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 EIGHT: THE DEAD MAN WALKS AGAIN
Wrestlemania

He materialized in the cross-dimensional ether, the space between the realms, and brooded. His search for the guardians of the mortal realm and the Void was not going well. Neither one could be found. That was no surprise for the mortal realm's guardian, as they'd always been the sort to hide from attention. But the Void's guardian had been in the public eye recently. It should have been simple to find them, but they'd also been fond of hiding, though in the Void's guardian's case, it was more like lurking.

He'd spent most of the previous week trying to locate them, and also trying to locate the powers that had been gathering to oppose him. Strangely, they were now absent, and even the three girls -- whom he'd seen confronting what he'd presumed to be the forces gathered against him when he was being anchored in the Ashes in the Urn -- had been silent concerning where it had gone. He suspected the powers had fled back to their home realm for the moment, and thus out of his jurisdiction.

He sensed Paul calling for him from the mortal realm. He left the ether and materialized in the mortal realm in front of Paul. He cursed to himself. It was close to the appointed time of confrontation. He had to be ready. He asked where the druids were. Paul said they'd gone out into the Garden to make sure any interlopers stayed a long way away, preparing the wards that would ensure them their privacy.

But when the druids returned, he sensed something was amiss. A fell wind picked up in the basement chamber they'd inhabited as he focused his attention on the druids. He demanded to know what was going on.

One of the druids spoke, but it was the voice of Papa Legba, the guardian of the spirit realm that came out of the man's throat. Papa Legba said that the Powers That Be had reached an agreement.

He asked what the agreement was. Another druid spoke, in the voice of Rafael, the guardian of Purgatory. The angel explained that, considering the controversy surrounding his return to the position of guardian of the gates of the realms, there was more riding on this 'match' with his brother than mere revenge.

He asked what these new stakes were. A druid spoke in the voice of Gabriel, Left Hand of the Lord of Heaven and guardian of Heaven, declaring that his mantle, his position as guardian of the gates of the realms was now part of the bargain. If he lost, then he would lose his position, and be consigned to the fate that awaited him.

He demanded to know why this was decided without his knowledge. A druid spoke in the voice of Azrael, guardian of Hell, and said that it was precisely because the matter concerned him that he was not included in the discussion.

He asked if this decision was unanimous. A druid spoke in the voice of Leviathan, the guardian of the realm of chaos, and told him that the decision to put his guardianship at stake was unanimous, but the matter of acknowledging his position was not.

He understood what Leviathan meant. Of the eight realms of reality, some of the realms agreed with his reclamation of his former position, while others disagreed with it and wanted it stripped from him. He asked how many of the realms disagreed with his position. A druid spoke in the voice of the guardian of order, who told him that exactly four disapproved of his return.

He asked which four they were. Once more the druid spoke in the voice of the guardian of order, and said that the realms of Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, and chaos all opposed his return.

Azrael spoke again and said that the Morningstar and the Lord of Heaven were, while always in eternal opposition to one another, agreed on this one matter.

He told them he would win the day and his position would therefore be undisputed. Leviathan spoke again and said that remained to be seen.

He asked where the guardians of the mortal realm and the Void were. He could not sense their presence in the other two druids. Papa Legba replied for the six guardians present, explaining that -- since the missing two guardians were currently incarnated in mortal form in the mortal realm, and not currently exercising their powers, they could not be located. However, envoys sent by the guardians had stated that neither of them opposed his return, and thus the mortal realm, spirit realm, Void, and the realm of order supported his return.

He asked if that was what they were doing here, to observe the match and verify the result for themselves and their realms. The guardian of order agreed.

He told them they would have to wait, as the time was not yet upon them.

Kane was also brooding in his own darkened dressing room. The constant prickling sensation on the back of his neck, that someone, something was watching him, had continued to build over the past week. The feeling that something was happening that should not happen had grown as well, to the point where he had slept very little until the night before Wrestlemania, when he'd finally fallen into blissful slumber, despite the ominous message that had percolated in his mind:

Sleep, brother. You'll need your strength.

