RP: Where There is Fire, There are Always Smoke and Mirrors

Decisions needed to be made. There was no two ways about it: Viktor would need to make a decision sooner rather than later. The lights of the city below cast shadows down the backstreets as Viktor sat on one of the overlook’s weather-worn wooden benches, mist forming with each exhale. An autumnal chill filled the night air as The Hound’s eyes stayed transfixed on the ground ahead of him, a pocket knife rotating between his fingers.

He was alive. Viktor didn’t know or care how, but Vex was alive, and he was behind Rhiannon’s kidnapping. If anyone knew how dangerous Vex could be, it was Viktor. He’d been Viktor’s handler for years, and now… he stood against him. On top of that, the FBI were investigating the Grove, and had hauled Vespertine off at the end of last Warzone. He couldn’t afford to get arrested, not whilst Rhiannon was in danger. With the way things were going with the Grove, he’d likely need to choose between them and Rhiannon sooner rather than later.

Last show hadn’t even provided the release he usually got, either, no thanks to Vespertine if the rumours were to be believed. He’d been left to his own devices against some of the best in the CWF. coming out on top against Tarrasque, Zolothach, even getting wins against Greg Salazar and Kronin Reinhardt. What was it about Dylan Erickson that had made them drug him? The man had been on a losing streak anyway. He’d even lost to opponents Viktor had beaten recently. On paper, Viktor would’ve won without interference.

A deep sigh left the Hound as thoughts raced through his head. Maybe the Grove wasn’t the best place for him after all. After all he’d done, if they distrusted him enough to pull that… he’d proven he had it in him to make a name for himself here without their interference.

His eyes snapped open as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He didn’t have time for this, he’d make a decision regarding The Eternal Grove when he needed to. Finding her had to be his main priority. 

Slipping the knife back into his pocket, Viktor retrieved his phone, unlocking it onto his newest message as he lined its camera up with his face. His face drained of colour, going moonlight pale as he saw the preview of the video he’d been sent come up. A familiar figure sat, battered and bruised, their limbs tied to a chair. His hand trembled as he brought his thumb down on the play button. His teeth gritted together as Rhiannon’s head swayed, semi-conscious in her seat. His panicked eyes scanned her surroundings, trying to see if he recognised anything as Rhiannon’s broken form lulled forward into unconsciousness, until…

There. In the corner of the shot, there was something he recognised. He knew that warehouse, they’d both trained there before. Turning the video off, Viktor immediately headed for his bike. Its engine roared into action as Viktor’s foot slammed down on the kickstart lever, before speeding off down from the outlook, the gravel kicking up as he left.

 

The dirt track up to the abandoned warehouse crunched and complained underneath Viktor’s wheels. The cityscape had blended into fields, which blended into the spindly forest further past the city’s borders, their details all secondary as he sped to the remote location.  

Viktor’s bike skidded to a halt outside the warehouse’s entrance, the Hound immediately hopping off. Bursting through the rusting metal door, his husky-blue eyes scanned what lay ahead of him, his heart sinking as he found nothing there, beside spotty puddles of drying blood and an empty chair. Swearing under his breath, he knelt down next to it, his hand ran through the rusty red puddles. Running it through his fingers, he shook his head, a frustrated growl reverberating off the corrugated walls. They’d be far enough away by now that he couldn’t really give chase. 

Picking the chair up, Viktor launched it, the wood smashing and splintering as it collided against the metal walls, before storming back out to his bike, his eyes narrowing into a hard, focused glare as he went. His jaw clenched as he sat back on his bike, his foot pausing over the kick-start pedal as his ears perked up. Without moving a muscle, he listened further, the forest around him feeling peaceful, almost too peaceful. Had that been a twig snapping? 

His head rotated towards whatever it had been, trying to locate the source of the sound, his eyes narrowing further as something caught his attention out the corner of his eye. Seeing the figure begin to bolt, Viktor leapt from his motorbike to give chase. 

Trunk after trunk flew past him as he chased the figure down. Twigs cracked and autumn leaves crunched as The Hound chased down his prey. Inch by inch, Viktor gained on the figure, until they burst into an open glade. A sickening crack sounded as Viktor tackled the figure to the ground. The smaller man screamed, his leg bent at an awkward angle as he tried to scramble backwards. Prowling after his prey, Viktor towered over him, each footfall deliberate as the man tried to move backwards.

