*thunder claps*
A dark shape cuts through the green mist over Sydney harbor. A ghoulish clown face stands as the opening gate for Horror Land, a theme park built beneath the Harbor Bridge. We travel through the gate's fanged, open mouth into the park interior, a Gothic spectacular of freakish delights. Ceramic Jack-O-Lanterns illuminate the twisting paths in strange colors. Spiderwebs hang between the Victorian street lamps. We are flanked by terrifying rides with names like the Hell Blender, The Scary-Go-Round, the Terror Wheel. Costumed monsters, vampires, zombies, and mutated clowns laugh sinisterly, chasing young park goers towards the exits.
The bloody crown jewel in Horror Land: Gravesend Manor, the largest haunted house dark-ride in the world. At the top most tower, crooked like a curled up corpse of a huntsman spider, maniacal laughter peels out from the open window.
Inside, a cozy but creepy hovel. Heavy metal band posters line the walls, including goth horror punk group 'Fetus of God'. Curled up in a beanbag chair, right next to an esky fill of IPAs, our master of 'scare-a-monies' curls up with a lurid horror comic book. Wearing a cut-off crop top revealing his six pack abs, and torn, black jeans held together with safety pins, Deadboy Daemian turns the page, yawns, and looks up.
Deadboy: Oh! Didn't see ya there, mate. Welcome to my Horror Land! Hahahahaha! And I got another chilling, thrilling, and cum-spilling tale for you tonight, kiddies! I don't know about you, but I'm bored with those GSA cunts. So self-righteous! Blegh. So today's treat, or trick, focuses on their rivals, and my personal favorites, Firebird! Specifically, that 'paragon of virtue' Slayer St. George.
I decided to play a little game with ol' Slayer and that tasty little biscuit, Rexford. Gave them fake invitations to a match right downstairs in my personal torture chamber! I think it will be fun to see them tear each other apart, won't it?
*a door creeks opens* *Daemian grins, sinisterly*
Deadboy: Hehehe. Right on fuckin' time. Well, follow me, kiddies--this is gonna be a real bloody good match! Hahahahaha!
-----
"He..hello?"
Rexford Holt tugged nervously on his signature t-shirt, bearing the same logo as his trunks beneath. Bare legged and booted up for the match he'd been promised in this most unusual venue, Rex bit his lip and crept into the dingy, cobweb filled chamber.
The great wooden door behind him slammed shut.
Rexford sighed. "Keep calm," he told himself. "Real heroes don't fear the unknown!"
No sooner had he said that, than the candelabras and torches in the room spontaneously lit up, illuminating the gothic chamber. Rex looked around the room. Cages. An iron maiden. Various torture implements. A sling. A wall full of whips and other obscene devices. And among all of them, at the center point of the room, a horror-themed wrestling ring, lined with chains instead of ropes, and bearing several dubious stains on its moldy canvas.
Rex eyed the lit jack-o-lantern on the dusty ringside table, and stepped into the arena. Hesitantly, he removed his shirt, showing off his sculpted muscles to...well, no one.
Maybe the ghosts, Rexford thought, trying to calm himself down. But he jumped, on instinct, as the opposite door swing open. Lightning flashed, illuminating the tall, statuesque silhouette.
Rexford narrowed his eyes. "You!"
Through the gloom and mist, the chain-mail wearing, handsome knight strutted into the room. Slayer St. George, the 'Vanquisher', was confident, cocky, and...just a little bit annoyed. Still, the 'Welsh Wyvern' certainly fit the medieval scenery.
The stern, attractive baby face tossed back his long hair, sighed, and wiped his boots on the ring apron. "Hmph," he grunted, sizing up his opponent. "So, you're who I'm to face?"
Rexford crossed his arms and gave Slayer a cutting stare. "Slayer St. George! It really is an honor."
Flattery didn't work on the brutal Slayer, but it did make him ease up on the arrogance. "I see you're more noble than at first glance." He removed the chainmail and tossed it to the corner, revealing his toned, white chest. "Rexford Holt. A young upstart. I do not begrudge the challenge. A knight must have their journey, and you do cut the figure of a hero. Still, I shan't go easy on you, whelp."
Slayer flexed his muscles. They were knotted, round, with veiny biceps that protruded. Solid rock. Coupled with the long hair (though Slayer was won't to change up his look often) he looked like the cover of a Romance novel, come to life.
