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 SIX: INCANTATION

Raw, 13 days until WrestleMania…

Paul had nearly had a heart attack when he'd shown up at his door. When he'd severed his ties to the Dark Side, going into a personal purgatory during a long trip into the desert, he'd dropped his ties to Paul as well. This had suited Paul fine, as he'd rekindled his ties to his brother while he was battling X-Pac and D-X. Of course, now his brother had severed his ties to his father as well. If he recalled correctly, it was because Kane was starting to reject all the poison Paul had been feeding him for all those years. So Paul had retreated into obscurity, returning back to his own little funeral home somewhere in the backwaters of America. After his initial surprise at seeing him on his doorstep had passed, Paul had welcomed him into the building, stuttering apologies at not staying in touch, apologizing for letting the Ministry die.

He told Paul to be quiet, that that was not why he was there.

Paul asked what he was doing here, then.

He told Paul what his son had done to him. Told him that he'd been buried alive. Again.

Paul again lapsed into apoplectic apologies, wailing that his son was no longer controllable, that he'd sunk too deep into madness to be redeemed.

He told Paul that he wasn't looking to redeem his brother any longer. He told him that what he sought now was vengeance.

Paul fell over himself to promise his loyalty again, swearing that he would do whatever he had to in order to help him get what he wanted.

He asked Paul if he still had the ashes. Paul said that he did, that he'd collected them and stored them safely. He knew that Paul would do that, he'd cared too much for his mother to let her ashes be lost.

He told Paul that he was forced to leave the Void prior to the alignment, so as to avoid the gathering forces within the Void that sought his demise. He explained that he needed an anchor once more.

Paul immediately understood, as he knew he would. Paul said that he would begin the preparations immediately.

That had been six days ago. If his thinking was right, the ritual to incarnate him in the mortal realm would be completed just in time for him to send another message to his brother. While he'd be incarnate again, his full power would still not be ready for another week at the very least, but he would definitely be close to his full strength when the time came. Just in time for the billionaire's spectacle.

Paul Bearer knew that he was not destined for a happy afterlife. He had done too many wrongs, committed too many sins to allow that. He'd betrayed his friendship to Callaway, broken his sacred vow with his wife, and for what? Physical pleasure, and a deeply personal relationship he dared not take public. Callaway had thought the child of that union his own, and she and Paul let him believe it. Why shouldn't they? The child Kane was equal in stature to his brother, and took after his mother. And then, after she had died in that fire, when he'd pulled the wounded Kane from the embers and raised him, he'd betrayed Callaway again when he started filling his head with lies about what happened in the fire. He played into his son's warped psyche and went along with the misplaced belief that the fire had scarred him hideously. He'd betrayed the Undertaker's trust as well, when he'd turned on him and publicly aligned himself with Kane.

In the few years that had passed since he'd left Kane to let him seek his own way, Paul had sought to redeem himself. He'd returned to the only thing he'd really ever known apart from managing the Undertaker or his brother, and that was running a funeral parlor. Seeing the Undertaker cut his ties to the Dark Side and regain his humanity had disappointed part of him, yes, but he respected that decision. And Kane had also started to move away from his own darker nature, until that day when he'd removed his mask for the first time.

When he'd witnessed the acts that his son had committed after unmasking, Paul knew that all the things he'd been filling Kane's mind with had stewed and boiled over. His son had become the monster he'd tried to make him in the beginning. Only since he'd left Kane on his own, Paul had become happy that his son was finding friendship and fulfillment, and watching him return to his darker nature made him extremely worried. Paul knew that the Undertaker was questioning his loyalties, but the fact that he'd come to him anyway spoke a great deal for the amount of trust he had in him. He knew this because the Undertaker had said to him, with that odd, words-in-your-head voice that comes with being a disincarnate spirit:

I wonder if I should trust you, Paul. This is your son we're talking about.

"He's no son of mine!" Paul had snapped. "He's become a demon in man's flesh!"

Yes, Paul, he has. And you are partially to blame for that.

"I know," Paul had said. "But that's in the past. I wanted him to have a normal life after I left him. I was holding him back." His pale skin had become blotchy with rage. "And then that slime Eric Bischoff made him remove his mask! That made him snap!" He shook his head, quivering with anger. "No, he's no son of mine anymore!"

Good, Paul. I knew I could trust you.

Creating an anchor for the Undertaker was more complicated than simply gathering the ashes of his mother into an urn. There were rituals and incantations to be made. Powers had to be called forth and then anchored in the ashes. It would take time, as these things do, and it needed to be done with care. The wrong pronunciation, the slightest inconsistency would mean that the Undertaker would not get his anchor and he'd be trapped in the mortal realm, disincarnate and unable to return to the Void, easy prey for whatever gathering forces that sought his demise.