“Who sent you?” Viktor growled, eyes narrowing as his fists clenched “Why were you watching me?”

“I, I’m sorry, I… aargh, I…” the man stammered, the pain of his broken leg sending tremors through his voice as he backed himself against a tree, deer-like eyes wide and tear-filled “...p-p-please, please, don’t!”

Pressing his foot down against the man’s broken leg, Viktor’s cold focus remained steadfast as he screamed again. “Don’t make me ask again…”

“Alright, alright…” the man cried, voice hoarse as tears streamed down his cheeks: “Vex sent me. Please, please, I’ll tell you everything, please!”

Keeping his boot where it was, Viktor remained towering above Vex’s lackey, blocking the moonlight from behind him. The Hound’s voice dropped,  to an eerily angry whisper “Your boss took someone dear to me… where is she?”

“He hasn’t told me, I swear!” the man begged, his hoarse sobs having no effect on the Hound. Another scream rang out as Viktor put more pressure on the break.

“Don’t bullshit me.” Viktor’s growled words were almost drowned out by the scream, the lackey’s leg contorting further out of place with the extra pressure “The sooner you tell me, the sooner this’ll be over.”

“Ok, ok, I’ll speak!” The man cried, his sobs nearing manic “Please, no more!”

Removing his foot, Viktor’s eyes met the man’s, his piercing gaze only amplified in the darkness of the isolated woodland around them.

“A cabin, in the middle of the woods…” trembling, the man’s eyes shifted, looking away as his hands went to protect his leg “Not too far from here… about half a mile that way.”

Viktor’s eyes narrowed at the man’s squirming. Something seemed off with his answer. It was too… easy, too quick. Bringing his foot down hard, The Hound snarled at the sickening snap that reverberated off the trees, bringing a guttural, throat-tearing yowl from his victim as the man’s leg bent further out of shape.
“What did I say?” The words came out flat and stern as Viktor applied more pressure “Don’t bullshit me.”
It took a moment for the man to speak through his sobs, the words rasping through his sobs when he did: “Safehouse… she’ll be in Vex’s factory…” the man barely got the words out through his sobs, “It’s outside the city, one his boss used to use.”

“And you’re sure?” Viktor’s head tilted, his foot moving back towards the man’s leg. Vex’s lackey’s eyes widened further, trembling even more as it did “Yes! Yes, I promise! It’s there! Please, no more!”

Reading the man’s face, Viktor took a step back. He was telling the truth, at least from what The Hound could tell. A plan needed to be formed… but he had enough to make it now.

The man, clearly groggy from the pain, reached out to him “Please… call 911, I need… an ambulance, please…”

Piercing, husky-blue eyes stared the man down. A brief, fluttering moment of consideration crossed his mind. A body in the woods could raise questions, especially with the FBI breathing down the Grove’s neck, ones he wouldn’t need. Then again… a witness would raise more. Viktor’s eyes narrowed as his hand slipped into his pocket.
“I said it would be over…” Viktor’s voice went cold, his predatory stare framed by his stoic features as his hand slipped his knife out of his pocket “...not how it would end.” 

Viktor’s knife plunged into the man’s neck, cutting off his scream before it had truly begun. His face remained stolid as he swiftly sliced the blade across to make sure it caught major arteries. Scarlet blood billowed out as the man’s eyes faded from sheer panic to lifeless within moments. Taking a handkerchief out of his chest pocket, Viktor started wiping the blood off as he headed back towards his bike, his eerie calmness setting the forest around him on edge as he vowed to himself that Rhiannon would be freed, no matter the cost.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Promo: At the Reinhardt of the Issue.

Darkness filled each and every space it could reach within the small room as the camera opened. A single lightbulb swung above a steel chair, its light only going so far in its battle against the looming darkness beyond. A solitary figure sat at the room’s centre, his shadow-stricken features concealing all but his husky-blue eyes, their gaze piercing the camera to its core.

