair-wielding lover.
Still, Kane had hoped deep down that in time Hunter would realize his error, that he would come back, admitting he had been wrong and begging for forgiveness. The Undertaker had made him realize just how foolish that hope really was. Kane knew Hunter, better than anyone; he knew how important being a champion was to him. It was the single most driving force in his life, practically his reason for being. There was no way that he would give up his chance to be champion again...not for anyone...certainly not for a burnt freak like Kane.
Kane suddenly felt himself floundering, as if a giant sinkhole had suddenly opened up beneath him, swallowing him whole, and an aching, all to familiar sensation of loneliness crept upon him. In that moment of despair, Kane once again heard the siren's song of the raging inferno calling out to him, as it had in his youth, offering solace and relief from his pain.
Years ago, under Paul Bearer's tutelage, Kane had given into this temptation, and had fallen into an world of desolation and solitude, believing that no one cared for him and refusing to care for anyone else...refusing to feel anything at all other than anger and loathing. It had taken the loving acceptance and support of his older brother and several years to finally free him from the enslavement of the Elemental Fire. Since that time, it had never stopped reaching out for him, trying to pull him back to its side and reestablish its control over him. He had been able to ignore it, however, being determined not to relinquish the ability to feel...to love...that he had gained so late in life.
At the moment, however, he couldn't remember why he had wanted to keep the ability so badly. He stood there, gazing sightlessly into the raging flames, his heart shattered into countless pieces, and he let the power of the inferno's essence wash over him. He no longer had the will to fight it. He remained motionless, allowing its spirit to merge with his own as it took away his pain, hardening his heart and leaving it shadowed in darkness, turning him back into the monster he had been when he had first entered the WWF on a quest to destroy the Undertaker.
Feeling strangely free, Kane looked over to the Undertaker, the dancing flames reflecting in his eyes. "So what's the plan?"
One corner of the Undertaker's mouth curled up in an evil smirk, a faraway look appearing on his face as he imagined the many ways he could exact his revenge. "Simple. We torture those bastards until they wish they were dead and then, we grant that wish."
Mark Callaway sighed as he slowed his motorcycle, turning off onto the dirt road that led to the remote ranch house he shared with his wife, Sara. The WWF had just finished the taping of Smackdown in Houston, Texas, and Mark was taking advantage of the fact to sneak home for a couple days. When he had left the arena after he and Kane had handily defeated Kaentai in all of six seconds he had been on an adrenaline high, more tightly wound than a spring, but as he drew closer to his home he could feel himself relaxing, his entire demeanor shifting from that of the newly reawakened 'Lord of Darkness' to ordinary Mark Callaway.
Sara had that affect on him.
With her, he could just be himself. He could forget about all the anger and frustration that were his usual companions and escape from the darkness that constantly threatened to overwhelm him. She had been the first person, other than his brother, Kane, to see past the exterior he showed the world. When they had met he had been at the lowest point in his life, he had hated everything and everyone, taking out his rage in bouts of senseless violence. Then, suddenly, she had been there, unafraid despite his intimidating character. She had somehow found the tiny kernel of Mark Callaway that, at the time, had been all that had been left of him, and had helped it grow, helped to separate him from the 'Lord of Darkness'.
It had taken a long time, and a great deal of patience on Sara's part, but eventually Mark had regained his perspective on life...in the process falling madly in love with the golden angel who had inspired him.
Sara had been understandably worried when he had told her about his plan to 'resurrect' the Lord of Darkness persona, but she had in the end understood. Mark had reassured her that, with her at his side, the Undertaker would never again overwhelm him. But, he had explained, the other wrestlers in the WWF didn't fear Mark Callaway; they feared the Undertaker, the Lord of Darkness. And, since it had become obvious that he wasn't going to get the respect that he deserved, he would settle for regaining their terror.
Mark shook his head, banishing these thoughts from his head. Now was not the time to be dwelling on the injustice he had suffered of late in the WWF. He promised himself that for the next four days he would concentrate only on the woman he loved...and how to keep her in bed for as long as possible.
As his thoughts returned to the present, Mark noticed a flashing of lights through the foliage of the trees and bushes that lined the road. A sudden cold gripped his heart, and he chided himself against jumping to conclusions. Rounding the final turn before his home, however, he felt his heart clench as the house came into view...along with the police cars and ambulances that sat in the yard in front of it.