His bottomless rage had boiled over many times already in the previous week. He'd gone into the woods near the place he called 'home' and smashed anything and everything that moved, then broken down trees and logs to vent his fury. He'd left hotel rooms in shambles. His dressing room now had only one standing locker and one bench. He'd torn the rest off the walls and out of the floor and smashed them. To anyone that might have been foolish enough to walk into the room, the oppressive heat would have made them start to roast in their own juices.

Even the final card for the night, which had been slipped under the door hours ago, had begun to smolder when it entered the room. Nothing burned yet, but the heat was approaching the point where sooner or later, the room would burn, if Kane did not leave the room or calm himself down. Kane sat in the midst of it all, his bench, his locker, and his gear completely unaffected by the heat. So, too, was the monster, who sat with his black towel over his head, his mismatched eyes glaring at the wall. No, not the wall, at the world in general.

Yes, Kane glared at the world, which always seemed insulted by his presence. He was always the 'freak' or the 'weirdo' when he was a child, with his huge, unnatural size, and his different-colored eyes. He was always the one blamed when things were broken or when people were hurt, because he was the big, strong freak, it had to be his fault. He was the one that his father, no, Callaway, always treated like garbage. Kane had always suspected that Callaway had known the truth about his parentage, and that his wife had slept with Paul Bearer. It was always Kane who was blamed when things were damaged in the funeral home, never the quiet elder brother, who lurked in the corners and watched people like some vulture.

His brother, the man he'd buried alive, symbolized those people who were responsible. Not 'responsible' as in they had responsibilities that they followed. Responsible for the wrongs he was blamed for. The ones who actually committed the acts he was punished for, the ones who got away without reprimand while he, Kane, was made the subject of scorn and disgust. Try as he might to be accepted, he was always kicked back down, called a 'freak' and a 'monster' until the lessons sunk in and he truly gave in to his monstrous soul.

There was a knock on his door, accompanied by a yelp as the stagehand's knuckles were singed by the heat coming off the surface. "Your match is next, Kane!" the man called.

"Fine. Go away." Kane stood, the heat starting to fade at last in the room. It was time. Time for him to go out and show the world that the events of the past two months were nothing but an elaborate hoax, a huge joke designed to humiliate him. He was going to prove to the world that his brother was dead and then destroy everything in his path until he found the fools who thought they could make fun of him. He would show them what he did to people who made fun of him... like he did to Jim Ross, that fat Oklahoman bastard.

Kane snarled and opened the door, stalking out into the halls.

He lifted his head as he sensed the movement of his brother's fount of rage. He told the druids, and the guardians inhabiting their bodies for this night, that the time was now. He turned to Paul, and told him to lead them out, to take their positions. Herald his arrival and set the appropriate atmosphere. Let the growing fear gnaw at his brother's blackened soul before he walked out.

As Paul and the druids departed, he became aware at last of two nearby powers. The other guardians were close, after all. Though they had chosen to keep themselves hidden -- no doubt to avoid the attention of those darker powers seeking them. He had no time, now, to visit them and receive their acknowledgment of his position. It would have to wait.

In the Garden, the fans were buzzing as the video package detailing the events surrounding the Undertaker concluded. Then the stage erupted in flames, the giant city-shaped video backdrop taking the appearance of a city on fire as Kane walked out, not even acknowledging the fans as he reached the ring, throwing his towel off and setting the turnbuckles ablaze. He paced in the ring before facing the ramp. He knew nothing, nobody was going to come out to face him, but nonetheless, the feeling was there, in the back of his mind, that something was not right. He shook his head, repeating what had become a mantra to him over the past two months. "You're not coming back, Taker. You're not coming back." He steeled his resolve, reminding himself: "I. Buried. You. Alive."

The lights went out. This was it. The latest stage in the trick, and then the hoax would be revealed. He stood his ground, glaring up the ramp, but then he heard it. A voice he hadn't heard, or spoken to, in years. He stiffened, mismatched eyes bulging as it rang out over the speakers. A high-pitched wail, the voice of someone he'd trusted for years... "OHHH YEEEEESSS!"

