My name is Lux.

For months I’ve been attempting to stomp out the weed that is Samael Dyson. But each time I was thwarted by the masses of sycophants and lunatics he surrounds himself with. Each time I fell victim to his meticulous plotting.

Each time I failed.

And in so doing, I came to realize that there was only one way I could accomplish this task. A factor that I had neglected to consider in all these many months of plotting and counter plotting. And as time grew short and Samael’s power and influence only continued to grow, I knew what I had to do.

I had to die.

NOW

“Housekeeping.” The voice on the other side of the door was accompanied by an obnoxious rapping. Samael Dyson’s eyes shot open, bloodshot and wincing against the incessant assault of the lighting in his room.

“Shall I get it master?” the Insignificant queried.

Samael sat up, the drunken stupor having yet to shake itself off. But, asserting control of his inebriated faculties, Samael sputtered out, “Nahhh….gonna….gonna spit in this dumb cunt’s face….”

Tossing aside his reeking sweat stained sheets, Samael stumbled towards the door and opened it.

The silenced pistol was leveled at his left eye. Samael blinked, muttered “wuh”, and then the bullet barreled through his eye ball, turning it into a fine jelly that splattered against Lux’s face. The bullet continued its moribund path through Samael’s head, pulping his brains inside his skull before exploding out the back, sending shards of bone spewing out onto the carpet. Samael toppled backwards, striking the floor with an inglorious thud.

The Ubermensch met Lux’s eye. And they all fell upon her in an instant. More than she could handle. More than she could fight. But it didn’t matter anymore.

Because that vile motherfucker Samael Dyson was already cooling on the rug.

Dead.

SOMEWHERE ELSE

Samael Dyson awoke at the bottom of the basement stairs. Those stairs. Those infernal steps, that nightmare locale from his childhood that his mother and father had left him to after he tumbled down them, breaking bones, concussing himself. He could still hear Madison’s dismissive recriminations as she shut the door on him, worrying more about Child Protective Services than her little boy’s wellbeing. Leaving him in the dark. In pain.

Abandoned.

And so, it made perfect sense in a sort of cosmic, fate-spinning way that the place where Samael Dyson was born again should be the place he’d return to when he died.

“Mommy….” Samael spoke in a hushed tone, chancing a glance up at the closed door above him.

No. Mommy wasn’t there.

She wasn’t there before. And she wasn’t there again today, at the end.

Or so he thought.

Because this is where we deviate from the tale twice told. This time the door opened again. Samael’s spirits picked up. She hadn’t forgotten. She hadn’t abandoned him.

This time would be different.

The light behind Madison cut a stark figure, a shadowy profile that at first lacked all detail and substance. But as Samael’s eyes grew accustomed to the sudden glut of light and focused in on his mother’s presence, he saw that something was very, very wrong. 


Her face was painted like death, and its ghastly visage inspired Samael’s recollection. The gun. The bullet.

Fucking LUX.

“No…” Sam whispered. He rose to his feet haphazardly, eyes never leaving his mother. “No,no,no!” Sam’s rage grew as the recollection came into sharp contrast in his mind’s eye. “NO! I can’t be dead! I can’t!” He gesticulated wildly as he spoke, surrendering completely to his anger, practically spitting and frothing. “I was the best fucking thing that happened to the XWF! THE BEST! Without me who would it have? That fossil Graves?! That dull as dishwater Euroschmuck Sebastian?! I CAN’T BE DEAD! I…..I…..” his voice descended into a paltry pout. “I can’t….”

“And yet, here you are.” The voice was not Madison’s. It was deeper, ancient somehow. Beyond ancient. As though it sprang up from the birthpangs of the universe itself. And Sam recognized it instantly, even though he’d never actually heard it before.

It was the Void. His passenger. The soul eater from the spaces in between he had affixed to himself.

“You are dead, Samael Dyson”

“Is this Hell?”

“No.” The shape of his mother continued down the stairs, stopping only when face to face with him. “I snatched you from the ether before you could land there.”

“How?”

