Post by Press1269 on Jan 22, 2020 19:02:35 GMT
5 YEARS AGO (APRIL) [OFF CAMERA]
CAESAR'S PALACE (NORTH TOWER PENTHOUSE)
3570 S LAS VEGAS BLVD, LAS VEGAS, NV
Press could feel his eye starting to swell shut but there wasn't much he could do about it now. He was on his knees, sitting on his feet, with his gloved hands zip-tied behind his back. A strip of duct tape had been placed over his mouth so that he couldn't work any spells, but the only thing he could think was when it came off it would hurt like hell in his beard. He had been in predicaments like this before, but never in quite such a posh environment.
He lifted his wary head to take in the lavish sights surrounding him. He was in a library with an elaborate desk directly in front of him. One wall was made of glass and had a beautiful view of the flashing lights from the strip well into the nothingness that was the desert. The center of the room contained plush red couches that very well could have been antique or custom. Hard to tell. Along the walls were ornate book shelves filled with all manner of subjects, with a tapestry here and there that looked like it belonged in a museum. This entire penthouse was the lap of luxury that screamed power in a town like this. Most people could barely afford to book a suite in a town like this, let alone live with this sort of convenience.
And in Vegas, there were two types of people who got to this status in life. Organized crime lords and those who made deals with devils.
He lolled his head over to the man standing behind the desk at the center of the window, and knew that he just happened to embody both titles.
Alastor Haurus. A high ranking demon in Lucifer's army who specialized in vengeance. It was said that he could appear in the form of a leopard that walked upright and would give those who summoned him ideas on how to exact revenge on their enemies. It was also said that he laid waste to entire cities from the ancient world at the behest of Pharaoh's that employed his name in their tongue. He was an original, one of the third that fell from Heaven alongside the Morning Star, and was right up there with Baal and Samayaza. Supposedly he had been slain in the 15th century and sent back to hell, but what the Redeemer's back then didn't know was that Alastor could regenerate. Nothing short of a real exorcism or an event that would destroy every cell of his host body could actually expel him back down to the beyond.
But here he was, in the flesh, literally. A man, dressed to the nines, taking human form so that he could ingratiate himself with the new Pharaoh's of Las Vegas, the mob. No leopards here, other than the canvas painting on the other side of the room depicting a leopard ripping out a gazelle's throat. Alastor wore a grey pin striped suit with a light pink button up, no tie. His hands were folded behind his back, much like his prisoner, only his weren't bound by anything. He appeared to be observing his city, and it was his city. He had made sure of it over the years, and was a prey that normally he and his partner would have tried to avoid. He was just too powerful for the two of them to take.
That is, until a few weeks ago when they stumbled across his radar.
Most people didn't know about Alastor's dark secret, and he had built his empire alongside other humans. Matter of fact, the majority of his employees and business partners were human. It was only his honor guard that really knew his demon history, Vampires all, an elite fighting force that had a lifetime to get good at what it is they do. Assassinations. Kidnapping. Extortion. Basically making people who might oppose Alastor's vision disappear.
That's how they got involved in this mess in the first place. They thought they were taking care of a normal nest of vamps, but instead came to quickly realize they were taking on a higher power. Before that night, they weren't even on Alastor's radar, and after that they were wanted men. Every lower denizen in the city was looking for them, and they knew they had to do something about it. Their hope was that if you cut the head from the snake then the rest of the body would cease their actions.
The elevator door in the other room dinged open, drawing Alastor's attention from the window to the archway at the opposite end of the library. Dark shadows danced across the shelves in the low lit room, and Press made mental note of their locations. A loud yell, or was that a scream, caused an eyebrow raise from the man bound on the floor and the man behind the desk.
Just then a figure appeared in the doorway, a large dufflebag in one hand that looked comical in comparison to his size. In his other, a Cold Steel Katana angled down at the floor in front of him, fresh blood dripping off its end which elicited hisses from the shadows that began shifting that way.
Alastor used even, calculated steps as he rounded the desk to stand before the big man, an eyebrow slightly raising. "Youth, I presume."
The figure in the archway allow a slight grin, and like a musketeer brought his sword hilt up to his forehead in a salute.
Alastor's expression never changed. Cold, methodical, stoic. In a clear but grating voice he replied to the salute, "Saves me the trouble of hunting you down. Take him!"
The last words are curt and loud, and send a clear message to the shadows that now fall from the book shelves and down to the floor to take humanoid shape. The five vampires rush in unison while also taking up a strategic pattern. Youth doesn't move, waiting for the super fast creatures to get close before bringing his sword down and out in a flash. One of the vampires falls away, mouth wide in pain, fangs clearly visible. The sword begins to move as if it has its own mind that's independent of the wielder. The unoccupied hand reaches behind to grip the hilt of a .38 special that is more special than its name implies.
One of the vampires breaks through the defensive swipes of the sword to get in a clawed swipe that causes the young man to fall back a step. Blood now dots the floor, which causes the dark beings to bey with thirst. He doesn't give them time to give in to their cravings.
Whipping the gun from behind his back he opens fire, two shots striking the lead vamp in the chest. The bloodsucker falls back clutching at his chest, screaming, as the special bullets seep garlic and holy water into his veins. He hits the ground writhing and choking on himself before eventually bursting into a cloud of dust.
