Ain't No Grave: Chapter II

January, 2015:
Anaheim, California

There was an eerie silence in the room, as the air became suffocatingly thin due to the mounting tension. Yet somehow he maintained a stoic disposition toward the abnormal conditions. In fact, he felt completely comfortable in the atmospheric straight jacket, as if it was tailored just for him. He wasn’t trying to escape it. He was confined to it by his own volition, and she was both curious and concerned as to why.

“You know Magnus, I can’t help you unless you give me the chance to do so…”

There, a cringe. The first display of raw emotion. His eyes closed shut in response to the sound of her voice, beckoning him to unwind. His teeth clenched tightly, while he hissed his frustration audibly. His windows slowly reopened, and through them she searched every inch of his soul to find something tangible to bring back to the surface.

“You insinuating that I need help would suggest that I have a problem, Dr. Collins.”

As the words escaped his lips a smile formed on his facial features, one that was fictitious in nature, but more importantly one that she saw right through. A bead of sweat cascaded from his brow, before he proceeded to brush it off with his backhand. The facade vanished as quickly as it manifested, his visage becoming harsh as he contracted his brows fiercely. Almost in a slight panic he began to breathe in - and out -in - and out in an effort to calm himself and quell his affliction.

“You don’t think you have a problem, Magnus?”

He sighed as he pinched his nasal bridge, then with a slight chuckle he leaned upright on the sofa, grabbing at the back of his neck with his hand as he shook his head. There were a million thoughts racing and reverberating in his head, and as his fingertips suddenly, and ever so gently began to massage his temples, it was clear that he was trying to quiet the noise. However, as the gears continued to grind upstairs, he found it increasingly difficult to bare the sound of the maneuvering machinery.

“A problem? No. I don’t have a problem, Dr. Collins. I have several. Which one would you like to start with…. the alcoholism? Maybe the substance abuse? How about the self-loathing? Are they good enough talking points to get you scribbling in your little pad? Hehe.”

He said harshly, as he rolled his eyes, a defense mechanism of course. He sneered down at her from his balcony, mocking her hubris, and naivety for even thinking she could scale his walls.

“Those are just symptoms. We’re here to find a cure for your illness, and to do that we’ve got to get to the root of the problem. That means you have to be willing to open up. You speak of scars, but you won’t even remove the bandages to check if they’ve healed.”

But he was wrong. She wasn’t looking to climb those castle walls, she was trying to bring them down, and reduce his inhibitions to rubble. He slowly, and methodically ran his fingertips through his long, black strands of hair, twitching slightly as she attempted to pick the lock to his memory palace.

“Oh they’ve healed, Dr. Collins. And I’m sure you learned from your mother, as I did from mine that it’s not good to pick your scabs.”

He stared into her eyes, coldly, but her vision did not waver, nor did it retreat.

“You of all people know that the biggest hurdle in one’s development is fear, Magnus. And you’ve allowed this fear to take you hostage, halting your own emotional progression in the process. Tell me, what’re you so afraid of?”

He broke his gaze abruptly, turning away from the renowned psychiatrist as he shook his head in rapid succession. Murmuring “no” repeatedly to himself, he climbed off the couch and stood on his feet. With haste he began to pace back and forth in front of her, doing his very best to stifle whatever impulses he was feeling as he wholeheartedly refused to succumb to them. He laughed to himself, almost deliriously before turned back toward her. With his palms pressed together in a praying like fashion, he slowly hunched down beside her, looking her right in the eyes as he spoke in a somber tone.

“I’m afraid of what might happen, if I pull back the reigns just a little bit, and give you what you want - what you think you can handle.”

Her pupils were locked with his once again, and that’s when she began to notice it. There was a sharp change in the look in his eyes. They were dilated, and strained due to the pain and the pressure he was exerting on himself to prevent whatever he was harboring inside from breaking free.

“And what is it that you think I want, Magnus?”

He peeled back from her seat, a melancholic expression beginning to form on his visage as he stared up at the ceiling as if he were looking up to the heavens for strength - but there was none afforded to him. He had been forsaken.