Even Rex was stunned. "Wow..."
Slayer grinned. "I see you are a man of good taste. Well, perhaps 'man' is generous." Slayer circled the ring, compelling Rex to do the same. "'Boy' is a more fitting moniker for you, child. And I do so love to discipline little whelps who need to be reminded of their place."
"Whatever," Rex spat back, rolling his eyes. "Speaking of places...this doesn't look like the sort of venue I fight in."
Slayer nodded, inadvertently striking a heroic pose as they pondered the predicament. "Indeed. 'Tis strange. Though I admire the scenery--reminds me of my homeland. Yes, I suspect the mastermind behind this ill-gotten match is close at hand." Slayer looked to the shadowy corner of the room. "Am I correct, knave? SHOW THYSELF!"
"Hehehehe"
A peel of wicked laughter followed the white, handsome spellbreaker who walked out of the sahdows. "Deadboy" Daemian Gravesend gave Slayer and Rex a dramatic bow. "High distinctions, mate. You figured out me devious plan."
Slayer growled. "YOU! I knew you were behind this, Gravesend!" He gestured to the deadly objects around the room. "Do you expect a torture match? Or a death match. You shan't have it! I fight cleanly, under the banner of chival--"
"Blah, blah, blah!" Damian spat, sticking out his (pierced) tongue. "This is what's so boring about you, Slayer. You're too much of a goodie-two-shoes. I think you'd be a lot more interesting if you were...well....badder."
Slayer reeled back, hand (almost effeminately) to their chest. "How DARE! I would never stoop so low as to your...your scurrilous ways!" He pointed to his opponent, Rex, hopping up and down on the canvas, eager to scrap. "I shall indeed defeat this challenger. But it shall be with honor and dign--"
Mid-eyeroll, Daemian cut him off and evaporated into a shadowy mist.
Rexford and Slayer looked around, wildly, taking on a grappler's stance in anticipation of their tricksy host's tactics.
Slayer, however, forgot to account for his own shadow. A long hand, with black-painted nails, reached out from the darkness and grabbed Slater's ankle, pulling him down to the canvas.
"OOF!"
Deadboy jumped out of Slayer's shadow like a feral cat, leaving Rex aghast. The younger fighter went to assist his opponent, but Deadboy, who had mounted Slayer like a hungry predator, froze him with his stare.
Wickedly smiling deadboy put his finger to his lips. "Shhhh..." he said, before lowering his head in to his startled victim. "Give your dark maiden a kiss, o' brave knight!"
Slayer went to protest, or even retch, but sound found their mouth covered by Deadboy's own, prying, devious lips and tongue.
"Mmfff!" Slayer choked, finding Deadboy's snaky tongue invading his throat.
Rex winced. "Ugh, that's disgusting." This is definitely not what he came here for!
Then, the air in the room grew colder. Deadboy looked up at Rex, without removing his violating mouth. His irises grew pure black, demonic.
Suddenly, Slayer's body began to thrash, and his protest moaning grew louder.
"MmmfMMMMMMNNNG!!!"
Rex looked down in horror, watching a trickle of black escape the sides of Slayer's mouth. He had heard about Deadboy's 'evil blood' before! It was a vile secretion he poured into his opponent's mouths, radically altering their mind, corrupting their very soul. It was a humiliating and disgusting tactic, often making viewer's stomachs turn at the sight (though, apparently, it tasted like cherry cola...)
Deadboy reared back up, the oily-black ooze trickling from his neck onto his pale chest. He wiped his mouth, victoriously, and got up from Slayer. "There now," he laughed. "Feelin'...better now, Sexy Slayer?"
Rex braced himself against the ropes, watching in shock and awe as Slayer stumbled, zombie-like, onto their feet. Their long hair hung over their body, and they shambled around like a drunkard. Rex knew he could go for a dirty move, but that wouldn't be fair.
Then, Slayer tossed back their luscious mane, revealing that their eyes had gone solid black, just like Deadboy's. They'd been cursed. The same black saliva spilled forth from their hanging mouth. They were a man changed.
"What's wrong?" Slayer, in a more sinister tone, asked his opponent as Daemian slunk off into the shadows. "ARE YOU SCARED, CHILD?"
Rex blinked. Damian, putting his feet up on the ring table, pointed to the bell, making it ring. "Have a fun fight, kiddies! Hahahaha!"
