The Renewal of War

Dear Journal.

    I was so wrong, so lost, I was SO wrong. I thought that merely channeling my anger for my father was enough. That bringing up the past would fuel me. I wasn’t wrong there, no I was pretty spot on. I was wrong for thinking I could control it, that it was enough, that I had gone into the deepest facets of my mind and pulled out my power. No, all I did was embarrass myself, disgrace my sisters, and show how much of a child I really am. Journal, I’m unfit for my horse, not my name, no, I embody that. War is cruelty, and when those around me won’t suffice, i foolishly wage it upon myself.

    I saw blood Journal, and only blood. I didn’t see victory, or a plan, a sister, or an enemy, I saw BLOOD. That simple crimson thing cost me, I let it drive me and we saw the finish. That pathetic, lucky, and undeserving pile of meat and bones on top of me, earning what should have come to Chaos. But that’s the nature of it isn’t it Journal? I get in my head, think I’m better, I’m above, people and forget to finish them. Forget to crush them like the unworthy insects they are. Maxwell won, because I was the fool and fought myself bloody. I had Strife, I had Williams, I IGNORED Maxwell. I am to blame, and I’ll pay my penance to my sisters when the time comes. However Journal, I now have the opportunity to prove my place on the roster, among the Horsewomen, and as the entity I embody.

    Curious? Well it’s against Goldie’s Armed and Dangerous plaything and man that plays in the shadows. Stacy Jones and James Mitchell Cornett, as a small preview for the upcoming pay-per-view. I know Journal, the management have no clue how to handle talent, first rewarding my disrespectful and undermining attitude, then there’s letting Goldie slaughter English and hollow the former king. While Chaos may not be favoring me, maybe management is, and that baffles me Journal.

    No Journal, no I can’t seem to find my smile as of late. Even the news of being in the ring with my love and other half can’t make me happy. If I’m being honest Journal, it feels wrong, I’m unstable, and could have killed Katalina in our match, what might I do to Goldie once the bell rings? She’s suppose to ground me, to keep me out of my head, away from the noise, yes Journal it’s back and it’s deafening, but lately just her aura is enough to send me away. I’m sure you’ve noticed my absence from our home, but I can’t stand to stay put with all the noise. Hypocrisies, atrocities, lies, political nonsense as people suffer, as the system suffers. I CAN'T TAKE IT JOURNAL!

    Goldie will make a fine champion but like all mortals we are flawed. Mine seem to keep repeating themselves in hopes I learn but I keep proving I can’t. I know cruelty, I know rage, I know anger, blood, battle, war, death, but kindness, being gentle, these are foreign concepts to me. Just ask Goldie Journal, my “tenderness” is a power struggle that always contains crimson accents.

    And we come full circle Journal, I am War, all I know is conflict, either against someone or against myself. I face the contender for Goldie’s championship and the man Katalina shall soon eviscerate. I’m a measuring stick of power, that can never find peace and silence long enough to obtain glory, and that is where I messed up Journal. I should have never gotten involved with Strife’s quest, but I couldn’t help myself, I didn’t think, I acted and acted foolishly. I may have found a way to channel a fraction of my power, but I must first find silence before I try to match demons with a pretender like JMC. It’s my curse Journal, I know the battle, I live in it, breath it, dance like no other warrior can, but it’s my lust, my hunger that cost me time and time again.

    I’m lost Journal, backed into a corner, ever since...well that puts things into perspective. I’ve unfinished business Journal, business that would be poetic. Time is a cruel mistress and while Strife may have risen through the ranks of such a profession, I am cruelty, both in and out of that battlefield most call a ring. Shields may have showed me a new depth but I think I know what chains bind me, restrain me, and have kept me gentle. Well, Journal, time to take them off, time to go where it all began….

    …..Sorry Journal Emma found me, and put things closer to right. I’m chasing Chaos, to free myself of those that would seek to tame War. I’m no shadow, no champion, no hero for the masses. I am the constant state of life, of the human condition. And I relish the idea of freeing myself from myself so I can truly go all out. Goldie’s driving Journal, I’ve got a lot to talk about with her, write in you later.

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Emma Carlisle: Are you going to warm up or just stare?



Joanna Thade: This place...my mind...are you sure you want this?


Emma Carlisle: Anything less will cause to find me quite cross.


Joanna Thade: You asked for it.

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The scene opens to an empty room. The thick steel door has been torn from it’s hinges and the cement floor has stains from months of abuse. Crimson stains that all flow to the center of the room where the one drain catches the eye. The drain is nothing special, but the shadow cast on it that is growing, that’s what grabs the attention of viewer. Panning up blue hair flows through the air as Joanna twists and flips her way down a set of wrist restraints, suspended from the ceiling. As her feet touch the floor, War winks at the camera before cracking her neck and biting her lower lip.

