Death Is Only The Beginning
A WWE wrestling fanfiction
By: Jay 2K Winger
Disclaimer Stuff: The characters herein are the property of World Wrestling Entertainment (and don't get me started on how much I dislike the fact that they Got The "F" Out), and are not used with the intention of making a profit. This story is written to explore a few little concepts I thought up in regards to the storyline in question, as well as to explore some other aspects of their characters.
Teaser: The Dead Man will not rest in peace after being buried alive by his brother. A fictionalized version of the current Taker/Kane storyline, with a look back at their histories.
PART FIVE: MANIFESTATION
Raw, 20 days until WrestleMania…
The Void was a maddening place. It was not meant for mortals to visit during their lifespan. The toll it took was more than just your humanity. It sapped your sanity, slowly but surely it would drive a person mad if they remained here for too long. He knew that his brother had visited here at some point. It was no doubt a large part of what had driven him mad in the first place, besides the trauma of the fire and his mother's death.
The three little girls had told him that his brother had been here more than once in the time following the fire. He'd retreated to the Nothingness Between The Worlds to avoid facing the harsh reality he'd been stranded in, alone, with no one to call family or friend: just the deranged Paul Bearer, who poisoned his mind with lies. His mother had died and his brother had become a soul trapped between mortality and the Void. Kane's frequent visits to the Void had all but shattered his already traumatized psyche, and only the twisted care of Paul Bearer kept him from going completely insane.
But he was no longer safe here. Sooner or later the Void was going to demand its toll, and then it would be harder for him to leave when he'd planned, at the conjunction of worlds. The Dark Side's presence was omnipresent, its voice constantly whispering its filth into his mind, urging him to acquiesce, to surrender and welcome back the Power. It told him that only with its Power added to his own would he be able to fully avenge himself on his brother.
The little girls reappeared, and their almost cleansing presence drove the Dark Side back briefly. They told him he was going to have to go now.
He asked why. They told him there were other forces beginning to manifest in the Nothingness Between The Worlds, forces powerful enough to complicate or even prevent his departure from the Void at the alignment of realms.
He told them that no force was powerful enough to defeat him. They replied that this was true, but told him that if he failed to depart at the alignment, it would be nigh impossible for him to go back without succumbing to the Dark Side.
He asked them what these forces were. They told him that, should he stay or go, he would encounter them soon enough, that he was a guardian, of sorts, for the Gates Between Realms. Forces such as the ones arising now would inevitably seek him out.
He asked them what he was supposed to do, then. If he stayed, he would be trapped here. If he left now, he would have to tap into the Dark Side to manifest in the mortal realm. They told him he had time enough to contact others besides the one who betrayed him.
"You must seek out the one who holds the ashes," they told him.
He sighed, and understood. He summoned some of his power, causing events in the mortal realm...
Somewhere in Minnesota, Sean Waltman came running out of his bedroom as he heard the smoke detector blaring. He went into the spare bedroom that served as his trophy room, where he kept his old championship belts, some of his old ring attire, pictures, and the like. He also had pinned to the wall the mask he'd stolen from Kane almost two years ago, when he'd joined the new nWo on Raw.
The mask was smoking. That was what had set off the smoke detector. He sighed and went to pull it off the wall, but shouted in pain and jumped back. The thing was burning hot! More than that... it was burning! Flames licked from it, from the empty sockets and the mouth slit. He ran for the fire extinguisher as the fire started to spread along the wall to the sides and downward. Waltman quickly sprayed the flames and smoke with the extinguisher, then waved his hand in the air to disperse the cloud. He gawked at the wall.
The flames had burned a symbol on the wall. A stylized cross... the Undertaker's symbol.