The other vampires fall back a step, finding new respect for their prey as the gun swings around to them. They try to scatter, but the four remaining shots find their marks in two of them which ends in the same results as the first.
Realizing that the gun is empty, the last remaining vampire charges forward while Youth brings the sword up to defend. Or was he the last? The vampire that fell first thanks to the sword proves not to be as dispatched as previously thought as he reaches up and hooks his arms around the young man causing him to stumble forward. The oncoming vampire deftly dodges the sword to tackle him up high, and Youth finds himself tumbling down to the floor. He barely has enough time to bury his forearm into the vampire's chest to prevent from being bit. Sharp fangs clack together as powerful jaws make lunge after lunge, begging to find their mark.
Alastor is so enamored in the battle in front of him that he doesn't notice as Press gets his hands free thanks to a blade that was sewn into his gloves. He slowly rises behind the demon while reaching up and gripping the tapes edge that was secured to his mouth. With a deep breath he gives the tape a hard yank and as it comes free so does his back fist strike the demon square in the back of his head. Alastor pitches forward in surprise, hitting the ground hard, and rolling onto his back to see the big man coming right for him with heavy stomps.
Meanwhile, back in the archway, Youth has managed to slip the swords tip into the vampire on top of him, but he can feel the one beneath him squirming to get free so that it can attempt its own bites. The one on top squirms as the blade finds its way deeper inside, and the red orbs it calls eyes narrow as it decides to switch tactics. Rather than continue to lunge, it suddenly leaps to its feet while retaining a hold of Youth's forearm, subsequently yanking him to his feet as well. This frees the vampire underneath, who comes to his feet behind the young man, who does his best to have eyes in the back of his head.
Alastor accepts three heavy stomps before thrusting his hand out in front of him and up with a charged bolt of energy that sends Press flying clear of the desk to slam off one of the pane glass windows. It cracks under the impact but thankfully doesn't shatter, but that doesn't help the fact that he feels like he was just hit by a Mack Truck. As the demon moves to get back to his feet, the big man steps forward, grips the fancy desk, and flips it with all his strength. The heavy wooden object tumbles over onto his side, slamming down onto the demon's ankles which elicits a deeply unnatural bellow of pain.
Youth ducks a swing from the vampire in front of him which allows him to slip under and around him, putting both bloodsuckers back in front. They move in to take him in unison but he manages to bring the sword around for a swing, and one of them rushes past him missing its head. The sudden burst into dust, however, momentarily blinds him, and the other vampire takes that opportunity to grab his sword arm and drive him into one of the nearby bookshelves. He feels the wind blow right out of him as his hand is driven again and again into the shelf until the sword clatters harmlessly to the floor. Fangs come for his throat, so he does the only plausible thing, and hurtles his forehead forward to slam into the vamp's face!
Press dives over the desk to land on top of Alastor, or he would have, if the demon hadn't caught him right out of the air. He had never been manhandled like this before, and for the briefest of thoughts wondered if this was how others felt when he did it to them. He didn't get long to ponder the theory before he was hurtled backwards. With a crash the desk is sent flying off to the side and the vengeance demon is back on his feet and stalking his way. Press scoots on his bottom until finding something to post off of, and then pushes himself up to his feet and forwards to tackle the big bad head on.
The vampire recoils grabbing at its nose, and Youth looks on satisfied as one of its fangs is now missing. The vampire hisses and moves to charge back in, but he manages to get his boot up to land center of its chest. He shoves backwards sending the monster flying, buying him enough time to scoop up his weapon and move in for the kill. As the vampire bursts into a cloud of dust, he looks over to see his partner charging at Alastor, but the demon lord delivers a wicked back fist that sends Press flying. He takes a step in that direction to lend a hand, but then remembers that it isn't part of the plan. Press was meant to distract Alastor while he dispatched the guards in order to move to phase two.
He stepped over to the duffle-bag that he had dropped upon first entering the room and opened it up to reveal several packages of C4 explosives. They had spent the better part of the afternoon before enacting this plan in making these homemade bombs just before Press had allowed himself to get captured. Now that the his partner and Alastor were engaged in combat, he would be able to easily place the explosives around the area, hopefully unseen by their host.
As Youth began prepping the devices, Press was being tossed across the room to land rib cage first into one of the bookshelves. He hit the ground in a huff, pretty sure that a few of them were broken, but he knew that he couldn't back off. He needed the demon focused on him if this plan was going to work. With a groan he pushed up off the floor to face the unholy gangster, who watched with an coldly confident visage. The big man could see his partner setting about his work out of the corner of his eye, and that was all the further motivation he needed to bound forward into another charge.
The fight continued to rage at the far end of the library and Youth could tell by the crashes and grunts that things weren't going well for Press. He quickly dispersed the packages until, finally, he held the last one in his hands. This would be the dangerous part. He needed to get past the two combatants in order to place the bomb at the back of the room. They were covering all bases. An explosion this size should leave nothing left of Alastor and maybe they would be able to go on living a little longer in the process. He had already slipped on one of the backpacks that were also stuffed into the duffle-bag, and he had one for Press hooked around his arm. He would need to place the bomb, toss the pack to his partner, and prepare their escape route all at the same time.
