Walter Whezl walked jauntily back and forth, swinging his umbrella in wide circles. His face was adorned with little inverted crosses in black against the stark white. Since the last episode of Classic Wrestling, his top hat has gone missing, and his hair is slicked back. He has donned a cape, with his name written in a ghoulish script on the back.
What he struts around in front of, is best described as the end times wrought flesh. Looming like a shadow on the world, the spikes around wrist and vest glinting in the afternoon sunlight. Framed only by the horizon vast curvature of Lake Eerie, hands balled into fists held straight-armed at his side, his breathing seethes in vascular rage.
Whezl makes a prompt of noticing that he is being filmed, and crowds in almost close up.
Frank. Frank. Frank.
The oil in his voice could cause a comedic car crash. A whisper hinting at secrets better left buried in rotten loamy earth.
You have interfered in my… Our business, long enough.
The breeze of the sea ruffles the cowl of his cloak. His breath rancid with the taste of canned fish is too near. In the distance, a kite flies desperately before crashing to the ground.
From day one. The very first day. King Kong Frank, you have been a thorn. A thorn in my side. But you will be a thorn. NO LONGER!
Whezl continues to sneer and mug. Like the tide behind him, the inescapable thump of a boot causes him to turn back and start to vacillate noticeably. A single gauntleted hand comes down onto Whezl’s shoulder. He slumps noticeably, as the situation is reframed with the much, much larger Lord Colossus
Cease your heresy and babble, vermin.
Lord Colossus using the inescapable constant of gravity forces Whezl into Submission. His voice, vibrational sound waves at a sub-bass level. His eyes glacial, stare with the fury of grinding ice blocks.
His voice molten erupts in a raw rage. His open hand clawing towards the sky, the one Whezl’s shoulder beginning to sag heavily, as physics took on their prescribed role. Lord Colossus’ leather-clad chest heaved in volcanic motion, regaining control of himself. His voice is the thrum of continents grinding together.
Whezl to his credit managed to squirm and wriggle from under the grasp of Lord Colossus. Somehow using his obvious lack of a spine to his advantage. He doggedly tries to wave off the man who would be the grinding maw of power.
No no, NO! These rabble do not deserve to hear your words, my lord. Least worthy of the words of the path is King Kong Frank.
The creak and crack of leather as spiked wristbands and gloves strain under the vascularity as they cross. A barbed thicket.
They don’t deserve to hear the raw unbridled power…
Lord Colossus moves to speak, but Whezl waved him off. The cracking of a tightening fist is the response.
Frank couldn’t even begin to understand the missive you would deliver to him, let alone know what it portends. Frank is a child before a gale, a willow before tank treads…
Lord Colossus releases his crossed arms, raising a single herculean branch connected to a hand high to deliver a backhand blow to his subordinate.
No! Let me plead further that if you were to address this.. Man. What would you say in righteous doomed zeal that would do more than cross his eyes, we have seen.
WE HAVE SEEN IT! That he can’t be trusted to follow even the simplest of rules. Now with Gordy whom you have seen wrought before you…..
Lord Colossus’ hand came crashing down, his voice thunder unseen out of a cloudless sky
Whezl, ducked the blow, almost diving out of the way.
No! I have his mistress in my pocket. Together we shall ensur…
Whezl ducked another blow, spikes coming to close for comfort.
My lord! Your anger is just and righteous! But aim your anger at King Kong Frank, He is the one who has tried to bring the chains of bondage upon you, he is the one who has maligned and malingered from day one!
Let him be ground upon the Abyssmills, let him taste the voltage of final atonement!
Lord Colossus stopped his swinging. He looked at the prostrate man.
Let him grind upon the Tree of Pain!