“You want me to take your hand and lead you to the other side, to that place hidden in the back of my mind but understand something. You don’t want me to take you to Wonderland, Alice. You think you do, but you really don’t.”

His stature diminished, as he descended from a state of full verticality to crouch down on the floor. There, he buried his face into his hands. He was trying to keep the mask intact, but with every passing minute he became more and more unhinged.

“You want me to take off the mask, Dr. Collins, but you won’t find anything underneath. That’s because there’s nothing there but darkness.”

Springing back to his feet, he frantically clawed at his hair follicles, somewhat hyperventilating as he lurched toward the kitchen.

“Magnus…” she called out to him, rising to her feet in wake of his sudden episode. In all of her years she had never experienced something this profound.

“DON'T WORRY DR. COLLINS!”

He yelled back at her, refusing to take the helping hand as he collapsed over the sink. Running the water, he splashed his face again and again hysterically.

“Magnus…” she called out to him again, somewhat paralysed by what was transpiring in front of her.

“IT’S NOTHING… I’M JUST FEELING A LITTLE PALE... JUST A LITTLE BIT-”

Everything came to a sudden halt. The water was turned off. The commotion ceased, and everything calmed down right into a foreboding silence.

“Much better…”

With his hair distressed, and unkempt, Magnus slowly began to turn around.

“Be careful what you wish for… Dr. Collins…”

But what greeted her, wasn’t Magnus Gunner at all. He’d become someone else entirely.





June 25, 2015
San Diego, California

“Is this where it happened?” Naoki asked, looking at his senpai as the two figures stood before the San Diego Bay. The student eagerly awaited a response, but Christum uncharacteristically had none. The silver tongued devil that spit golden words was deafly silent. His focus was captivated by the body of water in front of him, as he stared down at his reflection.

“He was my scalpel…” He said in an almost hushed tone, his eyesight never breaking from the Bay. Arishima had never seen his senpai display such a temperament. “I regarded him like my son. We shared the same affliction. He reminded me so much of myself. Lost. Troubled. In need of a friend. In need of someone to tell him that there was absolutely nothing wrong with him, that it was the world that was sick and needed to change. He was perfect the way he was.” Arishima was shocked to hear him speak that way. He rarely spoke highly of anyone, and certainly not to this degree. It seemed as if it was all coming from a place he didn’t know existed. A part he didn’t know his senpai still possessed.

“You really did care for him, Furor-san.”

“I care for all my children,” Christum turned to him, placing his hand on the back of the former Sword of the New Age’s neck. “We are family, binded, and bonded together due to the pain and the persecution that we’ve experienced. We are one mind, one body, and one soul intertwined through my will. Know that is the truth, Naoki.”

“Why did you do it then?”

Furor released him, turning his gaze back toward the Bay.

“I sacrificed my own son,” he started, his eyes sullen with dejection, “for peace.”





The scene opens up to a massive hooded figure holding a wooden torch, serving as the lone source of illumination. With his back turned to the camera, the figure navigates through what appears to be woods, as tree branches are shoved aside, whilst the sound of boots stamping against gravel can be heard. After a few moments, the hooded figure reaches his destination - a large, stone mausoleum.

The hooded figure enters the burial chamber, as crickets chirp in the background, creating an ominous setting. As he places the torch in a case on the nearest wall, the inside of the catacombs becomes illuminated, revealing five sarcophagi placed in a circle. Inside the seal, is none other than Christum Furor. The elegant madman sits Indian Style on the cold, stone floor, bare chested with the word "FEAR" painted across his sternum.

"Death..." He begins in his usual stoic tone, not even acknowledging the camera's existence as he runs his fingertips along the dusty floor. "The very mention of the word sends shockwaves of anxiety throughout our spinal columns, as we become consumed by our own consternation of the unknown. We as human beings know that this world and our lives are fleeting. From the very moment we breathe our first breath of life we begin serving out a death sentence for which we do not know when, where, or how we will expire."

