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.
EPILOGUE ONE: THE GUARDIAN OF THE VOID – AN ETERNAL DEBT
He lurked in the shadows, the corners, the alleys, the gutters, the sewers, the basements, the dirty parts of the world. He subsisted on a diet of garbage, filth, and grime. His life was an endless scrawl of madness and pain, insanity and agony. He hated himself for remaining in the lot he had in life, but he was forever consigned to it. He had nothing, he was nothing, and nothing would remain his keepsake.
He was, after all, the guardian of the Void.
He'd made his life by inflicting the same misery and suffering that was his daily lot upon others. It was not enough to put their body through unbelievable pain, he tormented their minds, their sanity, until their soul began to blacken. He attracted the rejects of society to himself, twisting their petty ambitions and lusts to suit his ends. He wandered the back roads of the world, visited the backwaters and nowheres and further spread the madness of the Void.
Currently, he lurked in the entrance archway of the bottom tier of seats of Madison Square Garden. A pair of security guards lay nearby, in varying states of consciousness and physical agony. They had laid their hands on him, tried to force him to leave, but he'd very quickly and quietly put a stop to that, with the methods that so often came to him: violent ones. He was not surprised that someone had tried to forcibly remove him. He had no ticket, and he looked the very image of a transient who would incite a riot or cause trouble.
Naturally, he would like to do that, but he knew that would attract unwanted attention. Besides, he respected the individual he had come to watch, to observe the contest. Though of course his ultimate goal was to bring everything into the Void, he admired the new and returned guardian of the gates of the realms. He had reclaimed his humanity (though the guardian of the Void would never claim to understand why he would want to do so) against the incredibly powerful and seductive powers of Hell and chaos, he had braved the oblivion of death multiple times, tempered by the flames of trial, and emerged the better for it. That spoke magnitudes for the man's power.
Throughout the match, he merely watched from his lurking place, unnoticed by the fans, because he did not want their attention. The occasional security guard might notice him, fine, but they would quickly join their comrades, and remain ignored by the audience. He occasionally flicked a Zippo lighter in his hands, flicking it open and igniting it, then clicking it closed. He'd had his doubts about letting the Undertaker remain in his realm for so long, continuing to let him speak with the guardians of the threshold and carrying out his plans from there, but he respected the man. So he looked the other way.
He knew that the Undertaker knew he owed him a great debt for that. And perhaps one day he would collect. Well, actually, no perhaps about it. He would collect one day. But he smiled mirthlessly to himself at the thought of how the knowledge that he, the Undertaker, owed the guardian of the Void a debt. The Undertaker had no way of knowing how long it would be until the debt was reclaimed, and he had no way of knowing how the debt would be collected. It was a debt the other realms were well-aware of, which is why four of them objected to the Undertaker's claiming his old position.
He flicked his lighter open and shut a few more times as he watched the conclusion of the match. As the lights turned purple and the Undertaker stood victorious, the guardian of the Void drew his long black-and-gold coat around himself and walked out the entrance arch. He walked out into the cold winter's night in New York City, the chill in the air biting into his bare legs under his red-and-black kilt. Another mirthless smile creased his lips. The Undertaker would not rest in peace, not knowing the debt he owed the Void. He would rest in peace...
Nevermore.