In order for the rituals to be done correctly, there needed to be others to participate, to act as focal points in the ritual, help channel their own spiritual energy to anchor the Undertaker's powers. Fortunately for both Paul and the disembodied spirit, willing participants were in good supply. Though he'd turned his back to the Dark Side and his Dead Man persona both, there were still those who saw themselves as the Undertaker's "children of the night."

There were eight of them to be the focal points, eight of the Undertaker's "children of the night" who answered the call. They were unassuming in looks, the lot of them, and wore the robes of druids, both as symbols of their loyalty and as part of the ritual. There were eight focal points to correspond to the eight realms of existence: the mortal realm, the Void, the realm of chaos, the realm of order, the spirit realm, and the three realms of redemption: Hell (for those who could not be redeemed), Purgatory (for those redeeming themselves), and Heaven (for the redeemed). The spirit realm was a holding tank, of sorts, for those spirits who were reincarnated and went through the karmic cycle. The realms of chaos and order were opposing forces seeking to either disrupt or maintain the balance of reality, and had ties to Hell and Heaven, respectively. The Void existed as part of the prophecies depicting the end of the world, the oblivion that awaited all things in the end.

Most people only acknowledged five of the realms, as the Undertaker had in his earlier days: mortal, spirit, Heaven, Hell, and Void, explaining the significance of the pentacle. But his recent trip to the Void had reopened his eyes to the nature of reality, and now he acknowledged all eight, though the five were the most significant. The ritual was done with the druids on the points of an eight-pointed star inscribed within a circle. Paul stood outside, reading the incantations and mixing the ingredients to anoint the eight druids so they could channel their spiritual energy. The Undertaker's disembodied spirit stood in the middle of the eight-pointed star.

Continue, Paul, but try to be quick about it. I can sense problems in the Void. The gathering powers are trying to stop the ritual.

Paul did not reply audibly to this, which was good. He was in the midst of the ritual now. If he vocally acknowledged the warning, he would disrupt it and ruin everything. He continued to chant the invocation in his high, wailing voice, closing his eyes to minimize visual distractions. And there were plenty of those by now, as eldritch energies began to coalesce around the circle, swirling about the druids, who stood with faces gazing blankly upward, arms spread slightly to the side, quietly murmuring their part of the ritual, their own incantations.

The ritual was working. He could feel the powers starting to root in the urn, which sat on the floor in the middle of the star before him. But he could also feel the gathering powers in the Void. They were searching for him. The three little girls were not there, as their presence would disrupt the energies of the ritual, and they knew as well as he did that a successful completion of the ritual was vital if he was going to incarnate again.

Even so, he could faintly see their outline as though from a distance. They were looking at him, one of them holding her white rubber ball. Then they turned and looked up at something he couldn't clearly see. He had a vague perception of a large pale form looming over them. For the briefest of moments, he feared for their safety, but the girls were guardians of the boundary between the realms, and so had protection from the realms of order and Heaven. The ethereal other form seemed to sense this and faded from view. Nevertheless, now he knew that the gathering powers were indeed real, and he needed to be wary.

As his awareness spread out, a side effect of the ritual, he could sense the goings-on at Raw, sense his brother's brooding aura. If he was right, then his power should be anchored during the telecast...

And what luck, it was. And just in time, as his brother was heading for the ring now. His fool of a brother still believed that he wasn't real, just a voice in his head, part of his paranoid psyche. Time to send another message...

Kane was feeling much more confident this week as opposed to the previous two months. The burial nightmares had subsided, replaced by the simpler ones that always haunted his nighttime slumber, the ones of pain and torment instead of the fire and being buried alive. His car trips between the arenas were uneventful as well, without the eerie screeching or otherworldly voices promising bloody retribution and violent death. In his mind, that was just further proof that he was overcoming this paranoid kick his mind had put him on, further proof that these messages were just some sick joke being played by someone. He was going to find out who it was, and he was going to make them pay.

When he got to the arena, he discovered that Eric Bischoff had not booked him in a match, which he supposed was supposed to be the general manager's idea of keeping Kane in line. What Bischoff didn't realize was that nothing could keep Kane in line. Kane did what he wanted, when he wanted, and he intended to show him that. He got his chance when Rico, Stacy Keibler, and Jackie Gayda went out to the ring to, in the monster's opinion, waste time with more talk about how Raw's divas were superior to Smackdown's.