"And that ignorance, and fear leads to the development of an irrational desire - immortality. Knowing that we are on borrowed time, it is in our basic nature as human beings to find ways to preserve our existence. We are motivated by our own mortality and the fear of the inevitability of our doom. That abhorrence makes us depthless, for it causes us to hold material things with high regard because we delude ourselves into thinking superficialities hold the key to everlasting relevancy." The two time EXODUS World Champion stares out into the void, as he gathers his thoughts.

"It's the reason Christopher Strike has formed a Pantheon whose pillars are known as Greed. Glory. And Gamble," the madman scoffs. "WEAPON dulled by his thirst for power. The War Machine rusted by rapacity. EXODUS' greatest hero has lived long enough to see himself become the villain they disdain in every way. Just like Fiona Collins," the founder of Gods & Monsters shakes his head, before continuing. "The Stardust Seraph once flew with white wings, but they've now been turned black like her heart due to avarice. The people you worshipped and believed in have turned their backs on you due to their pursuit of self-gratification and worldly pleasures. This is what happens when you put people on pedestals despite the fact that their characters warrant otherwise. You end up living in a world where the woman who claimed to love EXODUS, and would always fight for EXODUS now shares the same moral ground as Nick Kramer, a man who’s sole purpose in life seems to be to destroy EXODUS. "

"Christopher Strike buried me alive to capture the EXODUS World Championship, and was heralded as the man who single handedly destroyed the New Age - until Abby Park decided to ruin his story. And that was the moment his cowardice began to take shape. After everything he had accomplished, to have it brought to such an abrupt end in so little time, he couldn't stand it. He refused to accept obscurity, and so in an effort to circumvent his death, he became the vile, wretched being he is today. He became a man who cares solely about himself and his ambitions. And that’s the same man I claimed him to be so long ago. But it’s too late to say I told you."

"And just like Strike, Fiona Collins met the reaper in the form of oblivion. The longest reigning World Champion in EXODUS history, the ACE and the Triple Crown Winner - all accolades of yesteryear. She lived off of past glory, yet unbeknownst to her those accomplishments merely served as her eulogy. And as time elapsed, and the world turned, her pride, her legitimacy, and her name began to fade to dust. So in an effort to preserve her existence, she has joined another relic in Jimmy Riley, hoping a Marauders reunion can help her recapture her significance in the eyes of the masses that she has suddenly alienated herself from."

"I predicted all of this," he professes. "I told the world that heroes are meant to fall, and that there is no such thing as right or wrong, only what we are willing to justify to sleep at night. But you all disregarded my gospel as the ravings of a crazed lunatic - despite the fact that EVERY SINGLE THING I HAVE EVER SAID HAS COME TRUE!"

"Collins. Strike. McHannon. Cannon. Lasiewicz. Lenton. Jones. Park. Every name I destroyed in the past two years, I pointed out to you the inconsistencies in their logic, the flaws in their ideals, the holes in their games because I can SEE it all," he claims, his tone of voice becoming more maniacal by the minute. "With my all seeing eyes, all THREE. I can see through facades, to find the things that are hidden to the naked eye."

"I see that your heroes only allow themselves to be heroic when it suits them, but when they're no longer apart of folklore, they cease to be these upholders of decency, and strip themselves naked of their morality because they NEVER cared about doing the right thing, or the greater good - the only thing they ever cared about was themselves."

"I tried to create something that was bigger than me, bigger than any of us. I tried to create PEACE," his voice nearly cracks. "And they waged war against me because going against the established order, and tearing down this corrupt system meant that their lies would be brought to the forefront, and that they would be EXPOSED!"

"The EXODUS Sekigun murderer me at the Autumn Effect 2, thinking that if they silenced me and thwarted the New Age that they could preserve their lives, and continue to wear their masks of deception and of vanity, but no matter how many times you try to bury the truth, the truth ALWAYS rises up from the ashes!"

"And the truth is that we as human beings find it impossible to conceptualize ourselves no longer existing in the fabric of society," Furor finally looks up into the camera, gazing into the lens through his cold blooded eyes. "And because of this inability to come to grips with the fact that everything that has a beginning has an end, we do whatever we can with our limited power to hang onto our notoriety even if it's by the smallest thread."

