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 THREE: THE GATHERING FORCES – THE CRUSADER
He opened his eyes and took a breath. His first breath. Well, that was inaccurate. His first mortal breath. Well, that was inaccurate as well, because he was not, technically, mortal, even in mortal form.

He was much, much more than that.

He rose to his feet and took in his surroundings. He stood in an abandoned building, a church, he believed. That suited him just fine. It was perfect, in fact, considering what he was and who he served.

He gazed at the old votives that lined the dusty altar, the shelves, even the floor. With barely a thought or gesture, the votives responded to his unspoken command and began to light up, filling the darkened sanctuary with flickering light. An old metal crucifix hung slightly crooked from the altar in front of him. He reached out and laid one powerful hand upon it. Its shape twisted and changed, keeping its basic shape still, yes, but changing to suit him.

He turned and glanced behind him as a column of light materialized into the shining form of Gabriel, the guardian of Heaven. The seraph spread his wings, hovering a few inches off the floor. Pure being of grace and dignity that he was, the Left Hand of the Lord of Heaven would never soil himself by touching the tainted soil of the mortal realm. To do so would sully his purity.

"You know what you are to do," the seraph said.

The pale figure in front of him nodded his head within his hooded robe. "Father was quite clear on what I am to do."

"Do not underestimate him," Gabriel told him. "He is far more powerful than you can imagine."

"He is only mortal," the other replied, "no matter how much power he may have, he is nothing compared to me."

"In this form," the Left Hand reminded him, "you are mortal. Remember that."

"I am mortal crafted from the very stuff of Creation," the hooded figure snapped. "Mortal is my form, not my nature."

The seraph seemed to smirk slightly. "If you pour water into a pitcher, it takes the shape of the pitcher."

"Yes, but it remains water. I am the same." The hooded figure pointed a finger at him. "Go back and tell Father I shall not fail Him. Regardless of what I may do here, I shall not fail Him. Tell Him... to keep the faith." A slight smile crossed his lips at that.

Gabriel gave a short laugh at that and nodded. "I shall see you again, brother."

"Indeed you shall. We shall sit on both sides of Father to usher in His Kingdom." The pale figure turned away as the guardian of Heaven vanished in a column of light, then turned to the altar, falling to his knees and folding his hands upon it. He spoke quietly and sent his words up to the Father, promising him he would not only see to it that the guardian of the gates of the realms would fall forever, but he would put back the fear of the Lord of Heaven into their hearts.

He would punish the wicked, the sinful, and the profane. He would cast them into the Lake of Fire, and make certain that they would hear him... and fear him. He would become their Angel of Suffering.

The Pale Rider rose from his spot and took his converted cross off the wall, holding it before him as he strode purposefully out of the old church. His one-man Crusade against the wicked had begun.