White Tiger

 

Art by Cirenk

Given Name: Joseph Jian Haw

Age: 27

Birthday: February 3rd

Height: 5'9"

Weight: 222 Lbs

Country of Representation: Singapore

Fighting Style: Technical Pro Wrestling. Kung-Fu. High Flyer

Glyph: Ventus (Wind Magic) and Laguz (Water Magic)

Power Finisher: Retribution of the Four Guardians 

Submission Finisher: Jaws of the Tiger

Favorite Food: Taro Bubble Tea ("Yes, it's a food!")

Likes: Justice, heroism, cats, world peace, working out, training, challenges, meditation, fishing, taking hikes, nature, yum cha, underdogs, mythology, beach walks, spending time with his mother, conversations with the elderly, travel, poetry, fine art, classical music, wuxia and kung fu movies, sparring, parkour, training apprentices, shibari, winning.

Dislikes: Villains, oppression, unmatched socks, cheaters, rude people, disrespect towards elders, sitting still, closed minded people, diplomacy failures, corruption, power imbalances, schemers, being questioned or argued with.

The Tiger is on the Hunt! And villains are his prey!

Since its inception, the GSA has seen three champions rise to the title: Colt 'The Bolt' (who abdicated the belt upon becoming president), Deadboy Daemian, and now White Tiger--its longest reigning defender. Though Tiger (also known as Joseph Haw) remains an upstanding role model, inspiration, all-around-good-guy, and coach, his past is somewhat of a mystery even to his closet friends.

Formerly a masked vigilante who patrolled the city state of Hong Kong during its tumultuous Great Transition period, White Tiger first came to the attention of the city's wily journalists fighting against the dual propaganda wings of both Alban and China, before both empires collapsed. The mysterious, phantom Tiger's martial arts expertise, and dominance over the elements struck fear into the hearts of the exploitative Triads, corrupt cops, and the malicious cultists of the Red Jade. After the conclusion of a major corruption sting on the Central Precinct, White Tiger seemingly vanished, only to re-appear in the US and Texan spellbreaking circuits. The reasons for such an abrupt turn are unclear. Some say White Tiger drew a line, entrusting Hong Kong's emboldened citizens to seize the reigns of autonomy. Others believe White Tiger became a target for too many adversaries, including the newformed government of East China, and feared what would happen if his malcontents uncovered his identity and came for his loved ones.

Either way, White Tiger still refuses to divulge much about his past, though reportedly he is one of the more friendly and open Spellbreakers when it comes to fans, always taking time to sign autographs and take pictures. Before becoming a champion in his own right, White Tiger unmasked himself after a splendid victory, no longer ashamed to hide his face as the handsome and suave Joseph Haw. This was seen as a major scandal in the spellbreaking world, but Colt 'The Bolt' saw the power and bravery in the act and signed him to the GSA on the spot.

Ever since, Joseph has acted as GSA's 'good son', and the ultimate babyface hero. Though most of his early days are still unknown, some dubious journalism has turned up rumors that his own father was involved in police corruption and bribery, which may have led to Joseph's implicit mistrust of institutionalized security forces. This may have been a major influence on his stint as a vigilante. Despite growing up in Singapore, he loves Hong Kong, though these days he often returns home to visit his mother, the world renowned cellist Melinda Haw. His mother did not approve of spellbreaking, wanting her son to become a lawyer instead, but has since slowly warmed up to his success (she still wishes he would become a lawyer).

Joseph enjoys a strong and trusting apprentice role with Colt. Rumors are that Colt might hand the company down to him when and if he retires, if Buck doesn't want to inherit it. Because his demands on the spellbreaking circuit require frequent travel abroad, White Tiger is not always seen on the GSA compound, something he regrets. When he is present, he trains baby face heroes like Spike, but secretly has a fetish for bad boys...especially putting them in their place! It was, after all, White Tiger who ended Deadboy Daemain's reign of terror. Gossip has it that their vicious (and highly entertaining) rivalry was more of an unrequited, mutual crush below the surface.

Joseph is a rare, dual glyph users, which makes him so powerful. He channels 'feng shui' or wind/water elemental principles, using the opposite forces in harmony. His water manifests as black, a reflection of his controlled inner darkness, and his wind appears with white snow; a manifestation of his pure heart. There is a legend in certain circles, even among the Red Jade Cult, that the Four Celestial Guardians manifest within magi every generation, and White Tiger serves as the avatar of the self-same beast for which he takes his name. If this is true, then there may be three other avatars out there...perhaps other magi or spellbreakers known to the GSA!

Joseph fights clean, however that does not mean he holds back! White Tiger fights like the beast of his namesake, mixing his technical and gymnastic powers with hard hitting moves. He utilizes his 'red rope of fate' to tie up and bind his opponents. Supposedly, Joseph is a fan of shibari. Though he is kinder to honest opponents, he takes the gear from defeated villains and frames it as trophies. Deadboy's original gear set is one such acquisition...