"And for five individuals, that's what the Honor Cup represents - a chance at redemption, at vindication, and self-preservation in the face of extinction. Unfortunately for them, I've come to show them that misplaced dreams are meant to die." He cackles.

Christum slowly climbs to his feet, rubbing his hand along the first sarcophagus with "ARIES" etched in stone. "I can smell your fear, Aries. I hear it in your voice as it cracks every single time your mouth writes a bill that you can't foot. So grandiloquent, so self-absorbed, yet despite all of your bravado you've failed to meet expectations, and live up to your own hype. Despite your God given talent, you've achieved less success than your antics would lead us to believe. You talk loudly and proudly, Aries - but no matter what you say, or how obnoxious you deliver your spiel, all we hear coming out of your mouth is that you're a failure." He proclaims.

"And you desperately want to prove otherwise. You want to prove that you don't need to hide behind Shozo Arino, or live in Grendel's massive shadow, and that you can succeed whenever you're left to your own devices - and a recent trend of wins would suggest that you can - but that's all it is Aries, a trend. A win over Genji Yamato would be impressive for anyone else, but not for you Aries - not when you speak as if you're the second coming of Christ. However, every time you've tried to walk through the door which leads to fame and fortune you've been left on the outside looking in sort of like a Jehovah's Witness, who like you, have a lot to say, but nothing concrete to backup their claims."

"As much as you want us to believe that you're the future, and the next big thing, you've proven countless times that you might just be another guy who just couldn't put it all together. And deep down you know it. It's right in the back of your mind. That uneasy feeling that you're in over your head. You can fool everyone else with your machismo, but you forget that I can see the forrest from the trees. I see that you're the biggest pretender in EXODUS. You can make Tom Matheny and David Zinkus read as many letters as you want, no one is listening because we know when it's time for you to earn your money, you drop the ball."

"You want the world to hear you, Aries. An Honor Cup victory would force us to acknowledge you - but to do that you have to go through me, a man who was swallowed by the Earth, and spit back out. And you'll have to bury me alive again to win, but even then you'll still fall short because while some kings take their possessions with them to the afterlife, I'll settle for you." He says, laughing manically as he heads to the next sarcophagus.

"But then again, I have no interest in venturing to the other side again. Perhaps I'll send Mr. Hard Body in my place," he smiled, his eyes trained on the stone carving of the name "Tsutomu Nishioka". "You'll have to forgive me, Nishioka-San. I've spent the last half year playing cards with Daisuke Iwakuma in purgatory, so I'm not particularly familiar with all the new faces. But yours, it's a rather peculiar one. A wild-card."

"Ambiguity, it seems to lend you a decisive advantage in this fateful encounter. Indeed, how can I hope to prepare for an adversary I know so little about, and have seen and heard so little from? I'm glad that you asked, Nishioka-San. You see, ignorance is bliss - and that contentment stems from the simple fact that when you don't possess a fear of the unknown, you can adapt accordingly to tackle any and every obstacle put in your way. And unlike you I possess such a state of mind, while your psyche will be filled with doubt and questions about whether you can go toe to toe with someone the caliber of Christum Furor - and those qualms will pull you to your doom, before the Hammer of Dawn closes your casket shut!" He exclaims.

"And though the status of martyrdom has almost become synonymous with employees of this company, the Angel of Death does not discriminate," he laughed lightly to himself as he kneeled down beside the next two sarcophagi, reserved for "Yamada" and "Gresham." Upon contemplating, the nihilist speaks. "The Gifted and The Galled. One highly respected in search of another prestigious award, while one wishes to eradicate past monikers that have followed her everywhere she's gone. They're two parallel lines, both unfortunately share the same fate of potentially intersecting with a force they've never seen before." He says with the utmost conviction. "And that is an unstoppable force, and an immovable object, all wrapped up into this two hundred and forty plus pound frame. Yamada, you have a thirst for violence. It's well documented. In fact, you've often been considered too truculent. You won't receive such a label from me - all you will receive is a man who will take what you can dish out and respond in kind with the might of a force ten storm, and the ferocity of a typhoon. While formidable, if you manage to survive the semi-finals you have to prove that you can best a man twice your size. It is not an impossible feat, but it is highly improbable considering who you must go through first."