He strode out to the ring through the fire, scaring the girls and emboldening Rico to make a foolish attempt at defending them. Kane just calmly smashed him in the face with a boot. Stacy and Jackie were cowering in the corners as Kane regarded them both. Something that had been rather new to him when he'd returned from his biceps injury was his acknowledgement of his hormones. In the past, he'd always more or less ignored them, especially after Tori had betrayed him to that grease-rat X-Pac. What his hormones were telling him right now was these were both very fine examples of the female form, and that he ought to have some fun. Kane leered at both, then advanced on Stacy. "Come here, Stacy," Kane chuckled. "Give us a kiss, sweet-cheeks."

"You stay away from her!" Rico's cried as he attacked Kane from behind, clubbing him in the back. Kane stumbled slightly, then turned around, face contorting in rage. Stacy and Jackie both fled the ring as Kane demolished the stylist, beating him senseless and chokeslamming him to oblivion. He kicked the man out of the ring and grabbed a microphone. The fans were booing at him, and Kane looked around at all of the Undertaker signs in the crowd. He scowled and spoke. "You people," he said, pointing a finger at them, "are expecting a resurrection at Wrestlemania." His scowl deepened as he continued, "You're awaiting the return of the Dead Man!"

The fans cheered the mention of the Undertaker, forcing him to pause to wait it out. When he spoke next, his voice dropped into a whisper, his tones promising evil things. "But there isn't going to be a resurrection." A camera was close by, filming all this. Kane leaned forward and glared into it. "There's going to be a ... persecution." Then he smiled, and added: "Of biblical proportions." Then, turning his attentions mentally toward the object of his recent torments, he said, "Rest... in... peace..." in a voice that was a hiss.

Then Kane felt a rush of coldness rush through him, with a surge of some dark power. His eyes rolled back in his head as he lowered the microphone. The crowd was jeering at him. Kane stood there, feeling the rush of energies, energies which weren't empowering him, but sending chills through his nerves. It felt unnerving. And then it all became clear why.

BONG.

Kane whirled to face the TitanTron as the lights turned purple. "No!" he snarled. "No, I told you, you're not real! You're just in my head!" He glowered at the haunting images flickering across the screen.

Oh, I'm far from that, brother. You will soon learn this.

"You're just a voice in my head, just a figment of my imagination!" Kane pointed at the screen. "You. Are Not. Real!"

No? Then have a gander at this, brother.

Kane puzzled a bit, then jumped back as there was a loud double explosion at the screen. For a moment, the monster thought he'd lost control over his fire powers again, but then his vision cleared and he saw what was burning at the stage wasn't just fire, but a pair of symbols. Very familiar symbols, too. It was the Dark Side Crucifix, the Taker Cross. There was one on each side of the screen, burning in promise. And that's when Kane noticed that instead of the weird noises accompanying the video, this time there were chants, almost Gregorian in nature.

The chill intensified in Kane's spine as he beheld this. "This is just a trick," he said at last. "Just another joke someone's playing on me."

Call it a joke if you like, brother. You'll find out the punch-line soon enough. For, brother, you have thirteen days left.

"Bah! You're not real! In thirteen days, I'll prove this is just a fraud, a trick!"

No, brother, in thirteen days, the dead shall rise... again.

Kane, seething internally, stormed out of the ring as technicians swarmed out in the break, carrying fire extinguishers. But now the Taker Crosses appeared to have burned themselves out. The lights had returned to normal, and the techs were left puzzling over the inexplicable quenching of the flames. Kane ignored them as he stalked out of the arena, returning to his rental car with his bag. He sat in the driver's seat and fought to keep himself in check. Music... music would calm him down. Without thinking, he switched on the radio.

"One, two, Taker's coming for you..." Three little voices sang from the radio. Kane roared and punched the on/off switch, causing the radio to squawk and go quiet in a spray of sparks. Massaging his knuckles and baring his teeth in a snarl, Kane drove off.

He stood in the middle of the eight-pointed star, looking at his hands. The druids beheld him blankly, but he could sense their confusion, as well as Paul's. He was not incarnate.

One of the druids spoke, asking him why he had not incarnated.

He told them he had not incarnated because he still needed to gather more of his power to himself, and now that he had an anchor again, he could do it more easily.

One of the druids spoke, asking if remaining disincarnate was wise, considering that there were powers seeking his destruction?

He told them that those powers were barred from acting on him in the mortal realm. He was only threatened in the Void or the spirit realm, but to affect him in the mortal realm, the powers chasing him would have to incarnate, themselves. He was barred from doing much more than what he'd done already, until he incarnated, and he would wait, for that.

Paul asked what they were going to do now.

He thought for a moment. He'd had to anchor himself sooner than expected, and that was due to these gathering powers that were after him. He had not planned for this. Then, he told them what they were going to do. They were going to drive the final nail in the coffin of his brother's sanity, to continue to turn the screws of his paranoia. Because he was returning to his old self now, he should finish things the old way.

"We're going to do things," he said, "Old School."