The lights came up again, turning purple as the Gregorian chants he'd heard the past two weeks on Raw started up again. And there, up on the ramp, was him. No, not his brother, because his brother was dead dead DEAD. It was the man he called 'Father.' Paul Bearer was on the stage! Fresh betrayal sent a vicious surge of anger through the stew of aggression in his soul as he saw the fat man lead out a succession of druids, all carrying lit torches. There were eight of them, who took up position lining the ramp.

Kane seethed as he glared at his father. "How could you do this to me?!" he screamed. "How could you do this to your son?!" he demanded. It was all so clear to him now. His father, Paul Bearer, was behind it all. It was all no doubt part of some ploy to turn him into his pawn again, just like he'd been in his early WWE days. Well, let him come into the ring, then, so he could show his father what he did to people who thought they could control him...

But Paul Bearer fixed a beady eye on him. "'My son?!' You're no son of mine!!" he snapped, before whirling to face the druids and the ramp, turning his back on Kane.

Kane blinked, and a new stab of betrayal went through him. His father had turned his back on him. The air around him began to heat up as he felt ready to set his father on fire for that insult, when he noticed Paul lift his head and glance back at him with a wide eye.

Certain that he had his son's attention, Paul Bearer turned his eyes back to the Urn in his hands. Kane just now noticed the thing that was being carried by the fat man. The lights went out again. The feeling that something was not right and should not happen was reaching a breaking point in his mind. Paul lifted the Urn to his lips, kissed it once. "Now is the time," he whispered, then lifted the Urn high in the air.

BONG.

Kane growled in annoyance at that sound, that sound which had been the bane of his existence these past two months. Thunder crashed and flashes filled the air, both from cameras in the crowd and from the lights as the electricity went haywire. "Yes!" Paul cried from the ramp. "YES!"

BONG.

Kane fell back a step as he saw the video, that creepy, haunting video, which had started to haunt his nightmares, start to fill the screens at the top of the ramp. The video which had started all of this mess, which had become the staple of so many of his nocturnal terrors.

BONG.

Familiar, damnably familiar music began to play as Paul held the Urn protectively, laughing with glee. Kane paced back and forth like a caged animal. So far, this was all very well-executed, yes, fine, but now everyone could see this was still just a ruse—

But then HE walked out.

"NO!" Kane cried. "NO! IT CAN'T BE! I BURIED YOU ALIVE!"

The anticipation was delicious as he strode out onto the stage, backlit by the flickering images on the video wall behind him. At the base of the ramp, Paul was beside himself with excitement. He felt it as well, even though his recent rituals and reincarnation had stripped him of much of his human emotion. In the ring, his brother was apoplectic with rage and disbelief. He could hear his brother's mantra of protests from here. He started to walk down the ramp, between the druids, who lifted their torches to let him pass.

The first two druids were the normal ones, who remained free of inhabitation by the guardians of the realms. They remained stoic as he passed.

The second two were host to Rafael and Gabriel, the angels, messengers of the Lord of Heaven, guardians of Purgatory and Heaven. They said nothing to him, just glared with cold, angelic hatred. It has been said that angels do not have the capacity to hate, only love, but those that subscribe to that aphorism did not see the fierceness, the sharpness of their gaze. He did not slow his step.

The third two druids were host to Azrael and Leviathan, demon and chaos-kin, harbingers of destruction and disorder, guardians of Hell and the realm of chaos. Azrael growled as he passed, whispering promises of eternal torment and pain for the betrayal he'd done. Leviathan chattered at him in the dark language of chaos, uttering promises that it would see to it that the destiny of his mortal daughter would be destroyed. He did not falter in his stride.

Finally, he came to the last two druids, host to Papa Legba and the guardian of order. The guardian of the spirit realm murmured a quiet word of luck for him as he passed, while the guardian of order merely inclined his robed head in a respectful nod. He still did not hesitate or acknowledge them.

He came to Paul, who smiled up at him, face creased in a grin as he proclaimed his loyalty once more, then gestured grandly to the ring steps. He turned and walked over to the steps, pausing and lifting his leather trenchcoat as he climbed the steps. He stood at the top of the steps, and with a gesture, brought the lights up to regular.