Just Alastor used the large desk that had been uprooted earlier as a baseball bat that knocked Press halfway across the floor, Youth rushed down the opposite side of shelves to get to the windows at the back of the room. He was almost there when he felt his entire body lock up and he found himself frozen in place, just seconds from the final spot to drop the bomb. His eyes flashed over to where Alastor stood, hand outstretched, stoic brow narrowing as he held the man in stasis.
"You fools. I was there at the beginning of creation, and you two insignificant bipedal's believe that you would be the ones to end my tenure on this plane." He snarled at Youth, reaching out to snatch Press by the throat and lift him from the ground.
The big man gurgled an in audible response as he tried to break the vice like grip around his throat, and Youth could do nothing but watch as the demon lord squeezed the life right out of him.
"So many of your kind have tried this before, seeking absolution for sins to a God who doesn't really care. What? You believe that your redemption will somehow register with the Almighty? You should have cast aside His cause and joined us. At least in hell there is no pandering to the ideals of morality. Its just a concept, one in which you are meant to live by when the Creator does not. He stands outside all of it, and we...we were those courageous enough to challenge that Authority. Yet we are condemned. We are the damned." He spat the last line, saliva dripping from his human mouth as if it were a terrible maw poised to gobble up the universe. "Then so be it. If you're purpose is to be redeemed, then perhaps your sacrifice will bring you one step closer to a heaven that doesn't want you."
The big man responded in a choked voice that neither of them could understand. Alastor hoisted him inches from his face while his partner could only watch on in horror.
"What was that?" He asked wickedly.
His grip loosened slightly and between labored breaths Press responded with a sneer, "Your fly is open."
Alastor, despite being a demon, despite being ancient, despite having his enemies firmly in his grasp, did one of the most human things he could have possibly done. He looked down. That was all the big man needed as a distraction to drive one of his knees squarely into the Hellspawn's crotch. Alastor's eyes nearly popped out of his head at the sudden rush of pain, loosening his grip completely so that Press fell choking to the floor. Subsequently, his concentration was broken, and Youth was abruptly in motion again. He dropped the bomb in its final resting place and tossed the pack he had for Press so that it skidded across the floor right in front of the man.
As soon as he was able to catch his breath, the big man grabbed the pack and slipped it on at the same time he came up off the floor into an uppercut to Alastor's jaw. The demon lord fell backwards after the powerful shot, still clutching at his nether regions. He was just glad the ploy had worked. There were rules for demons on this plane. Whatever monster that they emulated they took over those characteristics. If a demon took on the form of a vampire, then he got the powers, but also the weaknesses as prescribed by belief. Since Alastor had taken on human form, that meant that he was subject to certain human frailties, and for a man...well...a kick to the balls is pretty debilitating.
The sudden sound of air being sucked through a portal changed the pressure in the room, and when Press looked over he saw that his partner had already cut open the window he had weakened when he had been thrown against it. Alastor tried to rise in front of him but a well placed soccer kick to the demon's skull sent him sprawling back down to the floor. With that, Press made his way over to the window and the two men looked back over their shoulder as Alastor floundered to get onto his hands and knees.
The vengeance demon managed to glance up at them, looking less powerful and scary with his scrotum in his throat. "You'll never be free...the contract on your heads will be honored whether I'm alive or not."
The two men shared a glance and then leaped out of the window together. Alastor, realizing their plan, managed to push off the floor and started to slowly limp his way towards the archway that would lead to the elevator. When he reaches the halfway point he hears the hum of electronics all around him, and when he searches for the source of the noise he finds blinking red lights attached to brown packages. The last thing that can be heard from the north tower penthouse is a roar of defiance just as the entire place is engulfed in flames and explosions.
The air whipped around them as the ground came rushing up to meet them, but a pull from the ripcord fashioned to their packs opened the chutes they had bought at a local airfield outside of the city. Pieces of glass, steel, and concrete rained down in all their flaming glory, and as sirens cued up far away, the to men found themselves laughing. It wasn't the sort of laugh that indicated humor, but rather the nervous, jittery, manic laugh that often accompanied shock. By the time their feet touched solid ground on a nearby rooftop, they both looked back at the flaming display in the sky a quarter mile behind them and fell back in fatigue.
Their unlikely plan had worked, but it came at a cost. The entire state would be on the look out for the two men who caused such a catastrophe, and the suspects would probably be labeled terrorists. At the very least, the crime bosses of the city, both demon and human, would be out for their heads even worse than before. The worst of it all...this shit would make national news.
Press looked over at Youth as they began to abandon their chutes and said, "We probably shouldn't stick around to see how this pans out."
Youth nodded silently, making his way towards the ladder that would take them down to street level where the 1966 classic Pontiac Tempest awaited them. Once in the car the two men drove straight home to their apartment over Frank's garage without any detours. The news on the radio was already reporting on the attack at Caesar's Palace, mentioning that the two assailants were still on the loose and considered armed and dangerous.
Later that night, the two men would pack up their gear and make their goodbyes to Frank and LoLo. They knew they wouldn't be coming back to Vegas for a long time. Little could they have guessed that their exile would lead to a return to the wrestling business, a successful run in New Orleans where they connected with old friends while making some new ones. No way in their wildest dreams did they believe that they would be drawn into a plot involving one of Odin's ravens, but it all happened. The only thing they ever really knew to be a constant in their lives was the highway, the fight, and the places they left in their rear-view mirror. However, when running from the devils of the world you eventually come to one conclusion...