As a student of kung fu (and avid lover of cheesy martial arts flicks) Joseph's physical abilities are unrivalled, but his magickal prowess is even more superior. His power finisher, Retribution of the Four Guardians, is one of the more dangerous finishers that relies more on magickal ability than grappling or fighting technique. After jettisoning his opponent upward above the ring with a geyser, Joseph assails his victim with a flurry of water and wind powered kicks and punches, before suplexing them headfirst into the mat. His submission, the Jaws of the Tiger, is less flashy but just as formidable, being an intense guillotine hold that has broken more than a few necks. Joseph has also been known to employ a simple sleeper hold on especially handsome opponents, seeing it as a more 'gentle' end to a long fight.

Joseph is also in high demand as a model. Here he is for Hong Kong's spellbreaking magazie, 'break Even', sporting his alternate, tiger-striped trunks. Joseph receives many marriage proposals.

Joseph has many suitors, mostly because he's so handsome...but it doesn't help that he likes using his ropes.

Before becoming a full-fledged spellbreaker, Tiger was a hometown hero in Hong Kong,  patrolling the night!

White Tiger takes his fellow babyface buddy Spike to Singapore!

Tiger is a master of the elements of wind and water, which manifest as a snow-white gale and an inky black torrent.

How Deadboy Daemian imagines his pivotal match with Tiger went down. Tiger strips him of his favorite gear! He doesn't' seem to mind, in this interpretation.

Battle Quotes

I'm looking forward to a fair fight. Give me all you got!

What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?

You can't keep this beast down!

Heh. You'll look good tied up.

Prepare for divine retribution!

The forces of good prevail... 

*To Babyfaces* You need way more training, kid. Let Tiger take you under his wing!

*To Heels* No dignity in defeat. I'll add your gear to my trophy collection.

Slaying Slayer BONUS - Laying Slayer

The spellbreaking gym in Sydney's seedy and vibrant King's Cross district was eerily quiet for a Wednesday night. It had been a few days since Rex had gone up against Slayer St. George in a creepy battle held in Deadboy Daemian's private arena (torture chamber). Rex was just trying to maximize the last of his days spent in Sydney.

He was also, much to his bemusement, horny as hell. The men in this country are too hot. There must be something in the water. Or it's all the leg sports. Plus, a lot of them have that spooky goth thing going on. 

As a light magi, many of the dark mages around Sydney, the 'capital of dark magic' were diamterically opposed to Rex's element. That made him want them all the more. I just love a bad boy who likes to bully me...

After bench spotting the only other attendee, a rather hunky and friendly red demon with a stringer tank and mouth-watering pectorals, Rex found himself on the pec deck, pushing hard. The demon had been soul bounded to the gym manager (possibly lover), and had trusted Rex to his own devices.

"Phew!" Rex said as he let the barbell slide back into the rack. He sat up, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, admiring the pump's effect on his pectorals. Rex made a habit of working out shirtless when he could get away it, and tonight he was very pleased at his progress. The tits looked good. The glistening sweat from light Australian humidity (it was spring) looked good on him.

As Rex smiled somewhat absent minded at his musculature, even flexing his biceps a little for show, his eyes caught the motion of the door swing open. A handsome, tall man walked in. With his confident gait, tight lycra workout gear (Rex thought it almost resembled chain mail) the long haired gentleman struck Rex as both attractive and...familiar.    

"Hm?" The handsome, dreamy eyed Welshman glanced over at Rex. He grimaced. "Ye gods..."

"Oh," Rex frowned, crossing his arms as he locked eyes with Slayer St. George, his most recent challenge. "Hey...Slayer." He bit his lip. This was awkward. Rex was affable and friendly as they came, but that Slayer was a bit on the intense side.

The 'knight' grunted, dropping his green and white gear bag to the gym floor. "You could at least do me the dignity of addressing me by my name, knave."

"Geez, okay!" Rex winced. "Slayer." He looked him up and down. Even clothed, his muscles and athletic were noteworthy. Especially in that tight lycra. Rex could only imagine what a chivalrous stud like that looked like in a singlet.

In any case, there was nothing stopping the 'Welsh Wyvern' from working out, and Rex didn't hold anything against him. He turned to re rack his weight, catching notice that Slayer was giving him a 'look. "Didn't think I was the only one who liked working out so late at night, Slayer."

"This is a Firebird affiliated gym," Slayer huffed, "I possess the keys. Had I the mind of a miscreant, I may very well trap you in with me and take sweet vengeance." He flipped his hair, still lush and voluminous despite the unfortunate and unintended trim. "And...the name is Arthur. Artie if you want me to be unkindly to you."

"Unkindly?" Rex said, flirtatious, raising and eyebrow. Working out always put him in a mood. Should he...covort with the enemy though? Even though he wasn't signed to the GSA, those boys were still closely affiliated. He liked those hunks Sailorboy and Icewolf. 

Then again, it had been awhile since Rex had some fun with a muscle stud, and this Slayer was really easy on the eyes. He parted his legs, intentionally showing off his bulge in his tight work out shorts. 

Rex stretched, yawning, subtly flexing his triceps. "Too bad. I was hoping for a hot Aussie hunk to come work out with me."

"Hm. Well, is this province not called Neo South Wales? I am from the genuine article. The original Wales."

"...Was that you trying to be funny? Whatever. Hmmm. But how sweet is this vengeance of yours, my knight in shining armor?" He lowered his arms and gave Slayer the 'look', the one that any man whose been with men knows to signal. 