“Kronin Reinhardt…” Viktor mused, fingers tapping against each other as he spoke “...we meet again. The Hound of Arawn and The German Suplex Machine go to battle once more. If memory serves, you seemed rather confident in beating me last time, and asked me to explain my loss even before we’d fought… you even said you’d studied my matches. You seemed oh so confident in the fact you would beat me. Then, came our match…”
A slight smirk tugged at the corners of Viktor’s mouth as he leant forward ever so slightly “...there are no excuses for you when I beat you, are there Kronin? There was no Grove interference, no mistakes by the referee, no cheating on my part. No… I played by your rules, and beat you clean, in the middle of the ring. Perhaps you should explain how you plan to rectify something you’ve already failed at before discussing how you’ll beat me. Just a thought, though.”
A slight laugh escaped Viktor as he leaned back “My respect for you still remains, Mr. Reinhardt. That is mostly unchanged. I have never once called you unskilled, nor do I underestimate your strengths. You’re 6’8”, 275lbs, an expert technical wrestler with excellent ring awareness and disciplined pacing. You were even an accomplished soldier, you’re a decorated Olympic wrestler, and your Pro Wrestling accolades are impeccable. Whilst I have beaten you, I have been respectful, given credit where it’s due…”

Viktor’s chin raised as he continued, sitting up to his full height “You’ve made it clear that the credit given to you will not be repaid in kind, Mr Reinhardt… I believe you called me a ‘tool’ and a ‘dog’ before our last match? Said I was one of Drago’s lackeys? Do not misconstrue my words, Kronin… I do not seek your approval, nor have I ever. No… I mention this schoolyard name-calling because you’re not entirely incorrect. Hounds are trained to hunt, tools are designed to be used… the one thing you failed to realise, Mr Reinhardt, is your assumption that Drago holds my leash.”

An eerie calmness filled Viktor’s voice as he looked directly back into the camera, his gaze boring a hole at its very centre “I have not been leashed for quite some time. I choose where I hunt, and if that lines up with the Grove’s targets? Well… that’s beneficial for all of us.”

Viktor continued, his face stoic as he stared into the camera “You’re likely to mention my most recent victory against Dylan Erickson, how he was drugged before the match, and you would be well within your right to do so. This was none of my doing. Whilst my tactics are brutal, and our morals clash in many places, I am not so underhanded as to hunt like this. There is no challenge to it; it took the thrill out of my hunt, my victory. I’ve proven myself time and again against the best this company has to offer, and each successful hunt must be earned. I will promise you this… for our match, I will come alone. There won’t be any unprovoked Eternal Grove interference during our fight. If your friends and family stay out of it, the Grove will too. If they interfere unprovoked, I can tell you one thing for certain. Their interference would jeopardise my allegiance to them. When I beat you for the second time, I will do so of my own accord.”

“As for your precious honour, Kronin…” Viktor’s voice remains calm “...I see you still cling to that ideal like a babe to their mother’s teat, relying on the comfort of the moral soapbox you lecture from. You point to your accomplishments as if honour played an integral part. Discipline, sure, skill, yes. But honour? Morality plays no part in the revolving door of champions this business creates. You spout your obnoxious pretensions about honour’s importance to the point of obsession. Do you know what that makes you, Kronin?”

Viktor raises an eyebrow, as if waiting for an answer, his face remaining stoic, emotionless even. After a pause, he continues: “It makes you predictable, in exactly the same way the O’Rourkes’ adoration of each other makes them predictable, and in the same way that CWF management’s desire for justice makes them predictable… you have spent 20 years being exactly what you want the public to expect you to be, Kronin. You take great pride in knowing exactly where you are and what to do… your issue is, your opponents know too.”

Stepping up from behind his chair, Viktor prowls behind it, standing tall as he places his hands on its back “Your overreliance on honour will be your downfall. Perhaps you need that to feel like a good man. Perhaps it helps you sleep at night. I don’t. You need rules to tell where the line is. I crossed mine a long time ago. I don’t need to hide behind the mask of morality. I can just be.”

Standing to his full height, Viktor’s eyes remain directly on the camera, their focus overbearing: “You told me to come into our last main event and prove myself. I did, and did so alone. You told me to give you an excuse for what you wrongfully presumed would be my loss. I won, and won clean. You told me you and your friends would deal with the Eternal Grove. You haven’t, and now Drago holds that Conquest Championship you held so dear. And now, as in our last match, you’ll be preparing for the Hound you think you know…”

A wolfish grin finally spreads across Viktor’s features, the shadows cast across his face enunciating each cruel feature “...that you haven’t noticed the Hound you’ve already met. The date of our next battle has been set, Kronin. Will honour survive the hunt… or will the Hound?”

The sound of shattering echoes around the room, leaving the scene in pitch darkness, bar one thing: A pair of piercing, husky-blue eyes staring directly into the soul of each and every person watching.