Slayer roared like a fiend, diving in for the lockup. Rex, not about to be intimidated by the strange turn of events, clamped down on their neck and bicep. Oh, Slayer was a strong one alright. Rex had seen his matches before. Not only was he a skilled combatant, but he could even turn his arm into a fire-breathing dragon's head too! No telling what was to happen now that he'd been cursed by Deadboy's 'evil blood' spell.
"Too easy," Slayer snarled, pulling Deadboy in tightly to his chest. He squeezed down tight. "Your ribs are forfeit, knave!"
Rex reared his head back in anguish. "Aghh! Damn it." He struggled. Slayer had a tight grip. Those knight-like bracers on his arms certainly didn't help.
"I learned all of my techniques from torture chambers like these," Slayer said, haughtily. "Scream for me, whelp! Scream for your master."
Rex grit his teeth down and summoned his power, rendering himself momentarily invisible. It was enough to confuse the enchanted Slayer into dropping the hold.
By the ringside, Deadboy frowned. "Bugger..."
Rex re-reappeared, but Slater was ready. He grabbed Rex and put him into a wrist lock, stepping underneath him and turning it into a hammerlock instead, driving his arm halfway up his back.
"Shall I snap it off!" Slayer asked. "Your pain is exquisite."
Rex grimaced, and despite himself, let out a few strained tears. "N--never, you cosplaying Renaissance fair jerk!"
At the table, Deadboy grinned. "Come now. No tears. It's a waste of perfectly good suffering!"
"Indeed," Slayer leered, leaning in and licking the back of Rex's neck. "I can taste this one's fear, Master."
"Enough with the submission, Slay-boy," Daemian Gravesend commanded. "Entertain me, Knight!"
"As you wish, my liege," Slayer said, turning the hammerlock into a whip, throwing Rex against the ropes. "OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!"
WHAP!
Unable to control his trajectory, Rex's neck and poor throat collided right with Slayer's forarm, reinforced by his iron-bracer. The evil knight may as well have taken a metal baseball bat to his neck.
Rex lost consciousness, collapsing to the mat.
"HAHAHA!!!" Daemian cackled from ringside. "This is exactly what I wanted. Make him suffer, Slayer! I want to see BLOOD!"
Rex groaned, trying to come to his senses. Slayer was all too happy to help him, however.
Cold, calculating, and callous, the bewitched knight kneeled down and grabbed Rex's head, lifting it up. "Still attached, I see. Perhaps I should fix that."
The Welsh Wyvern put Rex into a headlock, driving his face into his hard chest. With the pain in his neck, it was almost enough to force him into unconsciousness again.
"Ah, but no..." Slayer said, changing things up. He manoeuvred Rex's body into his, with Slayer wrapping one of his Rugby-wrought legs around Rex's, making him spread his legs for Daemian's delight. He dug his arm around Rex's armpit, and pulled back, forcing Rex into a sitting ab stretch.
"Just like a torture rack," Slayer said, nodding to the self-same implement positioned against the wall.
Daemian cocked his head in confusion. "Uh...mate, that's an entirely different wrestling move."
Rex grimaced. "Idiot."
"WHAT SAY YOU?" Slayer growled, pulling Rex apart harder.
Rex's eyes rolled into the back of his head with anguish. "Ugh..."
"Why don't you blink again, knave? It is useless. Your powers are futile."
Rex fought against the submission, but the situation was starting to get more and more dire by the minute.
And it just got worse. Daemian, whistling a jaunty tune, strutted over to the ring and tossed in--of all things--a screwdriver. "Whoops!" he said. "How'd the bloody hell did that get in there?" He lowered his stare and smiled, fang-like, at his hunky 'puppet'. "Slayer. You know what to do. Why not give Rexy there are a little scar?"
Blank faced and vacant, Slayer reached over with his hand and grabbed hold. "As you wish, master."
"N-no-" Rex said. He gulped. "Not my face!"
"Awww," Daemian cooed. "But it will be so much prettier this way....DRENCHED IN BLOOD! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!" He bit his lip. "Fuck, I'm so hard..."
But in Slayer going for the screwdriver, he opened himself up to one....rather unusual tactic that Rex's new friend at the GSA, Spike, had taught him.
When it doubt, go for the pecs.
Rex sighed. "I can't believe I'm doing this." Well, desperate times and all that...
CHOMP.
"AGH! You BRIGAND!"