Slayer's mouth twitched. "Hng!?" Either he got the message, or he was going to be a coy jerk about it. "It can be...quite sugared indeed," he said. He leaned his hands against Rex's bench. "I must admit, my thoughts have turned to your countenance these past three days. You proved your strength to me."

"I think you enjoyed being humbled," Rex laughed. "The hair looks nice, by the way."

"It is...a bit modern for my liking." Slayer brushed it away. Rex found his expressions, when he wasn't trying to be a jerk, that is, were adorable. "Humility is part of chivalry, I suppose, but so is the admiration of beauty. And I quite admire your muscles. Your comely visage." 

Rex stood up. "You...use a lot of big words," he said, before leaning in and kissing Slayer on the mouth. 

The knight made a small noise. He closed his eyes, soaking in the power of Rex's kiss, before returning the gesture. Unlike the fight and test of strength from back during their bout, they held each other gently, here. Hands slid up musclular backs, and down thighs, a quiet exploration of each other's bodies.

"My words are not the only thing you might find formidable, Sir Rex," Slayer said. He took Rex's hands and moved them down his hard core, towards the front of his pants. "If you would care to explore."

Rex tried to disguise his eager, contented sigh, but he figured they were well past that point. "Oh, I think I would," he said, getting to his knees. "And I don't hate being called Sir." He began to mouth the front of Slayer's bulge.

The knight leaned his head back and sighed. "Nor I. Shall I lock this door? Or are you, perhaps, afraid to be alone with me, Sir Rex?"

"I've been thinking about you since our match," Rex said, continuing his labor. He'd gotten Slayer hard, and judging from the tent in his pants (almost comical in how large it was), he was well on his way to tangling with a new dragon.

The Welsh knight laughed, pushing Rex's head and mouth away, albeit playfully. "Finish your set, knave," he said, pointing to the bench. "Let me watch. I'll spot you."

Something about working out harder for Slayer titilated the light magi, who gladly laid back down on the bench. Slayer made no subtly about draping his ample bulge across Rex's face as he lifted harder, grunting, straining all his muscles against the weight.

"5...6...very good. One more. Good boy."

The praise, as well as the surge of testosterone, got Rex rock hard. With all his might, he completed his set, grunting on the decline. Slayer helped him guide the bar bell back to its rack.

"Such might," Slayer proudly said. He leaned over, tickling Rex with his hair, and planted another kiss on his mouth. His hands travelled to Rex's pecs, fondling them, massaging them, before Slayer's fingers teased Rex's hard nips.

"Fuck," Rex moaned. 

Slayer was slow and certain in all of his movements. His hands travelled from Rex's chest, down to his hard legs. "The thighs of Hercules," Slayer observed. At this point, he was practically crawling on top of Rex's body. "Woe for you, it was not a jest when I declared revenge. Turnabout is fair play, and all."

Slayer began to mouth and lick the sweat off Rex's chest, tongue spiralling around his nipples.

"Oh..." Rex moaned, going mad with the sensation. "Oh fffffuck. This is good revenge." He felt himself precum in his pants.

Slayer saw the result of his actions, smirking cockily at the puddle forming at the tip of Rex's tent. "Even your sweat is sweet," Slayer said. He moved his mouth towards Rex's musky bulge and licked the bead of precum off. "And this nectar is even sweeter. I knew you were delicious."

"Starting to talk like Daemian," Rex laughed.

"Oh, do not dare speak that devil's name aloud."

"Why not? Not done for a threesome, Arthur?" Rex winked.

"You scamp," Slayer laughed, necking Rex, using his tongue as expertly as he wrestled. "I shall punish you thusly for that."

Rex's eyes rolled back into his head. "Damn good punishment too." Rex couldn't resist any more, however. He was hungry. He sat up, tugging Slayer's lycra pants down. He was hard enough. 

"I would like to see what kind of sword you have in that scabbard," Rex said, as he revealed his opponent's weapon of choice. He blushed. "Oh...oh, damn."

Rex had seen some big ones in his time. Slayer wasn't so much girthy, but long, just to the point where it was almost obscene. It was a beautiful cock. Ten inches or more. Rex gulped, slightly intimidated. 

Slayer wasn't arrogant about his equipment. He smiled, almost innocent (which, to Rex, was somehow hotter). "I see you have unleased Excalibur," Slayer said, gently guiding Rex's face to his intended target. "Now you must prove your worth, or be cut down like a dog."

"Damn," Rex said, maintaining eye contact as he began to slowly lick up the head and the shaft. "Excalibur, huh? A legendary and mighty sword."

"Only those who can fit their mouth around it entire are deemed truly worthy. Now, polish my blade."

Rex found the mass of Slayer's priceless sword enter him. Indeed, a formidable weapon, it cut to the back of his throat. Rex was good, but even he was a bit out of his depth. His reflexes took over, and Slayer's blade was unsheathed again.

"Fuck," Rex gasped. He didn't get much of a breath, however, before Slayer stabbed again.

"Now, now. One more brave attempt. Ah...there. Slowly. Good, squire. You will make a great knight, once you learn to polish your master's blade."

Rex's eyes rolled back into his head anew, and he felt another drop leak from his shorts. Something about his mouth and throat being 'conquered' by this studly warrior made him go crazy. Still, anatomy took hold. He gagged again. Slayer, the gentleman, removed himself without protest.