There isn't enough highway.
He lifted his wary head to take in the lavish sights surrounding him. He was in a library with an elaborate desk directly in front of him. One wall was made of glass and had a beautiful view of the flashing lights from the strip well into the nothingness that was the desert. The center of the room contained plush red couches that very well could have been antique or custom. Hard to tell. Along the walls were ornate book shelves filled with all manner of subjects, with a tapestry here and there that looked like it belonged in a museum. This entire penthouse was the lap of luxury that screamed power in a town like this. Most people could barely afford to book a suite in a town like this, let alone live with this sort of convenience.
And in Vegas, there were two types of people who got to this status in life. Organized crime lords and those who made deals with devils.
He lolled his head over to the man standing behind the desk at the center of the window, and knew that he just happened to embody both titles.
Alastor Haurus. A high ranking demon in Lucifer's army who specialized in vengeance. It was said that he could appear in the form of a leopard that walked upright and would give those who summoned him ideas on how to exact revenge on their enemies. It was also said that he laid waste to entire cities from the ancient world at the behest of Pharaoh's that employed his name in their tongue. He was an original, one of the third that fell from Heaven alongside the Morning Star, and was right up there with Baal and Samayaza. Supposedly he had been slain in the 15th century and sent back to hell, but what the Redeemer's back then didn't know was that Alastor could regenerate. Nothing short of a real exorcism or an event that would destroy every cell of his host body could actually expel him back down to the beyond.
But here he was, in the flesh, literally. A man, dressed to the nines, taking human form so that he could ingratiate himself with the new Pharaoh's of Las Vegas, the mob. No leopards here, other than the canvas painting on the other side of the room depicting a leopard ripping out a gazelle's throat. Alastor wore a grey pin striped suit with a light pink button up, no tie. His hands were folded behind his back, much like his prisoner, only his weren't bound by anything. He appeared to be observing his city, and it was his city. He had made sure of it over the years, and was a prey that normally he and his partner would have tried to avoid. He was just too powerful for the two of them to take.
That is, until a few weeks ago when they stumbled across his radar.
Most people didn't know about Alastor's dark secret, and he had built his empire alongside other humans. Matter of fact, the majority of his employees and business partners were human. It was only his honor guard that really knew his demon history, Vampires all, an elite fighting force that had a lifetime to get good at what it is they do. Assassinations. Kidnapping. Extortion. Basically making people who might oppose Alastor's vision disappear.
That's how they got involved in this mess in the first place. They thought they were taking care of a normal nest of vamps, but instead came to quickly realize they were taking on a higher power. Before that night, they weren't even on Alastor's radar, and after that they were wanted men. Every lower denizen in the city was looking for them, and they knew they had to do something about it. Their hope was that if you cut the head from the snake then the rest of the body would cease their actions.
The elevator door in the other room dinged open, drawing Alastor's attention from the window to the archway at the opposite end of the library. Dark shadows danced across the shelves in the low lit room, and Press made mental note of their locations. A loud yell, or was that a scream, caused an eyebrow raise from the man bound on the floor and the man behind the desk.
Just then a figure appeared in the doorway, a large dufflebag in one hand that looked comical in comparison to his size. In his other, a Cold Steel Katana angled down at the floor in front of him, fresh blood dripping off its end which elicited hisses from the shadows that began shifting that way.
Alastor used even, calculated steps as he rounded the desk to stand before the big man, an eyebrow slightly raising. "Youth, I presume."
The figure in the archway allow a slight grin, and like a musketeer brought his sword hilt up to his forehead in a salute.
Alastor's expression never changed. Cold, methodical, stoic. In a clear but grating voice he replied to the salute, "Saves me the trouble of hunting you down. Take him!"
The last words are curt and loud, and send a clear message to the shadows that now fall from the book shelves and down to the floor to take humanoid shape. The five vampires rush in unison while also taking up a strategic pattern. Youth doesn't move, waiting for the super fast creatures to get close before bringing his sword down and out in a flash. One of the vampires falls away, mouth wide in pain, fangs clearly visible. The sword begins to move as if it has its own mind that's independent of the wielder. The unoccupied hand reaches behind to grip the hilt of a .38 special that is more special than its name implies.
One of the vampires breaks through the defensive swipes of the sword to get in a clawed swipe that causes the young man to fall back a step. Blood now dots the floor, which causes the dark beings to bey with thirst. He doesn't give them time to give in to their cravings.
Whipping the gun from behind his back he opens fire, two shots striking the lead vamp in the chest. The bloodsucker falls back clutching at his chest, screaming, as the special bullets seep garlic and holy water into his veins. He hits the ground writhing and choking on himself before eventually bursting into a cloud of dust.
The other vampires fall back a step, finding new respect for their prey as the gun swings around to them. They try to scatter, but the four remaining shots find their marks in two of them which ends in the same results as the first.
Realizing that the gun is empty, the last remaining vampire charges forward while Youth brings the sword up to defend. Or was he the last? The vampire that fell first thanks to the sword proves not to be as dispatched as previously thought as he reaches up and hooks his arms around the young man causing him to stumble forward. The oncoming vampire deftly dodges the sword to tackle him up high, and Youth finds himself tumbling down to the floor. He barely has enough time to bury his forearm into the vampire's chest to prevent from being bit. Sharp fangs clack together as powerful jaws make lunge after lunge, begging to find their mark.