Heedless of his own safety, Mark sped up, gravel flying in all directions as he pulled into his driveway and stopped next to one of the police officers that were prowling the territory. Immediately he cut the motor on his bike and, turning to the officer, demanded, "What the hell is going on here?"
The other man had watched Mark's homecoming, and the sympathy that showed on his face sent dread coursing through Mark's body. "Are you Mark Callaway?"
"Yes, who the fuck else would I be? Now will you tell me what the he..." Mark's words came to a choked halt as, at that moment, two paramedics stepped out onto the porch carrying a stretcher between them. Lying on the stretcher was a small form...wrapped in a black body bag.
Mark barely noticed the hand that the officer brought up and rested on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, sir. Your wife was already gone when we arrived."
Mark didn't respond to the officer, he merely stared in emotionless shock as the body was loaded into the waiting ambulance and the paramedics closed the doors to the back of the vehicle. As those doors closed, taking with them his view of Sara, Mark felt something inside him give a desolate, wailing cry as it died.
*******
"You did WHAT?!" HHH screamed, staring at his partner-in-crime, Stone Cold Steve Austin in abject disbelief. "You were supposed to kidnap Sara, not fucking kill her!"
"She nearly scratched my damn eyes out when I went to grab her. She disrespected Stone Cold Steve Austin. I couldn't just let her get away with that."
"So you kill her?! She scratches you, and so you decide to forget all our plans and fucking kill her? What the FUCK were you thinking?!"
"Hell, I didn't plan on killing her, just dope her up so she was easier to handle," Austin explained, his own voice beginning to rise in response to HHH's outburst.
Hunter ground his teeth, trying in vain to control his fiery temper. "You emptied the entire syringe into her."
"You're the one who gave it to me. How was I supposed to know it would kill her?"
Hunter's face was, by now, dark red, and veins on either side of his forehead had popped out, making it look as if his head could explode at any moment. "Because I fucking TOLD you at least five damn times not to give her more than a quarter of what was there! I gave you extra in case Taker was there too!"
Before Austin could reply, Vince burst into the room, an anxious expression on his face. "The Undertaker is aware of the situation. He arrived at the ranch just as they were removing Sara's body."
HHH collapsed onto the couch at that news, rubbing his face wearily with his hands. "Fuck. That's it, then. We're all dead."
"Now, let's not jump to conclusions," Vince advised, the nervous gestures of his hands belying his calm words. "There's no reason to assume that the Undertaker will figure out who was responsible for Sara's death."
Hunter shook his head, falling backwards against the back of the couch. "Oh, he'll figure it out. You can count on that." He sighed resignedly, silently asking himself how he had ever gotten mixed up in the whole mess in the first place. "I hope the two of you are happy. I was against involving Sara in any of this. It was you guys who insisted on using her against Taker."
Austin angrily strode over to where HHH sat dejectedly, looming over the Game. "Now wait one damn minute. You can't blame this all on Stone Cold! You went along with Vince and me. Do you really think that IF he finds out what happened, the Undertaker is going to go easier on you just because using Sara wasn't your idea?"
HHH raised his head up from the couch back to meet Austin's gaze with hazel eyes that were devoid of even the slightest glimmer of hope. "No, I don't."
*******
An incredibly annoying ringing woke Kane from a sound sleep. Rolling over, he slammed a massive fist down onto the alarm clock on its nightstand, sending the helpless machine to an early grave as it shattered into pieces. The ringing continued, however.
"Mmph?" Kane blearily opened his eyes, staring dumbly at the mutilated alarm clock until the realization of what the true source of the persistent noise was penetrated his sleep-addled mind.
Kane slowly picked up the phone receiver, bringing it up to his head. "Mmm...'ello?"
"Kane, come out to the ranch. I need you to do a fire reading for me," the Undertaker's voice instructed, sounding frighteningly dead to Kane's ears and shaking the last grasping fingers of sleep from Kane's mind.
Now fully awake, Kane sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Mark, what's wrong? What happened?"
There was a short pause, as if Taker had needed time to compose himself before answering. His reply, though, was completely lacking of any emotions, and sent the receiver tumbling from Kane's suddenly lax fingers.
"Sara is dead."