"You're not real!" Kane was shouting as the figure in the trenchcoat and cowboy hat stood at the corner of the ring. "This is not real!" He looked up and stepped back as the figure raised his hands to his sides slowly. As he did so, the house lights all came back up to full. Under the black hat, the figure's eyes rolled back in their sockets. The sensation that this should not happen was stronger now, to the point where it throbbed in his head. This was a dream, a nightmare, it had to be, because his brother was DEAD!

"You're not real!" Kane repeated as the figure slowly stepped into the ring, coat swirling about him like a cape. "I buried you alive!"

The figure answered him with a cold stare. Then, that voice spoke in his mind: And now I am back.

"No!" Kane protested as the figure calmly slid his coat off of his arms and into the waiting arms of Paul Bearer.

The figure lowered his head and lifted his hands to his hat, removing it, and lifting his cold, dead eyes to his mismatched gaze. Yes, said the voice.

"You're not real!" the monster said once more. "You're dead! I killed you!"

Yes, you killed me. And for that, I have come to seek my vengeance.

Kane shook his head quickly. "You're not real!" This had become the core of his beliefs now, the thing that kept his mind from snapping. "You. Are not. REAL!" He shut his eyes, clenching his teeth as he tried to ignore the throbbing in his mind. "This can't be happening..."

It is, brother, and now you must face the consequences for your actions.

"I buried you alive!" he repeated. "You're... not... REAL!" He closed his eyes now, the shivering, bone-deep fear was giving way to an anxious calm. "You're... not... real..." He started to advance, a hand out to wave through what had to be an illusion. "You... are not... real." Another shake of the head. "No, you are not..."

Contact was made. Kane's eyes shot open as he felt flesh and bone under his hand. Clammy, cold flesh, but flesh none the less. He gasped.

Surprised, brother?

And then, all at once, it started. From the moment contact was made, the figure -- no, the Undertaker -- began to unleash the months of simmering anger and thirst for vengeance upon his brother, his fists moving in blurs almost too fast for the human eye to see. Kane staggered back under the onslaught, raising his arms to cover his face as he was backed against the ropes. The Undertaker did not let up, shifting his swings below the block, pummeling his gut and abdomen with fists. The referee foolishly tried to restore some order. The Dead Man whirled about and took one step, speaking in the man's mind.

Do not interfere.

The Undertaker's advance, coupled with the voice in his head, made the referee jump out of the ring in fright. The reincarnated man grabbed his brother's wrist and hauled him into a whip, raising his hand for the chokeslam -- but Kane hooked his arms in the ropes and quickly jumped out of the ring in retreat. The Undertaker almost smiled.

Good. I would be sorely disappointed if it ended so quickly.

He followed, moving to grab his brother and bring him back into the ring, but Kane spun about and smashed him across the face with a right hand. The Undertaker staggered back momentarily, turning back into another right hand. He was glad, then, that his brother wasn't going to passively absorb the retribution he was going to bring. That made it all the sweeter. Kane was snorting and growling like a beast as he went to whip him into the ring apron, but the Undertaker reversed it smoothly. Kane bellowed in pain as his ribs creaked from the impact.

The 'Taker dragged him onto the apron, positioning him so he stared up at the bright lights. He stepped back, then lunged forward, spiking his elbow into Kane's throat. The monster croaked and convulsed, but was still trying to get breath back into his lungs from the apron landing. As he wheezed, the Dead Man climbed onto the apron, took a couple steps head start, and dropped a leg across his throat, worsening the problem. Kane rolled into the ring, coughing loudly as he staggered to his feet. Taker was right behind him, backing him into the corner, then sending him hard across into the opposite corner. The impact jarred still more air out of Kane's lungs.

"You deserve everything that's coming!" Paul Bearer wailed from nearby. The Undertaker barreled into Kane full-bore, flattening him against the turnbuckles with a clothesline. Kane collapsed on the mat, breathing heavily as Taker crossed the ring to do it again. Bearer spoke once more. "How do you like that, boy?"