Alastor is so enamored in the battle in front of him that he doesn't notice as Press gets his hands free thanks to a blade that was sewn into his gloves. He slowly rises behind the demon while reaching up and gripping the tapes edge that was secured to his mouth. With a deep breath he gives the tape a hard yank and as it comes free so does his back fist strike the demon square in the back of his head. Alastor pitches forward in surprise, hitting the ground hard, and rolling onto his back to see the big man coming right for him with heavy stomps.
Meanwhile, back in the archway, Youth has managed to slip the swords tip into the vampire on top of him, but he can feel the one beneath him squirming to get free so that it can attempt its own bites. The one on top squirms as the blade finds its way deeper inside, and the red orbs it calls eyes narrow as it decides to switch tactics. Rather than continue to lunge, it suddenly leaps to its feet while retaining a hold of Youth's forearm, subsequently yanking him to his feet as well. This frees the vampire underneath, who comes to his feet behind the young man, who does his best to have eyes in the back of his head.
Alastor accepts three heavy stomps before thrusting his hand out in front of him and up with a charged bolt of energy that sends Press flying clear of the desk to slam off one of the pane glass windows. It cracks under the impact but thankfully doesn't shatter, but that doesn't help the fact that he feels like he was just hit by a Mack Truck. As the demon moves to get back to his feet, the big man steps forward, grips the fancy desk, and flips it with all his strength. The heavy wooden object tumbles over onto his side, slamming down onto the demon's ankles which elicits a deeply unnatural bellow of pain.
Youth ducks a swing from the vampire in front of him which allows him to slip under and around him, putting both bloodsuckers back in front. They move in to take him in unison but he manages to bring the sword around for a swing, and one of them rushes past him missing its head. The sudden burst into dust, however, momentarily blinds him, and the other vampire takes that opportunity to grab his sword arm and drive him into one of the nearby bookshelves. He feels the wind blow right out of him as his hand is driven again and again into the shelf until the sword clatters harmlessly to the floor. Fangs come for his throat, so he does the only plausible thing, and hurtles his forehead forward to slam into the vamp's face!
Press dives over the desk to land on top of Alastor, or he would have, if the demon hadn't caught him right out of the air. He had never been manhandled like this before, and for the briefest of thoughts wondered if this was how others felt when he did it to them. He didn't get long to ponder the theory before he was hurtled backwards. With a crash the desk is sent flying off to the side and the vengeance demon is back on his feet and stalking his way. Press scoots on his bottom until finding something to post off of, and then pushes himself up to his feet and forwards to tackle the big bad head on.
The vampire recoils grabbing at its nose, and Youth looks on satisfied as one of its fangs is now missing. The vampire hisses and moves to charge back in, but he manages to get his boot up to land center of its chest. He shoves backwards sending the monster flying, buying him enough time to scoop up his weapon and move in for the kill. As the vampire bursts into a cloud of dust, he looks over to see his partner charging at Alastor, but the demon lord delivers a wicked back fist that sends Press flying. He takes a step in that direction to lend a hand, but then remembers that it isn't part of the plan. Press was meant to distract Alastor while he dispatched the guards in order to move to phase two.
He stepped over to the duffle-bag that he had dropped upon first entering the room and opened it up to reveal several packages of C4 explosives. They had spent the better part of the afternoon before enacting this plan in making these homemade bombs just before Press had allowed himself to get captured. Now that the his partner and Alastor were engaged in combat, he would be able to easily place the explosives around the area, hopefully unseen by their host.
As Youth began prepping the devices, Press was being tossed across the room to land rib cage first into one of the bookshelves. He hit the ground in a huff, pretty sure that a few of them were broken, but he knew that he couldn't back off. He needed the demon focused on him if this plan was going to work. With a groan he pushed up off the floor to face the unholy gangster, who watched with an coldly confident visage. The big man could see his partner setting about his work out of the corner of his eye, and that was all the further motivation he needed to bound forward into another charge.
The fight continued to rage at the far end of the library and Youth could tell by the crashes and grunts that things weren't going well for Press. He quickly dispersed the packages until, finally, he held the last one in his hands. This would be the dangerous part. He needed to get past the two combatants in order to place the bomb at the back of the room. They were covering all bases. An explosion this size should leave nothing left of Alastor and maybe they would be able to go on living a little longer in the process. He had already slipped on one of the backpacks that were also stuffed into the duffle-bag, and he had one for Press hooked around his arm. He would need to place the bomb, toss the pack to his partner, and prepare their escape route all at the same time.
Just Alastor used the large desk that had been uprooted earlier as a baseball bat that knocked Press halfway across the floor, Youth rushed down the opposite side of shelves to get to the windows at the back of the room. He was almost there when he felt his entire body lock up and he found himself frozen in place, just seconds from the final spot to drop the bomb. His eyes flashed over to where Alastor stood, hand outstretched, stoic brow narrowing as he held the man in stasis.
"You fools. I was there at the beginning of creation, and you two insignificant bipedal's believe that you would be the ones to end my tenure on this plane." He snarled at Youth, reaching out to snatch Press by the throat and lift him from the ground.
