From across the vast astral void lands came the whisper in the darkness. Low and rumbling, both natural and not, tentacles of sine waves reaching across both time and space ever grasping in their non-finiteness.
“Frank.”
“Frank.”
“Frank….”
The last whisper rose in tenor and intensity, not approaching the colossal decibel decimation dominating the previous twenty weeks of Classic Wrestling.
“Frank. We have trod upon this path from the very start, from the very turning of the wheel of Classic Wrestling. From Classic Wrestling One, to now you have been the thorn in my side, the hound at my heel.
Nipping.
Always Nipping.
And now…”
The flash of searing Halogens, the pain of light rudely introduced into the darkness. White, knowing, omnipotent, and accusing. Brighter than the sun, and held tightly gripped in a single leather-clad hand.
“And now, Frank, we approach the end of all things.
For this nipping, for this dogged chase, must end.
You chase the void.
You can not comprehend what it is that you plod after, barefoot and face caked in dirt.
Wiser men than you have turned aside from this path. Acquiesced to the finality of it all Frank.
But not you…”
More bright flashes, coming in pulsar bursts. Revealing in the burning after image of seared retinas the visage of a chest barely constrained by a leather harness, bedecked with long nails. A leather overmask, also a haloed constellation of long nails. A gorget as welcoming as a shrike.
In the hand not flashing the halogen, the glint of steel.
“Now. the chains that bind us become reality.
There can be no more questions. Classic Wrestling itself bends in the accretion disk as we are pulled together.
Inevitable as the march of time
We approach finality, Frank… “
The flashes again. Random and disorienting. The chain clanked as it shifted in the free hand, coming forward. The blinding light creates cross flashes, the chain having almost a mirror polish.
“You Frank, have chosen the tools of your own demise.
You brought this chain to bind us to Classic Wrestling.
Now you must deal with what you have wrought.
From the first, you have sought to use this chain to level the playing field, as though any means you possess could withstand the void wrought flesh.
That your actions have been more than a pebble in the cosmos, gravity flowing around it towards the maw to be consumed.
This chain is wrought with doom. This chain is wrought of the pulse of the void. You have chosen that we shall be bound at each end.
All distractions Frank, are removed. Gordy Lovett, removed. Doris. Removed.
Our first meeting was marred by the machinations of others. Our every interaction has been under the yolk of another. We have been hindered by the rules Classic Wrestling seeks to bind us with…”
The light begins to pulse from below…
“.. Yet. you have chosen the thing that binds us together and threatens to tear the fabric of Classic Wrestling apart at the very electrons. This chain…”
It goes taut, sparkling light like daggers in the darkness. The chest begins to heave more. The long rumbling threat of thunder presaging the storm of the light.
“This chain becomes the serpent. Jörmungandr wrapped around the void. And it serves me in its constrictions”
The chain tightens and strains, links beginning to twist under the strain, The light’s pattern continues in epileptic fury, increasing, casting shadows across shadows, Every nail becomes a star, the leather a black hole, the light swirls into the shadows. Chest perspiring. The black leather gauntlets audibly creaking.
The storm arrived.
“YET THE VERY CHAIN THAT BINDS US FRANK. MUST BE BROKEN. FROM THE FIRST MOMENT YOU HAVE WOVEN IN THE VERY SPACE-TIME OF CLASSIC WRESTLING YOUR FINALITY.
WORM.
EVEN NOW SUPPLICATION WILL NOT SAVE YOU FROM THE CHAIN. EVEN NOW THOSE THAT CAPER AND JIBE WILL BE OF NO SALVATION.
SURVEY THE LAND FRANK. THERE ARE NO HEROES TO STAND WITH YOU NOW. THERE ARE NO MORE SACRIFICIAL LAMBS. THE CHAIN PULLS US TOGETHER.
ONE.
LAST.
TIME.
AND AT THAT MEETING FRANK. AT IN YOUR HAUNTED HOUSE. FOR THE FINAL TIME. I WILL SEVER THE CHAINS THAT HAVE BOUND US FROM THE VERY START.”
More pulsing lights join the one on the ground. From angles unconsidered by Euclid. In Slow motion, the chain shatters. Link after Link twisting into finality and shattering in the brittle flashing light. A roar from the Colossus. Guttural, Raw, Anti-Cosmic.
Light dies.