Kane's world was fading as he staggered up to his feet, using the ropes for leverage. He couldn't breathe, his lungs ached. He could hear, distantly, the voice of his father taunting him. Somewhere in front of him, he could sense the dark figure of his brother, waiting for him to get upright and turn around.

Prepared to face your destiny, brother?

Kane grunted once as the Dead Man's boot caught him in the chest. He doubled over, desperately trying to get air into his lungs. Then, he felt his brother straddle his head and set his feet. All at once, awareness came back to him. The Undertaker was setting him up for the Last Ride, to end the match here and now. More than that, Kane realized he was about to do what he'd always done in these situations: fold, cave in, and surrender in the face of his tormentors, in the face of those responsible. His brother was always the one who got away with it, and from out of his scarred and twisted psyche came the memories of the misery that his brother put him through. He'd declared last week that he was not afraid of him, and now he was about to let those responsible walk all over him.

This was not acceptable.

Kane growled and braced his hands on his knees, heaving himself upward. The Undertaker went up over his head and toppled to the mat with a resounding crash. Turning around, he could already see him getting to his feet, so he ran off the far ropes, and came back, raising his boot and driving it forcefully into the 'Taker's face. He went down, and Kane descended to keep him down, throwing right hands strong enough to dent steel. He completely ignored the referee, pausing to squeeze the cold, deathly pale throat of the man beneath him. The Undertaker was grimacing in pain. Kane bared his teeth in a grimace, or perhaps a sick grin. There it was, he was mortal after all! He started punching again. "I told you," Kane huffed between swings, eyes bulging, "not to come back, you son of a bitch!"

Kane glared up at the referee when he begged the monster to stop throwing closed fists. When he turned back to face the Undertaker, he saw the man's eyes roll back in their sockets. Then, he moved again, faster than Kane would have thought. He hooked Kane's arm and took him over, reversing their position in a moment. Then he was throwing his own fiendishly strong punches. Kane cried out in alarm and covered up again.

Good, brother! You're making me work for this!

The Undertaker stood up and glared at the referee, who fled from the ring again. (I said not to interfere!) But when he turned back, Kane was on his feet and waiting. He caught him around the waist and drove him to the mat with a sidewalk slam. Snorting and snarling like the monster he was, Kane got up and climbed up to the top rope. He hadn't done this in quite some time, but it was becoming increasingly clear that it was going to take extraordinary methods to take down the 'Taker. He crouched on the top rope, waiting for his moment...

The Undertaker got up rather quickly, then turned to face the corner. Kane leapt into the air, coming down and smashing him across the face with a stiff hand. His mind was lost in the blind struggle between his terror and his anger, as the former wanted to just end the match now and flee with his life, reminding him that his brother was capable of unspeakable things in the quest for his revenge, while the latter wanted to continue to punish the ones responsible... At the moment, the terror won out, and Kane hurriedly hooked one of the fallen 'Taker's legs for a pin cover. At the two-count, a shoulder shot off the canvas.

Kane bared his teeth in what was either an enraged snarl or a desperate grimace, looking angrily at Paul Bearer, who just smiled an unctuous smile at him and patted the Urn in the crook of his arm. The monster stood up and swung a hard fist into the Undertaker's face as he stood back up. The Dead Man reeled back and looked momentarily stunned before he turned back with a punch of his own that sent Kane stumbling back. Kane's head throbbed as his terror and anger fought for dominance, a literal conflict between the 'fight or flight' mentalities, neither side helped by the eerie silence from the Undertaker, who didn't even grunt as he was struck by Kane's fists. The Big Red Monster, on the other hand, could feel his teeth rattle from the Dead Man's blows.

As the Undertaker began to drive him back, Kane's anger snapped and he shot his palm upward, catching the 'Taker in the throat. Smirking as he saw the pale, resurrected man stagger back, Kane backed him into the corner, then whipped him across the ring. "Have a taste of your own medicine, brother!" Kane howled as he barreled in after him. But he only succeeded in driving more air out of his already abused lungs when the Undertaker hurtled out of the corner, leaving the monster to plow into the turnbuckles. He clutched his chest, turning around and just catching a glimpse of his brother coming off the ropes with a boot, catching him clean in the face and bowling him over. The impact when he hit the mat jarred Kane, and his vision cleared just in time to see his brother come off the ropes and leap high into the air, crashing down with a leg across his neck. Kane lay in a daze, the terror telling him to just stay down and let it end, even as the anger told him to get up and make his brother pay pay PAY.