On a ranch near Houston, Sara Callaway woke to noise. A storm raged outside, lightning searing the skies and thunder crashing. Inside, a smoke alarm wailed. More than that, the baby was crying in her room. She hurried to scoop her out of her crib, looking inside Mark's trophy room. Among the things adorning the walls were masks, such as the protective one he'd worn after breaking his eye socket, as well as some of Kane's old masks. One of them was the mask he'd worn when he and Kane had been working together to confound Vince McMahon, and the other was the mask he'd stolen from Kane at Summerslam back in 2000. They'd been arranged in a downward-pointing triangle, the protective-mask at the bottom.
All three of them were smoldering, and now burning. Flames licked along them, blackening them, and then spreading along the walls. Sara screamed and held the baby close protectively, starting to back away and run for the extinguisher, but as soon as the fire had started, it petered out. She stared at the symbol that had been charred onto the wall, illuminated by flashes of lightning from outside.
It was the stylized cross that had been her husband's symbol… what some had called the Taker Cross, or the Dark Side Crucifix.
Sara shivered, as though feeling a chill wind blow through. The smoke was already dissipating. The smoke detectors were still being a nuisance, making the baby upset. She went to open the window, to further disperse the smoke, when she glanced out the window... and stopped.
Standing on a rise, illuminated by the backdrop of flashing lightning, was a silhouetted man. It had to be a man. Two legs, two arms, a head, and a body in between it all. She could not make out any details. The man appeared to be wearing pants and a sleeveless top, and his arms looked to be covered in tattoos. His face was obscured in shadow, but she knew who it was.
"Mark..." she whispered.
He stood on the rise. He had not incarnated. Not yet. He needed an anchor. A definitive anchor. His daughter was too young, and to anchor himself to her now would doom her soul or seriously jeopardize her destiny. But he had to be near, so that his wife would know, know that he was returning... but that when he returned, he would not be able to return to her. Had he been able to remain in the Void until the alignment, he would have kept his humanity intact and been able to return to his family.
He gazed at the woman in the window sadly. He saw her lips frame his name. His human name, which he would shortly have little connection to, framed in shock by her. He did not wave, he did not move. He simply stood there and said two things to her.
"Take care of her. I'm sorry."
He vanished from the rise, to seek out the one who held the ashes.
Sara stared at the silhouetted figure on the rise. He seemed to be there, but not. The rain did not seem to touch him. Indeed, it seemed to fall through him. More than that, he wasn't just illuminated by the lightning. There was a soft glow to him. She knew then that she was not looking something that was really there. The baby was quieting. Sara looked down at her. The baby was looking out the window, an innocent expression of puzzlement and wonder on her face as she too looked out at the figure on the rise.
Then, in her mind, she heard a voice speak. It was a deep voice, one she knew well.
Take care of her. I'm sorry.
Then the figure on the rise vanished in the next flash of lightning. The baby gurgled a bit, blinking and turning her face away from the frightening forces of nature outside. Sara shushed her quietly, rocking her a bit, then looked back up at the rise where, moments before, the specter of her husband had stood.
To no one's surprise, Kane was in a bad mood as he arrived at the arena. He had been having nightmares again, very similar to the one he'd had last week. Memories of the funeral home fire. Memories of the painful years of childhood. Memories of betrayals. The sensation of being buried alive, with the dirt covering him, consuming him as it filled his nostrils and mouth, got into his eyes and ears, deadening all senses, making it difficult to breathe...
He shook himself out of his reverie, growling as he brooded in his solitary locker room. It was bad enough when he went to sleep. His every waking moment was also filled with dread. He hesitated every time he turned the radio on now. Sometimes he got the station he tuned to, sometimes he got the discordant wailing of damned souls and foreboding warnings from otherworldly voices. His hotel rooms weren't safe, as he sometimes woke up to find the furniture moved and a warning on the bathroom mirror, scrawled in muddy letters, warning him how long until The Dead Shall Rise Again...