"And that's a man like DeMarcus Gresham. That's a man who has a high opinion of himself, and his abilities - and for good reason. He can go with the best of them - but the question for The Gifted is simple - will his gifts be good enough to conquer the second coming of CHRISTUM FUROR? Before my death you may have been a closer match, but one wonders how far the gap has been stretched in my resurrected form where I have already proven to be a much different animal, yet the same beast." He boasts. "And that is a beast that will protect his house from ANYONE who would dare think they would step foot into it and do as they please. I am the judge, jury, and the executioner. And for you two, you must be punished for your future crimes. The Butterfly Effect allows me to venture into any timeline I choose, and if yours come into focus, I will alter your realities to remove you from mine." He says harshly

"But I'm not the only one with a trick or two up their sleeve," the madman cackles, as his stoops beside the final sarcophagus reserved for "Sally Talfourd.' "Nearly half a year ago my child, you told me that you saw darkness in our respective futures," Furor takes a moment to reflect before pressing on. "Even with my absolute intellect and knowledge of all things, I never understood your final premonition. Some would suggest that my burial and the subsequent demise of Gods & Monsters was what you predicted. But I see clearly now, my dearest clairvoyant." The revolutionary says, as he flashes a vindictive grin. "I see that the darkness you promised has encompassed EXODUS in my unfortunate hiatus. Like a plague it ravages through this company. It has turned White Knights dark, and has made those who were already downright malevolent even more sinister. Hopelessness fills the air because the people of EXODUS misplaced their faith in false idols - like the idol that stabbed you in the back when you agreed to let bygones be bygones because she's decided that the world just isn't big enough for the two of you."

"My methods may have been unconventional, but you cannot deny that I empowered you with a belief in yourself that you didn't have before," he says, shaking his head. "I tore you apart Sally to build you anew. I designed a new, better version, one that could stand on her own two feet and wasn't out to gain the approval of EVERYONE, because you didn't NEED it. I gave you an ear when no one would listen to you. A hand when no one would lend you one. A home when you had nowhere else to go."

"I loved you in ways you can never understand, Sally. I loved you in ways Jonathan Collins refused to. In ways EXODUS refused to. You were everything I had ever dreamed of. I smashed you into pieces, but you put yourself back together. And for the first time in your life you felt happy, you felt like you belonged, you felt like you were doing the right thing because you WERE."

"But you let your emotions cloud your judgement. You cracked back into pieces. When you went blind the future you helped me create was lost. We could have brought everlasting PEACE into EXODUS. But you weren't willing to bare through the pain, and look what it's brought! Shadows... hopelessness... ruin."

"This is a world that I tried to shield you from, Sally. I showed you the fallacies of these self-proclaimed heroes, and how quick they are to discard their ethics when it suits them. Look around you, my child. You choose to fight alongside a man like Christian Kane, who is just another mistake away from succumbing to his past vices. For a woman like Saikosoma, who has no idea who she is, and has too many allegiances to ever truly be invested into EXODUS. And for what? A company that left you behind after everything you did for it - a company still being run into the ground by the Collins Family and their two faced associates." He scoffs. “We were supposed to be the shepherds of the enlightened future, Sally. Instead, we have become gladiators in this dystopian coliseum. But you accept this fate - you are willing to sacrifice your own well being for the same people who wished you'd drop dead whenever you emerged from behind those velvet curtains - all in an attempt to repair your image because then and only then will you feel like you have done enough to wipe your slate clean so that you can fade into the ether guilt free."

"But I will not allow you to throw your life away for such a foolish, and selfish cause. You were my favorite, Sally. You were the ONE. Not Nick Kramer, not Kira, not Savannah - YOU. And I will prove to you that everything I did to you was for your own good. And I know you can't see that now. I know you can't find it in your heart to forgive me in this life. I pray you find the strength in the hereafter, for should we meet face to face I will free you from your albatross with sweet deliverance." He says with a heavy sigh, a look of disappointment on his facial features.