"I tried," Rex said, somewhat guilty. He smiled up.

"Heh. A valiant effort." Slayer tapped the side of Rex's cheek, playfully, with the weapon that had conquered his opponent. "You may not be the knight I'm looking for, but you are the man I would like right now." He held Rex's head and tugged up, putting him back on his feet. Another assuring kiss. 

Lost in passion, Rex found himself turned around--man-handled by his former opponent. "Look at yourself and flex for me," Slayer commanded. "I love to watch a man admire their own beauty."

Rex did as he was told, slowly raising arm and making his biceps peak. Glistening in the gym light, like polished stones, they were enough to illicit a small moan from the observer. 

"I do like admiring it," Rex said, turned on by the sight of his own perfection.

"Kiss it."

Rex did as told. He closed his eyed and kissed his muscles, just as passionately as he had kissed Slayer.

The knight did Rex the honors of pulling down on his own pants. As Rex flexed for his admirer, Slayer put his hands around his waist, breathed heavily, and began to pressed and push his manhood against Rex's muscular backside. As Rex flexed, he was rewarded with another pleasure-inducing kiss, or a gentle bite to the back of the neck. Slayer drove him wild. A thread of milky pre-cum forced its way out of Rex and onto the weights in front of them.

"Oops. We'll have to clean those later."

"We will mark this gym, boy. You and I."

"Fuck yeah. Fuck yeah we will. Unnnghhh..."

Again, Slayer took charge. He maneuverd Rex onto the bench, but on his back.

"You gonna fuck me?" Rex said, raising his legs up. "You wanna?"

"Not so crude, lover. Like the Greek masters for their young warriors, I would like to put those muscular thighs of yours to use."

"Oh fuck. Oh yeah, right on the bench."

"Let us anoint it with a warrior's blessing."

Slayer leaned over and placed his iron-hard sword between Rex's muscular thighs. He pushed inward, sliding his cock under Rex's own, modest length. He pushed and thrusted slowly, letting Rex feel his power.

Rex had never had sex like this before, but it felt amazing. Slayer, in any case, seemed to be going wild. Combined with his sweat, and Slayer precumming loads, it was the perfect lubricant. It was both primal and elegant, this rutting.

Plus, Rex didn't have to do any work.

"Oh, that Excalibur does feel good," he moand.

"No man nor woman can resist it," Slayer said, mid ecstasy, increasing the speed of his thrusting. "I think I shall cut you down here and revenge be mine. Death for you, knave...but only the little one."

How was this possible? Rex had indeed learned a new technique from his opponent...and it was about to pay off. Slayer was adept in his sword play, alternating between his own pleasure, embedding himself in Rex's thighs, and then 'stabbing' at his own shaft, tip meeting tip. His cock was dominant. Rex's was happy to lose.

"Your cock is vanquished," Slayer grunted.

Unable to control his voice against his rising orgasm, Rex cried out. "Oh fuck...it's gonna be big." The build up. Then, the dams burst. "Oh, Slayer. OH FUCCCK."

A jet-blast of cum shot out all over Slayer's chest, marking him perfectly. Then more. Slayer didn't stop, though.

"Yes, oil my blade with your manhood. Good boy." He leaned back, looking like a hero ascending skyway. "Sorry to the gym owners. This bench is mine. Gah!!!"

A blast of white liquid sprouted and blossomed from out Rex's thighs, running across his muscles, and soaking over the bench. Shocked, he bit his tongue from speaking aloud as he watched Slayer's cum spill over the side of the cusion, onto the floor.

Rex covered his mouth. Post-orgam clarity returned. "Damn!"

"Heh." Slayer looked away, sheepishly. "A kiss." He kissed him. "That was good."

Rex sighed, still unable to believe what had happened. "You...are intense and kind of romantic."

"And what knight would I be if I wasn't?" Slayer said. He looked down, at their mutual mess, and winced. "I shall clean this disaster of ours. Well done."

"Mmm. Will I see you again?"

"When we cross paths on the battlefield, I will enjoy striking you down, beautiful one."

"So mean!" Rex pouted.

"Not so." Slayer laughed. "I would like to hold you close, in the showers. And then, come back with me to the hotel. We can continue our swordplay there..."

Rex sighed, pleased with everything. "Remind me to send Deadboy a gift basket."

The End

Deadboy's Horror Land: Slaying Slayer

 *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!

Deadboy and Spike's Halloween Deathmatch!

Content Warning: This story features a 'Death Match', in which one opponent is cut by a sharp object in a consensual setting. Minor descriptions of laceration and blood.

And as always, violence >:)

Halloween night.

On TV, the scantily dressed, male camp counsellor (in short shorts and a crop top, naturally) hesitantly opened the creaking, cabin door. "He-hello?"

Spike pressed himself against Daemian's shoulder, trying to hide himself between the TV and his newest flame's pits (he wasn't sure which was scarier. Damiean blew a lock of hair from his face and smiled, with uncharacteristic warmth, at his guy. "Are ya jumpy?"

The last thing Spike wanted to do was show fear to his occasional opponent. "N-no!" 

"Because you've been looking through your fingers this whole time."