Rex sunk his teeth into Slayer's meaty pectoral, causing him to lose his grip and giving Rex a way to wriggle free. Rex didn't let up there. He had read up on Slayer's history and had learned he was....well...sensitive in the chest department.
Rex maintained his mouth hold, licking Slayer's erect nips. "You like that, big guy?"
Deadboy: Oh, this is fuckin' hot! I think I might start strokin' it to this...
It wasn't enough to snap Slayer out of his dark enchantment, but it was enough to get Rex off his c case. Rex jumped up and spunk-kick Slayer, right in the side of the head, knocking him back into the chains.
Rex grabbed at this own wrist and stretched it, still sore from Slayer's punishment. He meant business now. "Looking good all wrapped up in those chains, Slayer."
The long-haired knight shook his head. "What?" He had fallen in a very precarious position, entangling his arms in the ringside chains.
Rex was happy to make it worse for him, forcing Slayer's arms apart, bound by the chain-link. Then, Rex went to work on his legs, splaying them wide and open, revealing Slayer's half-green and half-white, snug gear with the red wyven logo over the crotch.
See, Rex had learned some pointers from his last opponent, Icewolf. Specifically, he had learned the science behind humiliation. Psychologically breaking down an opponent was often just as useful as physically breaking them. Besides, Rex needed to snap Slayer out of Deadboy's control. He didn't exactly like or admirer the knight, but he didn't deserve to be ensorcelled by a necromancing demon summoner (and an Australian necromancing demon summoner, on top of that..."
"Come on, Slayer!" Rex laughed, jumping into the ropes and building up the momentum. This is gonna hurt! "What's our sports' namesake? Every spell can be BROKEN!"
Rex jumped into the air and turned his dive bomb into a drop kick, boots aimed squarely for Slayer's poor balls.
Rex: "Just like your nuts."
WHAM!
"GAAAAAAHHHHH!!" Slaye shrieked, high pitch.
Deadboy winced. "Fuckin' hell, mate," he said, before bursting off into laughter. "Fuck the screwdriver--that's hysterical!"
Rex shot Daemian a look. Fucker wasn't just a sadist, but a psychopath too. Still, he had to admit in taking a little bit of sadistic glee in watching this once-proud, cocky knight now forcing his arms out of his chains to cradle his sore nuts.
"Aghhhh," Slayer winced. Were those tears in his eyes too!
Daemian laughed. "Say 'owie!'"
Slayer was compelled by his master's spell. "Owwwie," he said. It was a laugh, coming from his noble and posh voice.
Rex almost felt bad. Almost. "Only way to lift this curse off you is to snap you out of it. HARD." He leaned over and yoinked poor Slayer up by his hair, pulling it tight.
"You pissed me off," Rex snarled, wrapping his arms around Slayer's neck and driving him down into a snapmare.
Slayer tumbled forward, his neck and head damaged by the blow. His body bolted up, nerves rattled, and his eyes spun off into different directions.
Deadboy slapped the table, loving every second of the brutality. "Here!" he said, tossing a small plastic bottle into the ring. "You want to really drive the point home, mate?"
The bottle rolled and hit Rex in the boot. "Hm?" He picked up, examining the contents. The liquid inside with a bright, sickly green. Next to the cartoonish ghost mascot on the front, 'spooky' font proclaimed: "Ectoplasmade--Chillingly Refreshing."
"It's the stickiest, nastiest stuff on Earth!" Daemian shouted from the safety of his table. He pantomimed pouring it onto his head.
Rex connected the dots, biting his lip. "Fuck that! I'm not that underhanded." He looked down at his opponent and kicked him in the back of the head...somewhat negating that point completely. "Sorry, just gotta do what I need to do!"
Slayer landed with his face full of canvas, with his hair spread across his broad back and muscular shoulders.
Rex looked down at his vulnerable opponent, then at the bottle in his hand. He sighed, popping the cap off. The scent of sugary lime filled the air, as did an incorporeal, green wraith that let out a long, "BooOooOOOo" as it escaped the bottle.
Rex poured the slimy, green substances into Slayer's long, well-maintained, beautiful hair. It congealed instantly, creating a slimy, sticky, gummy, gelatinous texture.
Wincing and getting onto his hands and knees, on all fours. He sniffed the air. A slimy, thickly coated lock of hair fell in front of his face, causing his eyes to widen with terror.