The decision was made for him when the Undertaker stood over him for a moment, as if contemplating what to do to him next. Then, the voice came in his head: Let's take this a bit... old school, shall we, brother?

Kane winced as he was pulled to his feet. He was still trying to get air into his lungs and shake the cobwebs out as his brother took a firm grip on his left arm. With a violent twist, the Undertaker got a pained cry from Kane as the arm was torqued horribly. The Dead Man lifted his head and glanced out at the audience as he slowly backed toward the corner of the ring. Immediately, the crowd rose to its feet in approval, knowing what he was planning. Kane knew it too and shook his head as he was pulled along. "No, no, no..."

Yes.

The 'Taker climbed to the top rope, still keeping a vice-like grip on the monster's arm, then stood there. With incredible balance, he stepped out into the middle of the top rope, raised his fist in the air and leapt off, swinging down with enough force to break bone. Kane, however, was ready. As his brother came down, he thrust his palm upward, catching the Undertaker around the throat. In surprise, the Dead Man released his grip on Kane's arm. With his unnatural strength, Kane pulled him close, still holding him around the throat. "YOU SON OF A BITCH," he roared. "I TOLD YOU NOT TO COME BACK!"

But, I did.

The Undertaker's weakened expression hardened as he stood upright and slapped his own hand around Kane's throat. Kane's eyes bulged and he snarled as he tried to resist his brother's attempts to throw his hand off his throat. "Get... your... hand... off... my... throat!" Kane snarled.

I will not. You get your hand off my throat!

The Undertaker, with a burst of strength, threw Kane's hand off of his neck and then set him up for a chokeslam. Rage boiling, Kane threw a pair of stiff elbows into his brother's head, sending him staggering away. He wasted little time. The moment the 'Taker turned back around, he grabbed him by the throat. "Go back to hell!" he bellowed, heaving his brother high, and chokeslamming him violently to the mat. His strength a bit sapped, he dropped to his knees, and laughed. He had done it. No one could get up from his chokeslam. No one. No one. Not even his brother, the Undertaker. He had punished the one responsible. Yes, he had done it. He had proven his brother was only mortal. "I told you," he laughed as he got up, "not to come back, 'Taker!"

He stood and grinned down at his father. "Look!" he ordered, pointing at the downed, motionless form of his brother. "Look at your Undertaker now!" Laughing victoriously, he turned back to the ring, raising his hands in the air and preparing to summon the flames, when—

The Undertaker sat up, like the zombie he so resembled. Kane stepped back in shock, jaw dropping. This didn't happen. This could not happen. This should not happen! No one could survive his chokeslam! NO ONE! This was like something out of a stupid horror movie!

That which is eternal does not die, brother. But in case you're wondering, that hurt like hell.

Kane shook his head as he backed up in the face of his brother, who rose to his feet, cold eyes never leaving Kane's. "No, no, no," Kane moaned. "This isn't happening!" His terror gave way to his anger as he swung out with a steel-shattering fist. "This isn't happening!"

The Undertaker effortlessly blocked his swing and started pounding him with his own stone-like fists. The blows and the pain flowed into one endless symphony, only pausing to whip Kane across the ring and duck his head for a back bodydrop. Kane, even through the haze of pain and rage, knew enough to not fall for that. He stopped himself and soccer-kicked his brother in the head. The Undertaker stood up, glaring at him, unfazed. Kane blinked. That wasn't supposed to happen. But now the terror took hold and Kane held up his hands, trying to placate his brother. "Now, wait, brother... heh, 'brother should not raise hands against brother,' remember?"

That never stopped you, did it, brother?