"I'm just...making sure my cuticles are in check."

This wasn't Daemian's first attempt at getting Spike to watch a scary movie. Last time had been at Deadboy's haunted hideaway in Sydney. Fresh from Buck's publicity initiative, handing out candy to trick-or-treaters at the local community center in-town, the costumed spellbreakers had all gone their own ways to enjoy the rest of the scariest night of the year. Some had gone to the costume night at the Rainbow Saloon. Others had gone to bed. Though Spike had planned to join the others for frightful frolicking at the club, his newly self-appointed 'boyfriend' had other ideas...namely, horror movies in Spike's dorm room.

So, there Spike sat, dressed as a teenage werewolf, curled into the arms of his newest arm candy. As every day was Halloween for the wickedest spellbreaker at the GSA, Daemian had chosen to go as 'normal'. Or what passed for normal anyway. Inadvertently mimicking Spike's 'varsity werewolf' idea, Daemian had dressed in a black letterman jacket, giving him the look of the high school bully. Brax, Daemian's demon buddy, made the perfect couch. In exchange for a bowl or two of popcorn, that is.

On screen, the hapless jock turned the corner...to discover the headless body of a fellow camp counsellor!

"BOO!" Daemian shouted.

Spike nearly jumped out of his skin. "AAAH!"

"Hahahahaha." Daemian laughed gleefully, taking advantage of Spike's open mouth to push a piece of candy corn inside (they had a whole bag of treats between them).

Brax looked down at an empty bowl full of kernel crumbs. "Hrrrrrhhhh." His glowing eyes shifted towards Daemian. He tapped him on the shoulder. "More...popcorn."

"Okay, greedy!" Daemian sighed, tossing the bowl aside and going for Spike and Kengo's snack cabinet. "Honestly, mate, you're like a vacuum cleaner."

"S-since you're getting up, I'll just go ahead and pause this!" Spike reached over and pressed the TV remote, pausing the TV, and freeing him from gruesome imagery. "Phew. Guess Halloween is almost over soon, huh?"

Daemian considered the flat, unopened bag of popcorn for a moment, before he chucked it towards Brax, who snapped it in one bite with his teeth. Daemian jabbed a finger in his direction. "Trust me, old mate needs the fiber. And ugh, Spike, why do you have to remind me that my favorite Holiday--which is also coincidentally my birthday--is gonna be over soon!" He sighed.

"What!" Spike stood up, startling even Brax. "You didn't tell me it was your birthday, Lachy! I mean, like, I'm new to the whole boyfriend thing, but isn't that something that's kind of...a big deal?"

"My birthday's never been a big deal," Daemian, or Lachlan, said. His face dropped. Gone was the bravado, the aura of deviance and darkness. In the shard of moonlight from the outdoors, and the ambient glow of the TV, the so-called 'Prince of Darkness' looked...forlorn.

Spike didn't consider himself the brightest, but as a survivor of a rough childhood, he could sniff out a sad-boy. "Lachy. I would have made this ten times better than watching some movie."

"Mate," Daemian laughed, sadly, brushing away his hair swoop. "Watching a movie and eating processed sugar is wayyyy better than most birthdays." Then, a more familiar, evil glint caught in his eyes. "Though...I 'spose if you did want to give me a present. There's something I could ask for." With his hands behind his back, and a wide toothy grin, Spike could practically see the devil horns sprout from Damien's head.

He sighed. He knew this moment of surprise vulnerability was too good, and that even if Daemian showed Spike his heart, it was still jet black and ice cold. "Okay. What can the best...er..." Spike knew he shouldn't say the next word... "boyfriend in the world--that's me--do for you?"

Behind him, Brax let out a demonic sigh. "...Beautiful...fool..."

Starry eyed, Daemian took Spike's hands in his cold, black-nail polished fingers. "My precious Spike. Would you....have a death match with me?"

"Oh, sure, I guess I can--WHAAAAT?"

"Heh."

*snap*

The last thing Spike heard before he was thrown into a cold, unfeeling darkness, was the snap of Daemian's fingers. He screamed, but nothing came out. Thankfully, the dark teleportation didn't last long. When Spike next opened his eyes, he found himself standing inside in a familiar ring (Daemian's personal practice ring in Deadman's Gulch), surrounded by tall, interlocking thorns. It was a cage. Situated around the ring, arrangements of jack-o-lanterns (all very creepy) smiled their orange glows. The silhouettes of gnarled trees in the background only added to the effect.

As did the cold, biting leather collar now fastened around Spike's neck. He followed the chain connecting it, by three feet or so, to the other collar, locked around Deadboy's pale neck. 

"Kinky," Spike said, looking Deadboy up and down. He was stark naked, save for a leather black thong and spiked wrist cuffs. With the body of an underwear model, and the complexion and face of a romantic vampire, Daemian Gravesend cut an attractive, if not macabre, figure.  

"It's kind of...sexy? In a creepy way." Spike looked down to see himself in matching gear. It was bit more BDSM than he was used to, but he didn't hate it. "Spikes for Spike," he said, holding up his wrist cuffs. "I feel like a punk himbo!"

"It's perfect," Daemian fawned. He drew closer, but not in an intimidating way. "Do you trust me?" he said, biting his lip. 

