The fangs in the shadows part one

As I slowly woke up from my slumber, my ears were greeted by the loud sound of my alarm clock. The constant beeping and buzzing felt like a shock to my system, resembling the piercing screech of a bat screaming out of hell. It seemed like the clock had been set to the loudest possible volume, as if it was determined to ensure I didn't oversleep. The sound reverberated through my room, making it impossible to ignore or sleep through. I tossed and turned like that would make a difference until I yanked the cord out of the power strip. The alarm went mute. I sat at the edge of my bed with my hands and face. I thought my beard was getting slightly longer as I felt the itchy, long facial hair. I looked at long gray hairs. I thought to myself, Man, I'm getting old. I pull a half-smoked joint next to a plate of coke with five lines. I grab a hair tie and put my hair in a man bun. I took a couple of hits off the joint. I took deep inhales, watching clouds of smoke dance in the air. I put out the roach and then grabbed some black jeans on a pile of clean clothes I forgot to fold. I looked at the various photos on the walls of the sports events I completed and family members. There were various poster wrestles like John the Gator, Shadow of Kane, The lord of Mankind, warrior Hogan, The One You Can't See, and other legendary wrestling professionals. I had the post-war North American flag with a quote that said old North America is the best America in the multiverse, maybe even omniverses.

I fold up a dollar bill and then snort two lines of coke. Fuck man, Dave gave me the good shit!!! Whew, Jesus Christ, I'm riding the pale horse head first into the gates of oblivion. I said with my Corny wrestling voice. Man, I don't want to perform today. I looked at a poster that said Welcome to World Wide Wrestling Wars, the main event. I saw myself posing with my fist in a macho way; I noticed how my long gray hair needed to be dyed black, My handlebar mustache and long beard needed a trim, I got bulkier with a few years more cumbersome, I looked at my costume looked amazing I wore a long white fur coat, flashy jewelry, my pants were gold and white,  another photo underneath me was me smoking a cigar laugh with my thumbs down showing my golden grill and I had a big dumb smile, I had a glowing orange spray on cheap tan, but on the poster it made me look amazing. I wore a white and gold cowboy hat that had longhorn horns attached to it. I wear my leather boots and look at my opponents, a trio known as the Sons of the Vulfix Gravekeepers. They were colossal sumo size red necks back, water fuckers that wore creepy satanic goat masks. They looked like they were slashers from a horror flick; they wore bloody and dirty clothes that looked like they were butchers they had covered themselves. The leader had a black goat mask with a pentagram and the mark of the beast on it; they all had various satanic tattoos and runes.

The first brother, Judge Vermin, was wearing brown farmers' overalls, A shredded old brown hood covering the gray goat mask with golden eyes, and a crescent moon; it looked like he had an aura of flies always around him, He wore humanoid skeletal rings, He wore a noose of ropes around his neck, He had a large tattoo of a three head wolf on his chest with blades instead of teeth above it says I love my sweet father vulfix in gothic 13-century letters it looks like it's was made from his blood. He wields a very rusty and bloody shovel that looks like it's from the post-war era; he has a tattoo on his arm that says my father gives me strength. It is a three-wolve with dagger metal teeth. It has a third eye

The second brother, at the executioner's tomb, had long gray hair that touched his knees; his arms had long hair with various tattoos of dubov and other demonic sigils and pentagrams; on his neck, he had a pig and other animal intestines that were in the shape of a noose they left a stain of blood, He had blood stain goat mask that had blue eyes, His skin had carved runes that glowed an unholy dreadful purple just like judge vermin, but he had hues of ghastly green

The leader, Bloodra, was the tallest and bulkiest of the three. He stood hunched over his pale blue eyes, look filled with rage and Blasphemous thoughts. He wore black farmers' overalls with metal bands and demonic pacts. He wore a noose of chains around his neck and a large, spiky dog collar with green tips that looked poisonous. I don't feel like fighting these three punks. Still, the money is worth it, and I can finally go pro in leave this shit hole town and live on that lovely California island, Beautiful babes of la; I want to go surfing in long beach, Way better drugs, and more matches it's been my American dream.