The big man gurgled an in audible response as he tried to break the vice like grip around his throat, and Youth could do nothing but watch as the demon lord squeezed the life right out of him.
"So many of your kind have tried this before, seeking absolution for sins to a God who doesn't really care. What? You believe that your redemption will somehow register with the Almighty? You should have cast aside His cause and joined us. At least in hell there is no pandering to the ideals of morality. Its just a concept, one in which you are meant to live by when the Creator does not. He stands outside all of it, and we...we were those courageous enough to challenge that Authority. Yet we are condemned. We are the damned." He spat the last line, saliva dripping from his human mouth as if it were a terrible maw poised to gobble up the universe. "Then so be it. If you're purpose is to be redeemed, then perhaps your sacrifice will bring you one step closer to a heaven that doesn't want you."
The big man responded in a choked voice that neither of them could understand. Alastor hoisted him inches from his face while his partner could only watch on in horror.
"What was that?" He asked wickedly.
His grip loosened slightly and between labored breaths Press responded with a sneer, "Your fly is open."
Alastor, despite being a demon, despite being ancient, despite having his enemies firmly in his grasp, did one of the most human things he could have possibly done. He looked down. That was all the big man needed as a distraction to drive one of his knees squarely into the Hellspawn's crotch. Alastor's eyes nearly popped out of his head at the sudden rush of pain, loosening his grip completely so that Press fell choking to the floor. Subsequently, his concentration was broken, and Youth was abruptly in motion again. He dropped the bomb in its final resting place and tossed the pack he had for Press so that it skidded across the floor right in front of the man.
As soon as he was able to catch his breath, the big man grabbed the pack and slipped it on at the same time he came up off the floor into an uppercut to Alastor's jaw. The demon lord fell backwards after the powerful shot, still clutching at his nether regions. He was just glad the ploy had worked. There were rules for demons on this plane. Whatever monster that they emulated they took over those characteristics. If a demon took on the form of a vampire, then he got the powers, but also the weaknesses as prescribed by belief. Since Alastor had taken on human form, that meant that he was subject to certain human frailties, and for a man...well...a kick to the balls is pretty debilitating.
The sudden sound of air being sucked through a portal changed the pressure in the room, and when Press looked over he saw that his partner had already cut open the window he had weakened when he had been thrown against it. Alastor tried to rise in front of him but a well placed soccer kick to the demon's skull sent him sprawling back down to the floor. With that, Press made his way over to the window and the two men looked back over their shoulder as Alastor floundered to get onto his hands and knees.
The vengeance demon managed to glance up at them, looking less powerful and scary with his scrotum in his throat. "You'll never be free...the contract on your heads will be honored whether I'm alive or not."
The two men shared a glance and then leaped out of the window together. Alastor, realizing their plan, managed to push off the floor and started to slowly limp his way towards the archway that would lead to the elevator. When he reaches the halfway point he hears the hum of electronics all around him, and when he searches for the source of the noise he finds blinking red lights attached to brown packages. The last thing that can be heard from the north tower penthouse is a roar of defiance just as the entire place is engulfed in flames and explosions.
The air whipped around them as the ground came rushing up to meet them, but a pull from the ripcord fashioned to their packs opened the chutes they had bought at a local airfield outside of the city. Pieces of glass, steel, and concrete rained down in all their flaming glory, and as sirens cued up far away, the to men found themselves laughing. It wasn't the sort of laugh that indicated humor, but rather the nervous, jittery, manic laugh that often accompanied shock. By the time their feet touched solid ground on a nearby rooftop, they both looked back at the flaming display in the sky a quarter mile behind them and fell back in fatigue.
Their unlikely plan had worked, but it came at a cost. The entire state would be on the look out for the two men who caused such a catastrophe, and the suspects would probably be labeled terrorists. At the very least, the crime bosses of the city, both demon and human, would be out for their heads even worse than before. The worst of it all...this shit would make national news.
Press looked over at Youth as they began to abandon their chutes and said, "We probably shouldn't stick around to see how this pans out."
Youth nodded silently, making his way towards the ladder that would take them down to street level where the 1966 classic Pontiac Tempest awaited them. Once in the car the two men drove straight home to their apartment over Frank's garage without any detours. The news on the radio was already reporting on the attack at Caesar's Palace, mentioning that the two assailants were still on the loose and considered armed and dangerous.
Later that night, the two men would pack up their gear and make their goodbyes to Frank and LoLo. They knew they wouldn't be coming back to Vegas for a long time. Little could they have guessed that their exile would lead to a return to the wrestling business, a successful run in New Orleans where they connected with old friends while making some new ones. No way in their wildest dreams did they believe that they would be drawn into a plot involving one of Odin's ravens, but it all happened. The only thing they ever really knew to be a constant in their lives was the highway, the fight, and the places they left in their rear-view mirror. However, when running from the devils of the world you eventually come to one conclusion...
There isn't enough highway.