Spike looked down. Daemian was subtly but surely pressing his bulge into Spike's. It felt dirty...and amazing.

Spike was charmed. And turned on. This was a lot more deviant than his usual fare. He looked around the canvas. In each corner, there was an assortment of colorful wrappers. Spike looked at his feet and picked up the nearest candy gem, noticing the distinct brand of The Infernals: the jagged skull with the x'd out eyes. Peeling the candy back revealed a jagged, sugar coated bramble or barb.

"Do you like my Deathmatch treats?" Daemian said, sugary sweet. "Or should I say, tricks? These may look tasty, but they're more the razor blades in the apple variety."

Spike gulped. Still, the only real trick and treat here was the sexy demon guy standing in front of him. "Is that dark magick you're working one me?" he said flirtatiously to his opponent and lover.

"No," Daemian laughed, sounding quite sincere. He toyed nervously with his ear. "I'm not actually evil, y'know. Well...I guess define 'evil'. I just like to have fun. Maybe that involves torturing cute guys, but it's not like I eat puppies or anything! But listen here, Spike Waterford. Firebird are a bunch of bloody crooks, and in order to defeat them, you're gonna need to unlock all the powers inside you. Your light shines bright, Spike. Why not try the darkness?" He arched his eyebrows.

Sexy, villainous eyebrows.

Spike gulped. He felt a heat inside himself. Standing naked, chained up, in a leather thong, in the moonlight...well, it felt primal. Naughty. He wanted more. "I...think I might like a little darkness?" He blushed. 

"Mmm." Daemian hummed, licking his lips and gliding a finger up Spike's abs to his neck. "It definitely likes you." He kept his slow grind against Spike. By now, they were both obviously hard.

Spike often thought of himself as looking like a (tiny) warrior angel, so fighting a devil (in chains, no less) seemed kind of hot to him. "What are the stakes?"

"Well, if you win, you can do anything you want with me. And if I win..." Daemian giggled, looked around, and cupped his hands to Spike's left ear, chains jangling from both their neck.

Spike listened. "Mhmm. Mhmm. OH! Oh WOW! Oh man, that's nasty." He blinked. "Wait, with BRAX?"

Daemian snickered. Behind him, Brax materialized in a cloud of shadow. A black and white refs uniform clung, haphazardly, to his bulky, demonic torso. 

Spike blushed. He'd done some pretty nasty things before, but this was a bit much. He squeaked. "Isn't that like, against the rules or something?"

"Yeah hah." Damiean gently rapped his knuckles against Brax's big chest. "He's a consenting, adult demon. Plus, he's offered to ref."

Brax bowed his head, respectively. "I...am very fair. I take my job...very seriously." 

Spike leaned forward submissively, tugging on his own chain. "I dunno...you know how I feel about blood." 

Suddenly, Damiean yanked him forward on his loop, bringing his face dangerously close to him. Fear blossomed in Spike's heart, but deep down, he liked it. "Let me bring out your dark side, beautiful," Daemian whispered. He stuck his tongue out and glided it across Spike's neck, tasting him. "I can show you the most wonderous sights. Pain. Pleasure. Indivisible."

Spike tugged his chain away, rolling his eyes in the process. "You got that from one of the movies we watched, D! Hmmm. Dark Nectar huh? Is it...gonna make me sick?"

Daemian and Brax both laughed hollowly at the thought. "Sick? Nah!" Deadboy's eyed bugged out, manically. "SICK AND TWISTED THOUGH? HELL YEAH! Think of it like...a hit of weed. Or ecstasy. That makes you evil for awhile."

"Oh, no zombie mode huh?"

"Haven't you ever wanted to know what it's like to be a heel? A bad boy?"

To be honest, Spike did. He'd always played the babyface. Lately, he wanted to know what it was like to be a bit...wicked. "A bad boy with my bad boy, huh? Hmmm. If you put this enchantment on me, you promise it won't make me squeamish about blood?"

"Not only that, but it'll give you my healing powers for a time. No scars. No bleeding out." He placed his hand, assuring, on Spike's shoulder. "It's...scary and intense...but...hey, isn't that what Halloween is all about? Besides, I might hurt you Spike...but you're still safe with me."

Daemian looked both ways, blushing slightly (obvious with his pale sin) before he wrapped his arms gently around Spike, pulling him in close. A hug.

"You can trust me. Well, with this shit, anyway. I still might use you to get back at the GSA-"

"What?"

"Nothing! :)"

Spike thought smelled like cigarettes (a bad habit) and cheap deodorant. In other words, Spike was turned on. "Okay," Spike said, hesitantly. "So, do I just-"

A cold, constricting pain struck Spike's throat. He realized Daemian and yanked him forward, instnatly activating his own glyph. Spike's instincts prepared him to yank his chain back, but then he found his 'boyfriend's mouth over his.

Daemian pulled back. "Pucker up, butter cup! Hahaha!" His pupils expanded, covering his irises going dark and demonic.

This was all a bit too freaky for Spike. "Ahh, this is scar-"

Deadboy fastened his mouth over Spike's again, assaulting his pallet with his prying tongue. Then, a strange taste (peppery and fruity) filled Spike's mouth. He looked down, mid-rapture, and saw a strange, flourescent, purple oil dripping from his mouth.