"N-n-no!" he said, his hands going through his sticky, matted mane. He winced. "No. NO! Not my beautiful hair!" He pulled back a long trail of slime, as Daemian giggled evilly.
Deadboy: This match is going way better than I thought!
Rex realized he was probably going to have to cut it out. He bit his lip, tossing the bottle out of the ring. "Hey, man. I'm sorry. I'm just trying to help!"
Slayer looked back. Covered in slime and with blood on his mind, the knight's eyes glowed violet and black. "YOU CURR!" he snarled. "I WILL REACH DOWN YOUR THROAT AND REMOVE YOUR ENTRAILS THROUGH YOUR MOUTH."
Rex stepped back, aghast. He pointed an accusatory finger at Daemian. "YOU DID THIS! How do I fix it?"
"Pain," Daemian said, putting his fingers together like a movie villain. "And humiliation. Or...you let Slayer rip you to shreds! I win either way."
Rex sucked his teeth. "Lesser of two evils it is, then," he said, blinking out of sight as Slayer went to grabbed his leg. "Sorry, Slayer. Looks like you gotta' be my plaything for a bit!"
Rex kicked his opponent down to the canvas, and wasted no time mounting him, just like Deadboy. Only, instead of a kiss, Rex went for a kiss-of-death. A tightly held, face-to-face sleeper choke.
"Like what Spike did to El Amante," Rex explained, as he placed his lips against Slayer's. He hoped he wouldn't indivertibly ingest some of Deadboy's evil serum. "Looks like it's the heroic knight who needs to be kissed in order to break the spell, this time."
Flex.
Rex gripped down, tightening his arms around Slayer's crrotid artery, blocking the bloodflow to his brain.
Slayer struggled. "No...no..."
But Rex didn't relent. "I gotta...put you out."
"...I give."
Rex looked down. Slayer's eyes were still black. He bit his lip."
"Sorry. But...no you don't."
Slayer began to panic, but Rex didn't let the hold tight. Instead, he showed mercy by compressing his muscles harder, hoping to put Slayer out faster.
"Sorry, Slayer. This brutal bedtime story is over for you."
Rex, the hero, looked down at his defeated opponent. Slayer's eyes had rolled into the back of his head...but they were white. No blackness remained.
Rex sighed, getting off of Slayer and standing tall. "Rest in peace," he said, striking his victory pose.
At the ringside table, Daemian's eyes also rolled back into his head...but for entirely different reasons. "Ffffuck," he moaned, bracing himself against the table. "That was...so HOT." He sighed, going for a box of tissues in one hand, and the bell with the other.
*Ring*
Rex was displeased. He walked away from his opponent, just as Daemian entered the ring, the squishy, half-rotten jack-o-lantern held tightly in his arms.
"Hm?" Rex looked back over his shoulder. "What are you..."
"The bloody cherry on top of the shit sundae," Daemian laughed, tongue lolling out of his head. "Happy Halloween...sucker."
PLUNK!
Propped up against the corner of the post, Slayer slumped to one side, a nasty, squishy jack-o-lantern now covering his head. Its juices, along with the slimy drink, ran down his chest as his body still twitched from Rex's KO. It was humiliating, gross, and pathetic. The once might hero, vanquisher of evil, covered in grime and wearing a goofy, carved pumpkin on his head. Not to mention all the hair maintenance he would have to do after...
In other words, Daemian Gravesend had gotten exactly what he wanted out of Rex and Slayer. "HAHAHA! Well d-"
Deadboy didn't finish his victory speech. Instead, he found himself grabbed by the scruff of his neck by the slightly smaller, but no less intimidating, Rexford Holt.
"Fix him." the Light magi commanded. Het let Deadboy go. "Or, I'll come back with the GSA."
"Grrr." Deadboy brushed his shoulders off, watching as Rexford exited his ring. The former champion of the GSA knew he could snap Rex's neck like a twig if he wanted to, but he would let him live...for now. "Fine. I will let him go."
With a snap of his fingers, Daemian summoned the door open, letting Rexford Holt--with a very sore neck--free. The young fighter grabbed his shirt, gave Deadboy one last, withering look, before vanishing into the green mists of the night.
Alone with his 'prize', Daemian turned and salivated over Slayer's pathetic, twitching body in the corner of Deadboy's torture ring. "I promised the little cunt I'd let you go," Daemian said, slowly taking off his pants, revealing his own, skull-branded wrestling trunks. "But I didn't say when...."
The End!
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