A powerful fist all but broke Kane's jaw as the 'Taker lashed out and whipped him into the ropes. Kane reversed the momentum and swung a ponderous clothesline, which the Dead Man fluidly ducked, coming off the ropes on the opposite side and soaring into the air, his outstretched arm colliding with his brother's head and taking him down to the mat. As the Undertaker rose to his feet, he glanced to the ramp.

His brother lay in a momentary paralysis, brought on by the pounding he'd received throughout the match. He could end it right now, but that would be too simple for his brother. For his crimes, for his sins, he deserved more than what he'd endured so far. No one would disagree with this.

He turned his gaze to the ramp. Though the crowd did not see them, the druids, and the guardians possessing them, stood and watched, cloaked in illusion. He could see their eyes watching him, the pale blue of Papa Legba, the clear, white orbs of the angels Rafael and Gabriel, the utterly black orbs of Azrael, the toothy maw-eyes of Leviathan, the blank gray orbs of the guardian of order, and knew they could see the end of the match was absolute now.

The angels, demon, and chaos-kin all glowered at him when they realized this. Papa Legba smiled a bright white smile. The guardian of order merely inclined his head a careful degree, face blank. Elsewhere, he could sense the remaining two guardians watching with satisfaction.

Enough of this. Time to end it.

The Undertaker raised his hand in the air, fingers spread. The crowd stood and gave its approval as Kane lumbered to his feet, dazed and out of breath. The moment he turned around, the Dead Man's hand closed around his throat. The voice spoke in his mind: Now, taste your own medicine, brother.

He lifted Kane up and brought him down to the mat, a perfect copy of the chokeslam that Kane had used upon him not moments before. Kane lay motionless on the mat, struggling to breathe. The Undertaker walked over and looked down at Paul Bearer, who smiled excitedly. "Yes! YEEEESSS! Finish him! Punish him!"

Yes. I shall. In a very symbolic, and fitting, way.

He turned and looked back at Kane with a hard, intense look in his eyes. The crowd knew what he was planning and chanted its enthusiasm. Baring his teeth in a quiet, mute snarl, the 'Taker raised a thumb to his throat and very slowly drew it across his neck. The signal that the end was near had been made. Now it was time to bring the match to a close. Kane weakly got to his knee, but his brother pulled him up the rest of the way. In one fluid movement, he brought Kane to his feet, then scooped him up, hoisting him upside down and holding him about the waist. The audience roared as he jumped up slightly, then dropped to his knees, piledriving Kane with the infamous finisher so often associated with him.

The Tombstone.

He laid Kane flat, then crossed his arms over his chest, pressing down and making the pin. As he did so, he let his eyes roll back in his head, his tongue slithering from his mouth. With a three-count, it was over, and the Undertaker was triumphant.

He stood and turned to face the guardians, giving them the same expression he'd just made, eyes rolled back and tongue slithering out. He told them that he was victorious. The mantle of guardian of the gates of the realms was his, and this was a reminder that he was not going to be anyone's patsy or pawn, that he was going to be impartial from this day forward.

One by one the guardians acknowledged it and vacated their hosts. Leviathan bellowed a string of curses in the dark tongue of chaos before its ethereal form fled upward out of its host's body and vanished. Azrael merely glared at him, declaring that the Morningstar would hear of this before his ethereal form burned out of the host's body, leaving it physically unscarred. The angels gave him a cold, hate-filled stare, the seraph Gabriel promising the Lord of Heaven would likewise learn of this before their forms faded into columns of light. The guardian of order gave another millimetric nod of acknowledgement, then just faded out of the host. Papa Legba stepped out of his host, and gave a broad smile, doffing his top hat and bowing before vanishing.

The other two guardians were somewhere nearby, and he could sense their pleasure with the outcome. He knelt in the ring and bowed his head, raising his hand out before him. The classic homage stance he'd made famous in his early days, while Paul held the Urn aloft outside the ring. Kane lay motionless on the mat, not dead, but certainly not well. He would not forget this night lightly, nor the torments he'd been put through.

But he was satisfied. He had accomplished what he'd set out to do. He'd avenged himself upon his traitorous brother and maintained his 'streak.' Undefeated and triumphant, the Dead Man walked again.