Disgusted, Spike tried to pull back, but either found Daemian's hold on him too tight, or the taste of the Dark Nectar flooding into his system too intoxicating. In any case, Daemian pulled back, purple fluid dribbling down his chin and chest. Eyes still hollow black, his tongue slid out of his mouth, lapping up his excess.

It was then that Spike realized how inhuman, how terrifying, Daemian Gravesend actually was!

"Blegh!" Spike spat out. "Oh...it kinda tastes like cherry cola--"

!!!

A dark shadow covered his mind. Though Spike couldn't see the physical effects, his eyes began to glow with a violet, alien aura. His veins pulsed black, beating with darkness. An animalistic insanity took over Spike. A primal need for blood and destruction.

He reared his head back, clawing at his own, matted, blonde hair. The darkness coursed through him, and he was its willing slave. "HhAHHAAhahhaa!!"

"Yessss," Daemian hissed, growing harder, watching his magick take hold. "YESSS! Gooood."

"MWAHAHAHA!" Evil Spike, near naked and already with the body of a sex demon, cackled in the moonlight. He stared hungrily at his opponent. "I dunno what's gotten into me, Damo, but I'm feeling soooo much yummier." Drooling, with an excess mix of Daemian's dark nectar, Spike snarled, leaking precum from his leather thong (threatening to snap off his raging erection). "I wanna see YOUR INSIDES."

"THAT'S MY BOY!" Daemian snarled back. A spectral ringside bell rang, and Brax looked on as arbiter. "Let's fuckin' KILL EACH OTHER!"

Spike grabbed the chain with both hands, pulling Daemian closer to him. He kneed him in the gut, sending him down to the mat with brutal force.

SLAM!

"OOF!" Daemian cried out, shocked...but still smiling.

"HAHAHAA." Spike yanked the chain back, reeling him in like a fish. It was fun to be bad! "Aww, what's wrong, Deadboy? Thought I was just another boy next door? Well this NEW Spike IS the boy next door...with SKELETONS IN HIS BASEMENT."

Struggling to breath, Deadboy's eyes may have turned into the shape of two black hearts. "THAT'S MY BOYFRIEND!" But he wasn't a stranger to violence. Strangling himself in the process, Deadboy used the leverage to pull himself up with his side of the chain, getting onto his feet. "Ohhh I am gonna make you BLEED!" 

A sharp elbow to Spike's face answered Deadboy's threat. Spike knew he should have been able to dodge that. Daemian was deadly but he had a bad habit of telegraphic his moves.

What Spike hadn't seen was the blood-colored candy apple Daemian had snuck into his other hands. A giant razor blade stuck out the side, hardly concealed. Using the candy apple weapon as a cudgel, Daemian swiped at Spike's arm.

He missed by inches. "How dare you try to cut my perfect skin!" Now, Spike was pissed. He snarled, tearing the weapon from Deadboy's hands and tossing it to the other side of the ring (nearly hitting Brax's head in the process. He tackled Deadboy and tossing him into the side of the cage. "YOU DID THIS TO ME. I'LL SHOW YOU WHO THE REAL DEMON IS NOW!"

Spike put aside any 'legal' spellbreaking techniques, reverting to pure street brawl. He pounded mercilessly at Deadboy's face and torso. Brax stood by and watched (which raised the question of his legitimacy in this match at all). Spike reached down and pulled Deadboy up by his hair swoop, slamming his head into the side of the cage.

"Nobody touches my hair and lives!" Deadboy roared back. He tugged on Spike's chain, bringing him down to his level.

A tangle of muscular limbs, Spike and Deadboy wrenched their bodies into each other, trying to pile on the pain. All the while, the length of chain became less and less. 

Wrapped around Spike like a toxic weed, Daemian wrapped the chain around his fists, using it at a makeshift iron knuckle. "You're too pretty, Spikey! I'm gonna make you a monster!"

CRACK.

The fist collided, sickeningly, with Spike's jaw. Instead of falling to the knock-out hook, however, Spike spat onto the canvas. "Ain't bleeding yet, you zombie bitch." He decided on some evil improvisation. "Good boy Spike wouldn't do what he's about to do..." he starred.

SLAM.

"Fuck!"

Spike had taken his spike collar and dug it across Deadboy's face, gouging him in the eyes.

"But good boy Spike ain't here!" Spike laughed. "Come on, baby, BLEED FOR ME."

Spike tried the same technique, hoping to cut open Deadboy's handsome face with his cuffs. As he did, Deadboy caught his arm, and twisted it.

"UGH!"

"Love the energy!" Deadboy said, tongue hanging out of his mouth. Oh, he was hungry alright. "Too bad, cutie. You're in MY cage."

Daemian scooped up Spike with ease, carrying him over to the pile of bright colored, 'barbed' candy wrappers laying in an assorted pile. Even Spike put two-and-two together.

"Nooo," he squeeked, already feeling the sharp pain in his back.

"TRICK OR TREAT, CUNT!" Deadboy cackled, lifting Spike into the air and body slamming him right onto the jagged, sharp candy thorns.

