Unholy Wars

Scene I: Lincoln, NE - the Catholic Pro-Cathedral - Wednesday, February 19, 2003 - approx. 7pm

A shot opens in the imposing inner chapel of the Catholic Pro-Cathedral.  The silence is deafening as the camera pans along the walls, showing various stained glass windows within the church, portraying the Lord and His various Saints.  The lens stops at one particular window, showing the Lord mounted on a white horse, a sword of fire coming forth from His mouth - a truly imposing, terrifying, and yet sublime image of Judgment and the glorious Second Coming of Christ.  The scene fades slowly and proceeds to move forward down the centre aisle of the cathedral, to where the altar is located, a few candles sitting, flickering in the near darkness.  

A man can be seen kneeling at this altar, his eyes closed, yet still focusing on the large Crucifix which hangs just behind it. Robert Lancaster was not a Roman Catholic, but had found the Pro-Catheral in Lincoln to be a refuge when he found the need for a few moments of quiet, and peace, so that he could commune with his Ruler.  The shot focuses on the Duke of Wessex's eyes, which suddenly open, quickly, and without notice.

His lips begin to move, and his words fill the quiet space of the church, his words echoing, and reflecting off of the holy objects which filled the Cathedral.

"et ecce equus pallidus et qui sedebat desuper nomen illi Mors...et inferus sequebatur eum et data est illi potestas super quattuor...partes terrae interficere gladio fame et morte et bestiis terrae..."

He repeats his words over and over, until the echoes began to rebound almost, overlapping, filling the cathedral with what seemed to be the voices of a thousand worshippers.

"et ecce equus pallidus et qui sedebat desuper nomen illi Mors...et inferus sequebatur eum et data est illi potestas super quattuor...partes terrae interficere gladio fame et morte et bestiis terrae..."

"et ecce equus pallidus et qui sedebat desuper nomen illi Mors...et inferus sequebatur eum et data est illi potestas super quattuor...partes terrae interficere gladio fame et morte et bestiis terrae..."

Lancaster closes his eyes once again...and then, allowing them to open once more, a serene smile crosses his lips.  He then looks at the camera, and spoke firmly, yet without anger, or malice - a sense of calm rang true through his voice.

"Sound familiar?  The Book of the Apocalypse, chapter six, verse eight.  From the Latin Vulgate of St. Jerome, ca. 400 AD. Although I am sure you already know that."

The Duke raises himself off his knees and bows respectfully to the Crucifix, before turning and walking out of the cathedral, wearing a black tshirt with a emblazoned silver cross on the front, a Celtic cross chain, and black jeans.  He sat himself on the stairs outside the house of worship, where the cold Lincoln air began to swirl and claim the night for itself.

Lancaster hangs his head, collecting his thoughts, before raising it once more to speak.

"For you, a man of your nature, of your...calibre, if one may use your own word...to reference the Holy words of God, is fascinating to say the very least.  But, [Lancaster points a finger at the camera quickly] if your intention in referencing this particular passage was to inspire fear or awe in the hearts of your opponents, namely myself and a gentleman who you will soon be acquainted with - your mission failed.  Obviously I cannot know exactly what your reasons were for using this particular verse, but I shall dismiss it utterly and hold it in its proper light as part of the magnificent return of Christ."

The Duke's thought process continues unabated, as he smiles again and proceeds.

"What I shall not dismiss however, is the upcoming match which looms before me, against yourself and my good friend, Chris Wright.  I should think twice if I were you, Mr. Meister.  Your strategizing reminds me of a certain Iraqi fellow, in that it lacks a certain - or any - grasp of logic.  Declaring that your partner is more-or-less useless, and that all he need do is ride your coat tails - what an appalling prospect - to victory is quite simply, and do pardon the expression: bloody ludicrous."

Lancaster shook his head in disbelief, as he then leaned forward to an extent, his expression souring.

"You have been given the privilege of entering a tournament so that you may have the right to wear one of the most prestigious tag team championships in the world...and you have been blessed with a partner who is capable of defeating most men in that wrestling ring, myself included...I'd mind your own bloody words before you discover that your tag team 'fiasco' has degenerated into a three-on-one assault."

Lancaster's eyes continue to focus on the lens, before breaking out into a slight chuckle.

"Perhaps your bravest statement of all was questioning the mind and reasoning of our glorious [as Lancaster slightly rolls his eyes] federation President.  Sure he may be a son of a bit..."

The Duke looks behind him, and reminds himself that he is on Church property.

"Quite.  But as noted he has given you an opportunity, as he has done so for me, to shine in this tournament.  I advise you do not waste it."

Lancaster rubs his chin pensively, and proceeds.  The Scythe Meister gave him quite a bit to address.

"And I advise that you do not squander your career with your own arrogance.  You are indeed a talented man.  You are a new comer, you have much to learn within this world.  Bigger and better things do await you sir, but at this moment, concentrate on the things at hand.  I do not mean to patronize...but I have seen it all in myself and that of my former protégé far too much, and we both ended up flat on our arses."

The Duke of Wessex stood from the stairs of the cathedral, pondering his words, and looking to sum up his present state of mind.

"For now though I myself must face what bigger and better things may await me.   In one week I must prove myself to the entire world and to myself especially,  that I can and do display what it takes to be the next Thomas Turner, or Ric Owens.  That I may indeed be fated to step into the ranks of the immortals.  I however can only do so much.  Fate and its Master must judge me for what I am.  But regardless."  

"I must face you, Scythe Meister and Mr. Wright, who I know will perform spectacularly. The advantage of surprise must weigh on your mind heavily however good sir...and I anticipate that your reaction shall not be a pleasant one.  Jonny Five, I have not and shall not forget about you either...what a shame that you were eliminated from the tournament...clearly you were not the chosen one...and perhaps the night you defeated me was a one-off occurrence...but we shall have to see.  You and I shall meet once more, and I shall take back what is rightfully mine."

Lancaster stopped, and smiled.  "Some considerations of the most unholy of wars that are to occur...may God help us all."