“Does it matter?” The Void smiled, a wicked thing. “Suffice it to say by the time Lucifer was a pup with delusions of grandeur I was already eternal.” It cocked its head. “Kudos to you for having no delusions of your own about where you were headed though.”

Sam considered the beast warily. “You were supposed to save me from hell. You promised!”

“And I have!”

“You were supposed to save me from death!”

“And I will!”

Sam stopped, eyes narrowing. “Then why am I here? Wherever the fuck here is?”

“You’re in a liminal space, boy. An in between of my own creation. And it is here where we will parlay.”

“Parlay? What the hell are you talking about?!”

“Our deal must be amended.”

Samael snorted derisively. “Oh….of course! I should have seen this coming! What, now that I’m dead and bent over the barrel you’re gonna fuck me in the ass, right?!”

“Don’t be so crude. The deal will be mutually beneficial. Take my hand, and I’ll show you.”

The Void extended its hand for Samael to take. He considered it for a moment, then realizing he had few other options, he took it. What transpired next was nearly beyond description. In fact, Sam wasn’t even certain he was conscious for it. All he knew was when he came to he was….


….in the White House. Staring at himself as he sat behind the Resolute Desk, a bevy of cameras and lights aimed in his direction, waiting on his every word.

“What….?”

“Relentless 2026 was where it began.” The Void, still in the form of Samael’s mother wearing that ghastly facepaint, put a hand on his shoulder from behind. “The consolidation of your power. Your influence over the masses. You think it was meant to end with some paltry wrestling program?”

Sam marveled at the man behind the desk. Himself. Or some future variation thereof. The face was a little weathered. A shock of silver ran through his blond locks. And oddly enough, the pupil of his left eye was blood red. But it was unquestionably him, seated on that throne of power.

“Holy shit. Am I….the….the….?”

“The President? Yes Sam.”

“But how?”

“Because if the last 15 years of American history have taught us anything, it’s that the simpering throngs of this country are attracted to a show above all else. Even at their own expense. And who puts on a show better than you, my boy?”

For the first time since his untimely demise, Sam smiled. “Yeah. Who better.”

The Void gestured towards the man behind the desk. “Care to have a preview of your future?”

Sam nodded, a hungry look in his eyes.

Then, almost as if someone had flicked on a radio, the sound snapped on to accompany the image, and the future Samael was in mid rant, clearly playing things up for the camera.

“I promise you, my fellow Americans, that as we speak my ROLLERKOMMANDO are annexing Greenland for this mighty nation, finally fulfilling the promise made by that weak joke of a former president Donald Trump. Because when you’re looking for results, you don’t turn to some fat spray tanned oaf, you turn to me, the BIG DICK PLAYA HIMSELF….SAMAEL DYSON!”

As he speaks a Rollerwhore climbs out from under the desk, working her jaw and rubbing it as though it’s sore. But as soon as she saunters off camera, another whore is waiting in the wings to get under the desk and start, uh, paying homage to the president.

Present day Samael is absolutely beaming as he beholds his future self.

“Now, do the American people want to see a replay of that footage from last week between me and Canadian prime minister Mark Carney?! Hell yeah, I know you do. ROLL THAT BEAUTIFUL BEAN FOOTAGE!”

A shot within a shot appears next to Samael, and in it an aged and decrepit Mark Carney is on his knees before President Dyson. He’s holding his hands up, begging in shameless supplication. But President Dyson pays his groveling no heed, as he unzips his pants, withdraws his massive dong and smacks the prime minister across the face with it! Such is the force of the impact with Samael’s genitals that Mark’s mouth is busted open and one of his teeth goes flying, impacting off the lens of the camera and leaving a crimson streak behind. The replay ends and disappears, leaving us alone once again with President Dyson’s self satisfied smirk.

“Now, some people are claiming that that was nothing but AI fakery! And I assure you fellow patriots that those naysayers have been dealt with. TO DEATH! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Present day Samael touches his cheek, flicking away an errant tear. “It’s so, so beautiful.”

“Well, I’m about to bust ladies and gentlemen, so that’s all for tonight. Tune in tomorrow, same time, for another presidential address. Remember, attendance is MANDATORY! In the meantime, take in this glorious battlefield footage of my Rollerkommando totally fucking DESTROYING Greenland’s puny army!”