When he arrived at the arena, Kane was told that Bischoff was giving him the night off, after he hospitalized Jericho last week. But Vince McMahon was going to be on hand tonight. He was going to confront Eric Bischoff in the ring and make some sort of major announcement concerning Wrestlemania as well. He didn't care. Back in November, he had made a deal with McMahon. A promise had been made. Kane would dispose of McMahon's problem in his brother, and McMahon would see to it that he got put into a World Title picture. So the Big Red Monster had helped the billionaire bury him alive.
But his brother wasn't staying in his grave. That meant McMahon's promise was all for nothing. He hadn't won the World Title and hadn't gotten rid of his brother. McMahon wasn't the one being tormented by constant nightmares and otherworldly voices. Kane didn't like that.
He was going to have to make McMahon feel his pain...
McMahon was in the ring, enjoying the company of Stacy Keibler and Jackie Gayda, who wanted him to give them some opportunity to prove they were sexier than the Smackdown divas. The billionaire had just booked a Playboy Diva Evening Gown Match when Kane decided enough was enough. Time to give the chairman what-for. Fire exploded at the top of the ramp. Stacy and Jackie fled the ring as Vince swallowed in fear, seeing the monster stalk into the ring. He stood over the billionaire, glaring at him with mismatched eyes.
"You," Kane growled into a microphone, "promised me that he would die." He glared again. "So I buried... him... ALIVE." He advanced a step. "AND NOW HE'S BACK!!"
McMahon backpedaled. "Wait a minute!" He shook his head. "Who are you talking about?"
Kane snapped. "I'm talking about him." To emphasize, he said, "My brother!" And to drive the point home: "THE UNDERTAKER!" The crowd roared at the mention of the Dead Man. He stepped away from Vince, rubbing his shaved head, then turned to him, the torment plain in his mismatched eyes. "He never sleeps." He grimaced, remembering the horrors visited upon him. "He tortures me... day... and night."
McMahon stared at him as Kane fought for a moment to regain his composure. Then the monster advanced again, snarling. He grabbed McMahon by the throat. "So you'd better do something about it!" He pulled Vince close, sneering. "Or you'll be the next to be buried alive."
The billionaire paled and raised a hand. "Whoa, whoa! Wait a minute!" Kane paused, glaring with his pale eye. "I want the same thing you do!" The monster released him, grudgingly. McMahon rubbed his throat a bit, then pointed a finger. "All right! It's going to be Kane versus the Undertaker at Wrestlemania!" The crowd roared again as McMahon leaned forward, sneering. "And, this time, I can assure you that... a certain someone we know we finally... rest in peace."
Kane smiled. Somehow, for some reason, that suited him just fine. He could put all this talk to rest, prove that his brother was a walking corpse and bury him for good. He raised his arms overhead and summoned forth the fire, then stalked out of the ring, laughing to himself. "I'll show you, 'Taker... you're just in my head... you won't come back, and these people will see it."
And, as if to prove he was right, there was no voice in his mind to taunt him. Yes... he was going to prove once and for all that the Undertaker was dead.
He manifested again elsewhere in America. Not incarnated. Incarnation was physical presence. Manifestation was just the spiritual form. Manifestation took power as well, but he didn't need to tap into the dark wells of power that tempted him even now to do so. The storm raged around him as he approached the door. The atmospheric disturbance would follow him wherever he went until he incarnated. It was a penalty, of sorts. The mortal realm abhorred spirits from the Void manifesting as he was. The little girls, being spirit guides, were given leeway. But he, as a lost soul, was not supposed to be doing this, and nature raged for it.
He halted at the door. Being an intangible spirit, of course he could not knock on the door, but he did have abilities at his disposal. A knocking sound rang out in the stormy night. After a long moment, the door opened, and the man on the other side of the door mumbled about being disturbed at this hour. Then he beheld the figure standing before him and paled even more than usual. He exclaimed in surprise, the bags under his eyes standing out against his pale skin. His fleshy jaw dropped.
The figure at the door said, "Hello, Paul."