*******
Kane broke several speed limits on his way to his brother's ranch. When he arrived he found Mark standing stoically in front of the house, a blazing torch in one hand and the reeking aroma of gasoline heavy in the air.
Kane quickly jogged over to where Taker stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Mark, how did it happen?"
The Undertaker tensed under Kane's hand, then turned, dislodging his grip. "That's what you're here to tell me," he answered in a monotone voice, his dead eyes staring at the peace he had called home, the first place he had found real happiness.
Then he threw the flaming brand onto the porch, which was almost immediately engulfed in flame, violent testimony to the amount of fuel the Undertaker had poured over it.
"Mark, no!" Kane had recognized Taker's intent the moment he had seen the torched and smelled the gasoline, but he had hoped to talk his brother out of destroying his home.
The Undertaker turned, staring at Kane with stormy jade eyes. "It is the only way to learn the truth of what happened. Besides, there is nothing for me here anymore. Now, will you perform the ceremony, or do I need to contact the dark spirits?"
Kane froze at that. Whatever else happened, he could not let Taker call on those terrible powers again. Not when it would certainly cost him his soul. Kane took one last look at the Undertaker, shaking his head and sighing at the unshakeable resolve in his face. "No, Mark. That won't be necessary, I'll do it."
So saying, Kane drew closer to the roaring fire, which by now had engulfed the majority of the house. Curiously unaffected by the intense heat, Kane closed his eyes, a frown of concentration on his face.
For several minutes he stood motionless, struggling to call on abilities he hadn't used in ages. Finally he felt the familiar call of the flames, and he momentarily lost himself in the power and raging energies of the inferno as his spirit joined with it. The dark shadow at the corner of his consciousness that represented his brother drew him back, however, and he composed himself to begin the ceremony.
Kane brought his left hand up until it was even with his eyes and clenched it into a tight fist. Firmly grasping it within his right hand, he intoned a single word, "Terra."
Then he steepled the index and smallest fingers of both hands, calling out, "Aether," in a deep voice.
Once more forming a fist with his left hand, he straightened his right, holding it perpendicular to the ground. "Aqua."
Finally he straightened his left hand as well, pressing his palms together almost as if in prayer. "Ignis," he chanted, then returned his hands to their original formation and repeated the series several times. Each repetition came faster than the last, and Kane's voice began to resonate with an ancient, elemental power.
So lost was Kane in his ritual that he didn't notice the image forming in the dancing flames until he heard the Undertaker gasp.
Kane opened his eyes and gazed into the fire, watching sadly as the fire-shadow of Sara entered what used to be the bedroom. She sat down at her vanity and began to brush her long, golden hair.
Kane drew a sharp breath when the door behind Sara slowly opened and Stone Cold Steve Austin entered the room. Before Austin could reach Sara, something alerted her to his presence and she turned to face him, jumping up from her stool. The two shades spoke to each other, but whatever was said was lost in the crackling of the fire.
Eventually Stone Cold began to move towards Sara again. She backed up until she ran into a dresser, then she abruptly tried to dart for the door and safety, but Austin was quicker. Moving like the snake from which he took his nickname he struck, grabbing Sara's arm in an iron grip.
Sara still refused to give up. She struggled wildly to escape from Austin, kicking him and lashing out with her free arm. She raked her fingers over Austin's face, her nails leaving a set of angry red scratches in their wake.
Stone Cold threw her violently against a wall. Sara crumpled to the floor stunned as her head bounced off the unyielding drywall. Gingerly fingering the scratches she had left, Austin glared at her, the sheer malevolence and hatred on his face causing her to struggle to regain her senses and her feet.
Before she could do so, Austin was upon her, shoving a knee painfully into her chest and pinning her against the wall. He reached into a pocket in his jeans and pulled out a hypodermic needle. Once again grabbing onto her arm, he jammed the needle home and emptied it into her small body. Sara continued to fruitlessly fight against Austin, but as time wore on it became apparent that she was rapidly weakening.
Then she collapsed altogether.
Austin gaped at her in astonishment before bringing his hand up to her neck, checking for a pulse. Seconds later he jerked his hand back as if burned and looked wildly around the room, as if suspecting someone to jump out of the shadows and attack him. He jumped to his feet and began frantically pacing the room, gesturing wildly as he ranted to himself. After one final circuit of the room he approached Sara's motionless body, leaning over her and yelling into her face, his own nose only an inch from hers. Winding his right arm back, he slapped her across the cheek, never stopping in his tirade. But, in spite of his efforts, Sara remained unresponsive.