And with that, the scenes gracefully fades to black, leaving Samael and the demonic effigy of his mother alone in an inky black expanse.

“You’re serious?! That can be me?!”

“Of course.” the Void purred.

Samael clapped his hands together and laughed. “I get to beat my mother twice over! Both to the Universal Championship AND The White House!”

“You can. If you live.”

That simple statement brought Samael back down to Earth. His smile upended into a frown. “Yeah. So do you have a way to fix this whole death situation or what?”

“I do.”

“What’s the catch?”

The Void shrugged. “You have to let me in.”

“Like…sexually?”

“Again with the crass jokes.” the beast sighed. “We must become one.”

“Aren’t we already?”

“Not quite. I’m bound to you, yes. But if you want to live, you must cede control of your body to me.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Whoa…whoa…whoa….we didn’t discuss that shit!”

“You don’t want to be the vessel for a living God? That’s quite surprising coming from you.”

Sam patted his chest for emphasis. “Yeah, sure, if I’m the God! Not something else.” Then, looking askance, he shook his head ruefully. “I don’t have a fucking choice, do I?”

“Not particularly. But, I will do you this favor. For any business pertaining to the XWF, you’ll have control. But aside from that, I need you to operate on the mortal plane.”

“And what’s the end game? What are you using me for?”

“Oh, you’ll like this part.” the beast leered. “I’ll be working towards putting you behind that desk, my boy.”

“Okay. Sounds good. What then?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, eh?”

Sam scowled. “Why do I get the feeling there’s a shit load you’re not telling me?”

“Because there is. But as you said, you don’t have a choice.”

“Fine…” Sam hung his head. “Just let me live.”

The void smiled unsettlingly, then seemed to dissolve into a thick black amorphous ichor that hung suspended in midair, until finally it invaded the orifices of Sam’s face. Pouring into his mouth, nose and ears, burrowing deep, deep within him and burning all the way down. Sam tried to scream but found that he could not. Until….

HERE

Sam sat up screaming, and came face to face with the shocked expressions of his minions. The how’s and why’s of him ending up on the floor slowly trickled in, and his hand rushed to his left eye, taking solace in the fact that it had returned intact.

“Master!” shouted an Insignificant. “We thought you were dead!”

“Shhhhhh shhhhhh shut up about that for now! Where’s Lux?!”

The Insignificant who spoke pointed out the door. Sam pulled himself up off the floor and stumbled into the hallway, still clad in blood soaked tighty whities. There, he saw the vision he had so desired. The Ubermensch stood tall over Lux’s prostrate form. Her body was twisted unnaturally, and blood was pooling out of her mouth. Sam walked over to her, noting that she was quite dead. The Ubermensch, looking at Sam in a state of awe, fell to his knees before him.

“Yes my friend. Yes!” Sam turned back to face the rest of his minions as they filtered into the hall. “LO! I AM RISEN!” He threw his arms into the air triumphantly, and the rest of his minions all fell to their knees in supplication. Then, wheeling back around to Lux’s body, Sam proceeded to lift up a foot and bring it crashing down on her face, over and over and over, until all that was left was a crater of an open wound punctuated by a loose jaw drooping onto her throat. Sam bent low at the waist, spat into the crater of a wound, and hissed, “Go fuck yourself you cunt! I win! I WIN!” Then, screwing his body around once more, he pushed past his minions back into his hotel room, headed straight for the bathroom. Once there, he marveled at his reconstructed face in the mirror. A picture perfect reconstitution save for one detail. The pupil of his left eye was now a deep crimson. Sam poked at the eye gingerly, and smiled rakishly. “Doesn’t matter. I look even MORE badass now!”

The champion took in a deep breath, and let it out as a triumphant scream! Insignificants started to crowd the doorway, each one clamoring for the master’s attention. But Samael simply kicked the door shut. He noticed then that the Universal Championship was draped over the side of the shower door. Sam scooped it up into his arms, cradling it lovingly, pressing the gold plated image of his own face into his chest. He looked up at the lights of the bathroom, mouth hanging open before perking up into a leering smile.