"FUCK!" Spike screamed as he felt his spine buckle and hundreds of sharp points embed themselves in his back. He peeled himself off the canvas, sharp pieces of Deadboy's special candy still embedded into his skin. Streaks of blood ran in tiny red threads down Spike's poor, bruised and bloodied backside.

Hungry for pain and punishment, Deadboy yanked one off his opponent, and popped it into his mouth, despite the sugary weapon's deadly attributes. "Tastes like suffering," he said, crunching down. "Look at that poor back."

"Nnnggg," Spike winced. Even with the soma protecting him, it felt like Brax had clawed open his backside. Pieces of sharp candy continued to fall off him, onto the now bloody canvas. "Shit. I'm too pretty for a deathmatch."

"YEP!" Daemian grinned with evil intent, not wasting a second of his opponent's stunned state. The dark spellbreaker used his chain and wrapped it quickly around Spike's neck.

Spike abruptly fell the dark draw of Daemian's enchantment begin to fade. "N-n-no-"

"Y-y-YES!" Deadboy mocked. He stepped behind Spike, kicking his spine.

"GHGRRR!"

Spike couldn't make a noise. He was cut off by the chain wrapped around his neck. He grabbed it, trying to pull it apart. Even with his super-powered strength, Spike could barely get a budge on it. Deadboy wasn't just magickally powerful, but dangerously strong.

Brax lowered himself to Spike's level. "Give?"

"Nnnmmm."

"I think that's a no!" Deadboy laugh. "But that's not how death matches work, now, do they, chook?"

Deadboy tugged tighter. Spike could feel the darkness sink he. He knew it was futile to tap. He looked up, catching the glint of something reflective in Deadboy's hands.

The evil sadist looked down at him. "You forgot the most important part about a cage fight, mate. Always check to make sure your opponent doesn't smuggle a foreign object into his budgie smugglers. And this ain't not budgie."

Spike didn't even know what a budgie was; he just wanted to make sure his head didn't pop off! That's when his eyes zeroed in on the familiar object in his so-called boyfriend's hands.

"You're from Brooklyn, ain't ya, cutie? Well, haven't you always wondered what it was like to feel like a Brooklyn pizza?"

A pizza cutter. The circular blade was most definitely familiar. 

"D...d..." Spike struggled. He could probably yank these chains off like Samson if he pulled hard enough. 

But it was too late. Licking his lips, Deadboy lowered the sharp object to Spike's sweat covered, unblemished brow.

"I've wanted this for so long..." he moaned.

SNICK

Spike blinked, confused. "That's...it?" The pain was quick and sharp, but hardly the brutality Spike expected. Deadboy let go, dropping Spike to the canvas. Struggling to breathe, the Sailor rolled as far as the length of chain would let him (which wasn't far) and attempted to get on all fours.

Drip. Drip...

Dots of red peppered the canvas below him. Heart beating faster, and fear slowly creeping over him, Spike touched a dinger to his face and pulled back red.

"My...face. My beautiful face!" Spike, eyes wide with terror, looked into the reflection of the pizza cutter, dripping with his own blood. Daemian had indeed turned him into a monster and given him the humiliating, infamous crimson mask!

The sight alone was enough to drive the power of the dark nectar out of Spike, replacing it with raw terror. In the moonlight, Daemian looked like a death god--a beautiful horror story. He sneered down at Spike, the defeated, and yanked his chain, pulling him to his knees in front of him.

"That's the match," Brax growled. "The victor, Deadboy Daemian! Grrrrr."

Brax held his tag partner's hand up, but Daemian brushed it away like an afterthought. He was mostly interested in his latest acquisition. His new pet.

Unbeknownst to Spike, the dark enchantment laid upon him had an additional effect. With blood drawn, pouring freely from Spike's once-handsome face, it activated pure terror and submission. He trembled like a frightened dog, looking into the eyes of his master.

Daemian reached down and stroke his gored lover's cheek with the side of his hand. "Are you gonna' be a good puppy for me, Spikey? Hmm. Spike. You already have a dog's name, don't ya?"

"...Yes."

Deadboy leered in, closer. "Say it."

"I...I'll be a good doggie. W-w-woof."

"HAHAHAHA! Love the enthusiasm, cutie. Mine. You're ALL MINE. HAHAHA!!!" With a manic lust, Deadboy leaned and licked Spike's chest, up to his neck, and then across his bloodied face.

Even Brax, looking on, was taken aback. "My kindred! That is unsanitary."

"Relax, mate, I'm on PreP!" Deadboy blew his hair swoop back, studied Spike's face, and sighed. "I could put you out, I suppose. I didn't really get the finisher I wanted..."

"N-N-no, master. I'll do anything."

"Aw, that's right! We did have stakes, didn't we." Grinning still, Daemian pressed his thumb to Spike's gushing wound, sealing it up. He sighed. "Don't want my precious boy to bleed out, yeah?" He kissed Spike, taking away the fear.

Trembling still, completely submissive, Spike fell into Deadboy's chest. "So...so scared," he said, teeth chattering.

Daemian caressed his hair, tenderly. "But alive." Another kiss, longer this time. Connecting by mouths and chains, the two near naked men fell into each other's arms, a cloud of shadow and deviance surrounding them. "And now...I'm going to make you feel more alive than ever before, Spike. Time to give you a very happy Halloween..."

To Be Continued!