Hear the devil callin'
Hear the devil callin'
Well I hear the devil callin'
Got to pay him what he's due
I can't stop the Dogs of War
I can't stop the Dogs of War
I can't stop the Dogs of War
1/24/2020 [ON CAMERA]
BURGER LOUNGE
213 ARIZONA AVE, SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA
BURGER LOUNGE
213 ARIZONA AVE, SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA
The scene opens at a picnic table with a great view of the Santa Monica beachfront. Sitting opposite of each other are The BombTrax, two burger baskets sitting in front of them. Press seems to really be enjoying his, devouring the burger with gusto while his partner takes a bite here and there and picks at his fries. Eventually he look up to see that the big man is already done with most of his meal, just polishing off his onion rings between big gulps of his peanut butter milkshake.
Youth smirks, leaning back away from the table. "So, we dismissed those girls pretty hard in our promo. Do you really believe it will be that easy?"
Press snorted while shoving one of the fried onions into his mouth. Through a mouthful he mumbled, "Are you saying it won't?"
Youth shrugged and sighed at the same time. "Look, this promotion might not be exactly what we're used to, but that doesn't mean that there isn't any talent here. Astrid Samson has tenure, shows maturity in the ring, and has an impressive win and loss record for her spot on the card. From all accounts her partner, Brianna Rissi, is fairly accomplished as well. She was the first IPW Television champion after all, and her record is even better than Astrid's. As a tag team they've never been beat. That's pretty impressive. I mean, I'm not worried or anything. It is what it is. But I will say that we might have our hands full at the super show."
The big man cleared his pallet with a strong draw from his shake before responding. "Listen, I'm not one to ever look past an opponent, you know that. We've done what we've done with a pretty clear plan of attack, and no one said that it was going to be easy. Matter of fact, when dismantling a company the way we are, maybe it shouldn't be. So yeah, we'll have our hands full, and I'd expect no less. I wasn't joking when I said that these two women are going to be fighting for their lives. I'd challenge their speed against yours any day, and I damn well know they haven't ever been hit by anyone like me. Obviously they are going to do their best, but in the end...they are unprepared for the likes of us."
He said the last a little too matter-of-factly for Youth's tastes, and the young man turns to look out at the ocean hoping it might provide a little more assurance. When the waves had no answers, he turns back to his partner to pose a few of his own concerns.
"So these two are self proclaimed best friends, but haven't tagged together since April. And now Rissi is partnered up with Oliver Black, who I'm pretty sure isn't too high on Astrid."
"Us either, after last show." Press adds.
Youth nods to concede the point. "All I'm saying is that we might be able to use that to our advantage. Although, I will say, when these two are on point they are arguably two of the best in the promotion."
Press's eyebrows arch. "Where is all of this coming from? Are you saying we aren't?"
"No!" Youth starts shaking his head to dismiss the idea. "You and I have been around this block. Actually, we've moved past this level. However..." He holds up a finger to get to the point. "We have a lot going on ourselves. Both these ladies have been sniffing after the Heavyweight Championship, a champion that we've now removed from the equation. At least for the time being. If I were them, I'd look at us and our accomplishments as a pretty big stepping stone to the next big thing. A national promotion, or at least one that actually travels around like a real territory. Like you said...we're the biggest competition they've ever faced. A win over us is huge. I just want to make sure that our heads are in the game instead of having to pay attention to every person in this fed we've pissed off. I mean, look what happened last Chaos..."
He let the thought hang in the air, and by the expression on Press's face it was clear that he wasn't completely over it.
"We made a few enemies but we made a LOT of impact. That's what Nin needed us to do, so we did it."
"It comes down to that, right?" Youth asks, a coy smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Press's eyes narrow as he stares across at his partner. "What are you trying to say?"
"What are we doing here?" He asks, shrugging. "I never had any real beef with Joshua Samson. Didn't even know this place existed until you told me she called. It's pretty obvious we got no real dog in this fight, but now that we're here we have no option but to make it personal. That loss last show helped, but beyond that...what's the plan?"
"That's for Munin to decide. Besides, you used to beg me to get back into the business, get back to the grind. Now, you suddenly need reasons? A plan?"
"Are you telling me that you hate Joshua Samson?"
Press huffs gruffly before crossing his arms over his chest. "He's a prick."
"Yeah, and...? Cross Recoba is a prick but we haven't knocked down his door. What's the difference?"
"We dealt with Recoba way back when. There's no reason to revisit that as long as we aren't in each others way. When his plans intersect with ours, he'll be back on the shit list."
"So this basically comes down to the fact that Nin has a mad on for Joshua Samson and his promotion, and so thus you feel the same."
Press quickly starts to respond but then settles back a moment, letting the statement sink in. He breaks eye contact with Youth to look back out at the beach, and heavily sighs.
"Fine. You got me."
He looks back over to his partner and upon seeing the smug look on his face he slams his hand on the table and roars. "That doesn't change what we have to do!"
Youth whistles mockingly at the outburst and rolls his eyes which bring his attention to the blinking red light on the camera beside them. He suddenly perks up, and Press immediately does the same at seeing his partners agitation.
"Uh...Bob? Have you been recording this entire time..."
The camera view begins to bob up and down indicating that the cameraman is nodding.
"Awww shittt..." Youth's hand slaps and pulls comically down his face.
"Damn. We said some nice things about them. Talk about sending mixed signals."
"Dude...this is going to kill our gimmick." Youth cries, forehead falling forwards to bang off the table.
Press smirks, shaking his head. "Nah, what it does is show them that we've done our homework. It shows them that we are taking this seriously and planning for any contingency. So ladies, you're welcome for the compliments, but it's up to you to prove you're worthy of it. See you in a few days..."