“They’re gonna say I couldn’t handle Lux on my own either.”

Sam looked at the camera, his face settling into a deeply unsettling mien.

“That’s what they always say though, isn't it? “Sam cheats. Sam can’t get it done on his own.” But you know what I find so fucking funny about that? That despite all your bitching and moaning….IT WORKS EVERY GODDAMN TIME!”

Sam laughs.

“Everytime! And just look at that dumb motherfucker Sebastian Everett-Bryce. Rolling out to the ring against Remi Storm, oh so confident that he’d be going into Relentless as the champion despite two…TWO…briefcase holders waiting in the wings. So did SEB bring backup? Did he plan to defend himself at all?

Fuck no!

Because the man’s HUBRIS is only outweighed by his colossal STUPIDITY!”

A pause.

“I bet you’re all waiting for me to apologize and make excuses for the way that I do things. I bet you’re expecting me to be ashamed. Well you all can tongue my scrote because I apologize for NOTHING! Because my methods, my planning, my GENIUS has seen me capture FOUR championships in TEN MONTHS!

Ya can’t argue with results, folks!

And you know what?

I’m gonna do it again!

The numbers are on my side. I’m gonna ratfuck you two into oblivion. And what? You think you’re gonna SHAME me into a loss by pointing out in your promos that I rely on help?

HAHAHAHAHA!”

Sam laughs, and then spins the title around so you can see its face. HIS face.

“This title bears my face for a reason. It bears my face because I’m the most dangerous, underhanded son of a bitch in the entire promotion. Graves, you can get fucked! In fact, let’s start in on you Gravy boat. The flesh around your throat is looking mighty supple.

Michael, you have the strongest claim against me. One draw. One loss. But ya see, I don’t look at it that way. Because when you think critically about our history (and I know it’s hard for you, hang in there), you know what I see?

I see a man who couldn’t pin me or make me submit given TWO chances!

You had AMPLE opportunity to humble me after we walked through hell together. And the best you could manage was making me bounce the wrong way off a platform. You call that shit definitive? I call it a fluke! And last time I checked, there won’t be any platforms to fall off of at Relentless!”

Sam pats the title.

“You already had your chance with this and you pissed it away against Scoops. And then, when given ANOTHER chance against SEB, you pissed that one away too. Because that’s ultimately what you do. Just ask Kristoffer Arroyo and the Anarchy Tag Team championships. Shit man, you should have held those belts for a hot minute. But what did Kris get for his troubles? You bumbling and fumbling the ball, blasting him with your poison mist and losing another championship.

You fucking IDIOT.

Michael, look at me. Look at me you dumb motherfuck!”

Sam glowers into the camera, smirking.

“How do those bullet wounds taste, Michael? Hell, by your own admission that convenient healing factor of yours is slowing down, isn’t it. And sure, Mikey, sure, you got past Judd with a torso full of lead. But can you do it again? Do you have it in you? Or are you getting TIRED, Michael? Are you getting WEARY? Your performances of late have been wildly inconsistent. Bad Medicine was a SHITSHOW for you. And after that, all you did was beat Isaiah King, a man plummeting faster than a loogie hocked off the top of a skyscraper. You think King still gives a shit? Prick can’t even be arsed to cut a promo anymore.

Judd’s your only recent feather in your cap. And hell, a win over him is something we both share. Sure we went about it a little differently, but I think I’ve already proven at the end of the day that that doesn’t really matter now does it?”

He looks down at the title, admiring his own image before retraining his sights on the camera.

“That just leaves you Sebastian. The daft idiot who was soooooo soooooo certain he was going to be the final boss of wrestling at Relentless. Sweet, sweet schadenfreude, did I enjoy the fuck out of that cash in. I had a hard on for hours after drilling your skull into that briefcase.

So! Anyway! I have a vitally important question for you SEBBY. Which one of you are we going to get at Relentless?”

Sam shrugs.

“The multi time Universal Champ?

Or the man who washed out in the first round of March Madness and went tits up against my mother?”

He laughs.