    “It’s been oh so long since I’ve thought of the world like this. Not as a place to conquer, for I have no army or desire to rule. Not as a message board to post whatever emotion grips me today. No, I see the world as I did in ACE, in GPW, and briefly in VoW. A battlefield full of soldiers craving direction, but fighting because they don’t realize the battlelines. Brother against brother, mother against child, guardian against ward, and so on. Pride. Greed. Lust. Wrath. All just wrapped up in different style meat sacks and flaunted for the sheep to cheer. I’ll admit, I got lost in the show, but...”

Joanna pauses as she bends down and traces one of the blood stains. The ragged and torn sleeves of her shirt acting as waves for the ship that was her pale hand. Turning her gaze to the camera, her piercing green eyes stare unblinking, past the lens, and into the souls of those watching.

    “That was because I forgot that a warrior doesn’t dictate her duties to others when it’s her mess to begin with. Stacy, James, bare with me. I know you’re watching, studying, wondering what will the loony toon do, and what mental state will she be in. All in good time dears, let’s not rush the beauty of self discovery. Not that you need help with that Stacy.”

After another playful wink Joanna looks sorrowfully down at the stain. Taking a moment to reflect, when she looks up, it isn’t toward the camera but instead above her, from where she descended and where the shackles sway back and forth.

    “I sought to be the general the Horsewomen needed, the one to give them direction. I tried, to be something Chaos never intended me to be. And not the prideful wrath you claim to weld James. No I mean the force of nature itself, the yang to order’s yin. Ever since Emma, Katalina, and Talon carried me out of the arena after I survived the battle of attrition between us, I’ve been blind to the shadow looming over me. The noise in my head telling me exactly what was wrong, but I refused to listen thinking myself the master of my fate, when I failed to respect such a position.

    What is this place? What’s she going on about? Does she have a point? She’s just rambling. She’s lost it. I’ve heard it all you simpletons, and while I’ve heard your “claims” of respect, of similarities, and “praises” of our prowess, I haven’t heard anything that wasn’t tainted, wasn’t half full, and truly genuine. James, you want to avenge your daughter’s plight, yet lose yourself to a “second form” to avoid responsibility.”

Without looking at the camera Joanna puts air quotes around a few choice words. Shaking her head the Visionary puts her left foot forward to slowly rise back to her feet. Swaying back and forth, War wraps her arms around herself in a hug and tilts her head to the side. Seconds pass as the camera zooms in on Joanna’s neck until her head jerks down and her eyes are once again center stage.

    “But you can’t run from that James, you can’t run from the blood on your hands regardless of which you commits it. Stacy, You’re a former champion, a person of the people, but even you have a darkness, a craving for vengeance. Trust me I know, I can see it, smell it, feel it, when something I do leaves a mark. Was it making Slater tap out, right after he defeated his nemesis? How about the chair shots to Neon Babes? The barbaric destruction of Owen and PJ? Or my shocking ending to Datura and Zahara? Regardless, you may be sugar and spice and what the fans believe to be nice, but you’re in the ring with the living Nightmare, the Warchild, with me. And I’ve been known to take the good ones, the ones bathed in innocent light, and introduce them to the corruption that is reality.”

No wink, no playful smile, no Joanna’s word fly like daggers in the hands of a circus performer. Hitting her mark with a resounding thud followed by a gasp. Hunching down to an almost feral position Joanna stalks over to the left wall. Awaiting its mistress Hephty cries in protest as she drags him across the floor, back to the drain.

    “I nearly took Strife’s head off last Breakthrough in pursuit of a championship that suits me, but has found its way into the hands of a novice to the art of war, and the beauty of testing the limitations of humanity. But that’s a discussion for another time. No, James, Stacy, I desired to speak with you from this cell, because this cell, housed a former lover, friend, and traitor. This was Devi’s cell. And while you may not know or remember her, she is what has haunted me, and today I exercise the shadow, and once again become the monster my father claimed.

    You see, I don’t hide behind my issues. I’m a nut case, but I still own up to all I’ve done, and all I will do. I had Devi...removed by those she didn’t know, who didn’t know her, and didn’t ask questions. I should have seen that through, after all, I’m the one that chained her here for months.”

Balancing Hephty on his head, Joanna reaches up to capture the chains holding the shackles in place. Bringing one of the fur lined pieces of leather to her cheek, War rubs the material against her skin as she reflects on the past and the future. Taking a deep breath, she release the restraint to swing freely.