He winked to the camera, and then looked past it to the operator.
"Now Bob....get the fuck out of here."
Fade to black.
Youth smirks, leaning back away from the table. "So, we dismissed those girls pretty hard in our promo. Do you really believe it will be that easy?"
Press snorted while shoving one of the fried onions into his mouth. Through a mouthful he mumbled, "Are you saying it won't?"
Youth shrugged and sighed at the same time. "Look, this promotion might not be exactly what we're used to, but that doesn't mean that there isn't any talent here. Astrid Samson has tenure, shows maturity in the ring, and has an impressive win and loss record for her spot on the card. From all accounts her partner, Brianna Rissi, is fairly accomplished as well. She was the first IPW Television champion after all, and her record is even better than Astrid's. As a tag team they've never been beat. That's pretty impressive. I mean, I'm not worried or anything. It is what it is. But I will say that we might have our hands full at the super show."
The big man cleared his pallet with a strong draw from his shake before responding. "Listen, I'm not one to ever look past an opponent, you know that. We've done what we've done with a pretty clear plan of attack, and no one said that it was going to be easy. Matter of fact, when dismantling a company the way we are, maybe it shouldn't be. So yeah, we'll have our hands full, and I'd expect no less. I wasn't joking when I said that these two women are going to be fighting for their lives. I'd challenge their speed against yours any day, and I damn well know they haven't ever been hit by anyone like me. Obviously they are going to do their best, but in the end...they are unprepared for the likes of us."
He said the last a little too matter-of-factly for Youth's tastes, and the young man turns to look out at the ocean hoping it might provide a little more assurance. When the waves had no answers, he turns back to his partner to pose a few of his own concerns.
"So these two are self proclaimed best friends, but haven't tagged together since April. And now Rissi is partnered up with Oliver Black, who I'm pretty sure isn't too high on Astrid."
"Us either, after last show." Press adds.
Youth nods to concede the point. "All I'm saying is that we might be able to use that to our advantage. Although, I will say, when these two are on point they are arguably two of the best in the promotion."
Press's eyebrows arch. "Where is all of this coming from? Are you saying we aren't?"
"No!" Youth starts shaking his head to dismiss the idea. "You and I have been around this block. Actually, we've moved past this level. However..." He holds up a finger to get to the point. "We have a lot going on ourselves. Both these ladies have been sniffing after the Heavyweight Championship, a champion that we've now removed from the equation. At least for the time being. If I were them, I'd look at us and our accomplishments as a pretty big stepping stone to the next big thing. A national promotion, or at least one that actually travels around like a real territory. Like you said...we're the biggest competition they've ever faced. A win over us is huge. I just want to make sure that our heads are in the game instead of having to pay attention to every person in this fed we've pissed off. I mean, look what happened last Chaos..."
He let the thought hang in the air, and by the expression on Press's face it was clear that he wasn't completely over it.
"We made a few enemies but we made a LOT of impact. That's what Nin needed us to do, so we did it."
"It comes down to that, right?" Youth asks, a coy smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Press's eyes narrow as he stares across at his partner. "What are you trying to say?"
"What are we doing here?" He asks, shrugging. "I never had any real beef with Joshua Samson. Didn't even know this place existed until you told me she called. It's pretty obvious we got no real dog in this fight, but now that we're here we have no option but to make it personal. That loss last show helped, but beyond that...what's the plan?"
"That's for Munin to decide. Besides, you used to beg me to get back into the business, get back to the grind. Now, you suddenly need reasons? A plan?"
"Are you telling me that you hate Joshua Samson?"
Press huffs gruffly before crossing his arms over his chest. "He's a prick."
"Yeah, and...? Cross Recoba is a prick but we haven't knocked down his door. What's the difference?"
"We dealt with Recoba way back when. There's no reason to revisit that as long as we aren't in each others way. When his plans intersect with ours, he'll be back on the shit list."
"So this basically comes down to the fact that Nin has a mad on for Joshua Samson and his promotion, and so thus you feel the same."
Press quickly starts to respond but then settles back a moment, letting the statement sink in. He breaks eye contact with Youth to look back out at the beach, and heavily sighs.
"Fine. You got me."
He looks back over to his partner and upon seeing the smug look on his face he slams his hand on the table and roars. "That doesn't change what we have to do!"
Youth whistles mockingly at the outburst and rolls his eyes which bring his attention to the blinking red light on the camera beside them. He suddenly perks up, and Press immediately does the same at seeing his partners agitation.
"Uh...Bob? Have you been recording this entire time..."
The camera view begins to bob up and down indicating that the cameraman is nodding.
"Awww shittt..." Youth's hand slaps and pulls comically down his face.
"Damn. We said some nice things about them. Talk about sending mixed signals."
"Dude...this is going to kill our gimmick." Youth cries, forehead falling forwards to bang off the table.
Press smirks, shaking his head. "Nah, what it does is show them that we've done our homework. It shows them that we are taking this seriously and planning for any contingency. So ladies, you're welcome for the compliments, but it's up to you to prove you're worthy of it. See you in a few days..."
He winked to the camera, and then looked past it to the operator.
"Now Bob....get the fuck out of here."
Fade to black.