“Man and I thought Gravy was inconsistent. He’s got nothing on you though! I mean, fuck sakes Sebastian, how does a guy with your pedigree lose to Madison Dyson? HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN?

Oh, heh heh, that’s right. You’re an IDIOT.

I bet you were so confident you were going to win, right? Didn’t even bother to study her tapes. Didn’t even bother to do your goddamn homework. Nah. Just waltzed into that match with your immense ego as a crutch and got fucking HUMILIATED.

See, and that there is your biggest problem Sebastian. You just assume it’s going to be all sunshine and rainbows for you. But me? I know better. I know the world doesn’t work that way. I know it’s dark out there and that the smart ones, the ones with INSIGHT….they PREPARE. They strategize!

And maybe it’s not your fault. Maybe you’ve just spent so much time reaping the largesse from smaller promotions with lesser talent that you’ve just grown so, so accustomed to things going your way. Maybe you’ve just gotten COMPLACENT. And who wouldn’t in your shoes? Especially after the way you won the Universal Championship the last time.

Oh, I’m sorry motherfucker, did you think we didn’t all notice? You think we didn’t see you picking the leathery scraps of flesh from Scoops bones? That geriatric didn’t even bother to cut a promo against you SEB. He was just too tired. Too spent.

So congratulations, Sebastian. Well done! You got one over on a senior citizen who didn’t give a fuck anymore.

But me?

I give a fuck. I give ALL THE FUCKS.”

Samael holds the title up high.

“Because this? This is the sum total of years of planning. There’s that word again! Yeah. Planning how to escape the hospital my mother left me in. Consolidating masses of pathetic losers into an ARMY. Using my mother’s resources to find the Ubermensch. Sending Kristoffer Arroyo into the XWF to pave the way for me and then disposing of him when I was done with him. Targeting that weakling Jenny Myst to win the XTreme Championship. Defending the Xtreme Championship by hook or by crook for months. And picking the exact moment you’d be at your weakest against one of my own allies to take what was yours and RUB YOUR FACE IN SHIT!

Everything has proceeded according to my grand design. EVERYTHING! And now? NOW….

….I have defeated death itself.”

Sam marvels grandiously. Then, leaping for the door, he opens it to see a massive throng of Insignificants and Rollerwhores there waiting for him.

“I have an idea.”

A LITTLE LATER….

Samael appears on the balcony of his room, clad in a fresh pair of tighty whities and a brown bathrobe. Next to him, the Ubermensch holds Lux’s corpse with a sheet wrapped around her neck like a noose.

And down below, Sam’s minions have forced all the hotel guests and employees out into the parking lot at gunpoint. Some cry. Some bloviate angrily. Some stay silent. But all are being forced to pay homage.

Sam raises his arms triumphantly as the Ubermensch sends Lux’s corpse over the side of the balcony. The body falls and then snaps taut with a sickening CRACK. Screams are heard from down below. And then, Sam pulls out a lighter and touches the flame to the kerosene soaked sheet serving as her noose, setting the body ablaze. Sam raises his arms again, eyes cast heavenward.

“I AM RISEN, BITCHES! I have cast aside the stone at the mouth of the cave, shrugged off my injuries, and am REBORN! I am JESUS CHRIST REDUX! And nothing! Not Sebastian! Not Graves! NOTHING CAN STOP A MAN WHO IS LITERALLY IMMUNE TO DEATH!”

He looks to the camera.

“Relentless is the next, greatest step in a plan none of you can hope to understand. And considering a bullet to the skull couldn’t stop me, I’m not liking the competition’s chances! The Universal Championship stays home with daddy dearest, and nothing….not some boring Brit, not some goofy degenerate, can possibly stop me now!

YOU ALL LIVE UNDER THE SHADOW OF MY IMMENSE COCK!”

Sam’s minions cheer!

“Say it with me, plebians! JESUS CHRIST REDUX! JESUS CHRIST REDUX! JESUS CHRIST REDUX!”

The minions, and the civilians forced to say it at gunpoint, chant in unison with Samael as the smoke and the flames from Lux’s burning body reflect off his glassy manic eyes. Sam smiles like a predator as his future stretches out before him, beckoning him onwards towards still greater atrocities.