    “I hope she found the peace she deserves, but I won’t know because I let someone else finish my business! So seeing as you both have aspirations against my sisters, let me make something beyond crystal clear. OVER, MY, DEAD, BODY.”

Quickly swinging Hephty onto her shoulders Joanna waves off the possible emotional responses of her viewers. With Hephty in place, Joanna stands stoic in the frame, a vision of tomorrow’s battle after surviving todays. Her jeans are tattered and ripped, with her shirt being in a far worse state. In fact as she stands before the camera, if one were to look close enough, they would notice a lack of a bra, and binding in its place. Each piece carefully chosen so that she has the maximum amount of movement without resistance.

    “Now I don’t mean you won’t have your matches. No, that I can’t stop, and I don’t plan of involving myself with them either, Death and Strife should be more than you can handle. What I mean, is that if you think when the bell rings and my sisters stand above you as the victors, that you want to chase the desire for justice, glory, opportunity, or anything else. If you think that you’ll take your pound of flesh, after the dust settles, I promise you either I’ll have stopped breathing or you will. But that’s down the road. What about our match? What about the main event for Breakthrough fifty-two?”

Grabbing Hephty with her right hand, Joanna swings the warhammer in its full arch, bringing it down with both hands in front of her with a deafening thud. The concrete gives way a bit as small chunks fly about. Her focused gaze gone, Joanna looks up from the small creator with destructive manic glee. Her tongue slides behind her lips as she takes in the smell of dried blood and construction.

    “This week, Goldie and I get to show you why our names carry such weight. Sure Goldie’s the champion, but before that we sent shivers down people’s spines. I’ve done nothing in this company, NOTHING, and I’ve got you two, a two time Xcel champion, and a journeyman with more accolades than I’ve had doctors, giving me their respect and attention. Why? Why respect someone that chokes, that can’t get it done when gold is on the line, that has to cheat to win?”

A school girl giggle squeaks out of Joanna’s lips as she waits for her audience to think of an answer.

    “Time!”

The ear splitting bellow that pours forth from Joanna’s lips is only outdone by the crack that follows Hephty’s sudden journey back to the wall whence he came moments before. This time though Joanna uses her uncharacteristic strength to bury the warhammer into the wall.

    “I’m sorry contestants but I need your final answers. To those of you that answered because I’m coocoo, I’m sorry we were looking for something not so obvious. Those that answered along the lines of my match history and current record, I’m sorry you have no clue and should probably go back to your keyboards where you write about Goldie and I getting in on with the entire female locker room in the ring like so many fanfictions I’ve read. Lastly, those that answered with the fact that I’m one of the few Visionaries that holds a win over not just Casanova English, and Ryder Blade, but two of the active horsewomen, one of which is the reigning champion, this company’s spirit in Matt Slater, and it’s promising rising star known as Zahara, to those smartie pants, you’re right.

    I will never again overlook someone’s ability, Stacy, James, Maxwell. You both have more experience than me, more understanding of how this sport works, and more time free culminating to the fact that this will be a fight worthy of the main event. I wish you both the best in your endeavors but you have come to the wrong place this week. The Golden Death Princess and her Blood Queen, two people capable of ending careers at a whim, and you have them both in the same ring. James, take a lesson from your daughter and don’t turn your back. Stacy...you’re after Goldie’s belt, good luck in that quest, but if I have my way you won’t make it to Armed and Dangerous, armed or dangerous.”

Extending her arms, Joanna invites all to take her on and challenge her. No secrets, no veiled threats, just War standing amongst the carnage and destruction she herself caused. Bending down, Joanna picks up a piece of the floor she knocked loose and drags it across her arm. Looking dead on into the camera, Joanna doesn’t wince or hesitate as the crude material cuts open her crimson river.

    “I am the red rider. I am the living Nightmare, Sanity’s mistress, and the Warchild. I am Cruelty, anger, rage, action, survival. And nothing, NOTHING, will make me gentle again! I finish what I start and you two fired your opening volley on the wrong sisters. Katalina and I can beat each other beyond what the human body can tolerate, but she’s my sister and I and Emma are the only ones that can do it. You come to Breakthrough to warm up for Armed and Dangerous, I walk into Breakthrough to disarm your both. May the gods be with you because you’ll need them.”

Luca fades the feed to black as Joanna drags her finger across her throat. Joanna makes it perfectly clear to all those watching, that while this is just a tag match with nothing on the line, the red rider of the horsewomen is coming fully loaded.