When Stone Cold raised his arm once more, preparing to strike Sara yet again, the Undertaker's voice finally broke the eerie silence that had reigned during the entire scene. "Enough."
Kane immediately broke his connection to the flames, and the images faded before their eyes.
The Undertaker continued to stare into the raging fire, hatred etched on every feature. "And thus, the Power Trip has sealed its own destruction."
*******
"Now wait a minute!" Kane protested, his heartbeat quickening as he realized the implications behind Taker's words. And especially how those implications concerned a certain hazel-eyed member of the Power Trip. "Steve was the one who killed Sara. There is nothing that suggests that Vince or HHH were involved too."
The Undertaker's stormy glare halted any further protests. "You don't honestly believe that Austin came up with this idea on his own, do you? He couldn't, he's an idiot, nothing more than a pawn of Vince McMahon...and HHH."
Kane's desperate eyes met Taker's resolute ones in a brief struggle, but he was quickly forced to look away, lowering his head as he nodded in agreement with his older brother. "You're right," he sighed wearily, "you're right. I just..."
The Undertaker interrupted him, his voice cruel and impatient. "You just refuse to accept the fact that you relationship with Hunter is over. Face it, Kane, he betrayed you. In the end, whatever it was that the two of you had wasn't as important to him as his career. YOU weren't as important to him. Pitifully clinging to a dead romance is beneath you, and more than a little disgusting."
Kane felt each of the Undertaker's words as if they were physical blows. His throat constricted and he found himself fighting back tears as the truth that he had been trying so hard to avoid was finally, brutally, forced home.
Kane had truly loved Hunter. He had thought he had finally found his life's mate in the passionate blonde, who for Kane had finally left his wife, Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley, and had begun divorce proceedings to end their farce of a marriage. After almost a year of bliss, however, HHH had decided to end their relationship, returning to his wife and joining up with Vince and Austin in the hopes of regaining championship gold. He hadn't even cared enough to tell Kane face-to-face about his decision. Instead Kane had learned of it after a vicious attack from behind had left him lying on the ground in agony, looking up into the face of his chair-wielding lover.
Still, Kane had hoped deep down that in time Hunter would realize his error, that he would come back, admitting he had been wrong and begging for forgiveness. The Undertaker had made him realize just how foolish that hope really was. Kane knew Hunter, better than anyone; he knew how important being a champion was to him. It was the single most driving force in his life, practically his reason for being. There was no way that he would give up his chance to be champion again...not for anyone...certainly not for a burnt freak like Kane.
Kane suddenly felt himself floundering, as if a giant sinkhole had suddenly opened up beneath him, swallowing him whole, and an aching, all to familiar sensation of loneliness crept upon him. In that moment of despair, Kane once again heard the siren's song of the raging inferno calling out to him, as it had in his youth, offering solace and relief from his pain.
Years ago, under Paul Bearer's tutelage, Kane had given into this temptation, and had fallen into an world of desolation and solitude, believing that no one cared for him and refusing to care for anyone else...refusing to feel anything at all other than anger and loathing. It had taken the loving acceptance and support of his older brother and several years to finally free him from the enslavement of the Elemental Fire. Since that time, it had never stopped reaching out for him, trying to pull him back to its side and reestablish its control over him. He had been able to ignore it, however, being determined not to relinquish the ability to feel...to love...that he had gained so late in life.
At the moment, however, he couldn't remember why he had wanted to keep the ability so badly. He stood there, gazing sightlessly into the raging flames, his heart shattered into countless pieces, and he let the power of the inferno's essence wash over him. He no longer had the will to fight it. He remained motionless, allowing its spirit to merge with his own as it took away his pain, hardening his heart and leaving it shadowed in darkness, turning him back into the monster he had been when he had first entered the WWF on a quest to destroy the Undertaker.
Feeling strangely free, Kane looked over to the Undertaker, the dancing flames reflecting in his eyes. "So what's the plan?"
One corner of the Undertaker's mouth curled up in an evil smirk, a faraway look appearing on his face as he imagined the many ways he could exact his revenge. "Simple. We torture those bastards until they wish they were dead and then, we grant that wish."