"You all fear what will become of you should you falter. Your dread of defeat is so strong that should it come to fruition it may have irreversibly, crippling effects to your egos, your statures, and your place in the hearts of the people you pander to. You're afraid that your quests for immortality will end up fruitless, however you're only half right. Your dreams will be deferred, but you will accomplish and achieve the notoriety that you so desperately covet as you end up on the wrong side of history. You will live on forever in the memory of July 27, 2015, the night Christum Furor's destiny came Full Circle."

"A year ago I destroyed the Honor Cup trophy. A year later I've died and come back to life to claim it as my own for one purpose - to restore order back to EXODUS through my brand of chaos. And to do that, I'm willing to add a few more sins to my belt by tormenting a few unlucky souls. To do that I'm willing to suffer unimaginable pain and agony. And I will. I will become the 2015 Honor Cup Winner and there's not a damn thing you can do to stop me - because to stop me you'll have to kill me, and I don’t fear death. That’s because I’ve already tasted it."

The former two time World Champion slowly poses in his infamous crucifix pose as the torch slowly burns out.

"And you can't kill what's already dead."





January, 2015:
Anaheim, California

“And who are you?” She inquired, her voice somewhat jittery as the individual in question sauntered into the living room. Her eyes never fell from him - they scrutinized, and scrutinized him with extreme prejudice.

With a baleful smile etched on his visage, he slowly acquainted himself with the sofa, folding his right leg over the left before leaning back. “I’m many things…,” he started, snickering to himself as he cranked his neck from side to side, “A God…” and proceeded to fold his hands over his lap. “A Monster.”

“What did you do with Magnus?” Dr. Collins demanded, as she slowly and cautiously returned to her office chair. She couldn’t help but marvel at the contrast between the two entities. The man sitting before her was confident, composed, and collective - a far cry from the erratic nature he presented previously.

“He wanted to have you all to himself and well, I just couldn’t’ stand idly by and let that happen, Mrs. Collins,” he replied, as he began to tie his hair up into a ponytail. “I mean, he’s not as much fun as I am anyway. I guess I just got tired of being cooped up here,” he said, as he tapped the side of his head. “I needed some fresh air, felt like stretching my legs and painting the town red and all that good stuff. The few times I’ve been let outside, I’ve had a real blast.”

“You’ve hurt a lot of people, people I care about.”

The sadistic smirk grew even wider, as Collins continued to stare him down. “Well how much fun could you really be having if no one gets hurt,” he joked. “Everyone seems to think I’m the devil, but I’m not. All I did was show the world how pathetic, it is to aspire to live a righteous, moral life in a society where the sick, twisted, and depraved make all the rules. I just wanted to make sure everyone was on a level playing field. I wanted to give everyone a fair shot. And if that makes me a terrible human being, well then I guess that’s what I am.”

“You've ruined a lot people’s lives, and to think you did that for your own amusement is pretty unsettling.” She fired back.

“What about my life? What about me, and what I’ve had to endure. I watched him wallow in self-pity for years because he was rejected by the world, and shunned by his own family. I’ve known only misery, and suffering. I’ve seen the bad side of society that you turn a blind eye to, and try to ignore here in your fancy abode, but the grime and filth doesn’t disappear from the streets just because you close your eyes and cower in the shadows,” he bombasted. “That’s the problem with people like you. That was his problem. He didn’t have the fortitude or the capacity to stand up for himself, and take all the things he was deprived of by this wretched cesspit. I watched him try to kill himself, kill US because he was too weak to do what was necessary. So I took the wheel when he needed me to. I saved him when he needed a savior the most.”

“Chris Strike stopped you. The Sekigun won. What is it that you’re still after? What do you want?” She asked, visibly confused, and desperate to get to the bottom of it all.

The madman sat up straight, and leaned forward, his charm vanishing into thin air, replaced by a cold-hard gaze. “I want what anyone in my position would be after.”

“And what is that?”

“Freedom.”