My radio turned on out of the blue. It made me jump down near my boots. Hello, this is your humble, honest host from our black pearl of pure Michigan, Mr. MorningStar.I have a piece of excellent news: star James Earl Pale, aka Mr.Pale, a local gym owner of the black bottom bear who has been wrestling for years, finally got an ample shot opportunity that he has been waiting for years, training with no performance-enhancing drugs just pure diet and dedication he has become an idol and local legend will be put to the test for his first appearance in the world vast wrestling wars or what I like to call it WWWW!  Man, this gets my blood boiling in passion because we are having an uprising with his opponents. It is the trio of the sons of Vulfix Grave Keepers, a pro wrestling group that has been undefeated for six years. Will Mr.Showtime himself be the one who defeats them to become the next Warlord of worldwide wrestling, or will he fall to the darkness and chaos of the dark brothers in Sons of Vulfix, the god of pain Himself? The grave keepers will fight Mr. Pale for his life and career. They will fight hell in the cell; ladders, Tables, chairs, and melee weapons are also available. This will be a match for ages, a battle of dark versus light, old versus new, a struggle that will demonstrate the power of brute strength.

I walk up to turn it off, then walk into the bathroom

I look at the three long scars on my left eye from my first fight with this wrestler's red shadow claw. Man, he did a fucking number on me with that blow. Still, at least I tricked gullible chicks into believing I fought a polar grizzly when Red Shadow Claw knocked me out and used his razor claw blade to slice my left eye. I wash my face, looking at my old green eyes. Man, I grab the black hair dye that covers my hair and step in the shower, wash up, and dye my hair. I shaved my hairy chest, Trimmed down my facial hair, Used my deodorant brand Black Bear Claw, Brushed my teeth, and put on a band tee that said earthwork let this river flow. On the back, there's a photo of me meeting the band with a coke-out smile. My eyes look like one of the Japanese cartoons. I was younger, and my tattoos of various old gods of strength seemed fresh.

Fuck where is my fucking cigs? I have to clear my head.

I walk back into my room. I see my cigs on the TV stand and then pick up the pack Grim smokes; it had a logo of a skeleton wearing a classic mobster al Capone suit; he was sitting in the position like he was going to give a lecture while smoking a black cigarette; the skeleton had black bones, red tie with purple polka dots, He has a Tommy gun in one hand. On the other hand, he is holding an enormous cigar; the eyes of the skeleton look like red diamonds. You beautiful fucks, omg, I might have to go back to the black pearl gas station. I might have to get more packs and catch up with Dale Gold's grand adventures, and I will probably Catch my drinking buddy further, white.

I pull out the long cigarette and put it to my lips; I take deep inhales as I look up to my white ceiling That has various wild game trophies I bought from a local hunter named Craven; my favorite was a massive black boar was the jewels of the crown in my home.

I walk in through my hallways and see my powerlifting and sports trophies. I grab my gold shades. I grabbed my gym as a photo dropped.

After winning the first Olympic wrestling championship, I was with my family and friends. I smiled as I looked at that photo because I was young and won my first biggest challenge. I still have those golden medals. I picked up the photo, folded it, and put it in my wallet. Before I leave, I walk over to my TV, turn it off, and then turn off the lights in my home.

I step on my welcome mat that says fuck you pay me now in bold 90s metal font style. I walk down the hill to go to my white pickup truck, which was vintage from the post-war era. I check my watch. It's 10.pm .fuck!!!! I better start heading out for this shit of a Match. I drive down the town of black creek as I turn on the radio. Howdy, it's you, humble host, Mr. Morning Star. We are back with some more news. Have you heard that Mayor Danny Greyward has stepped down as mayor to become the vice president of the Universal United States of Americas? He will be giving his old position to his 3rd son. Jonnie S Greyward, who has a son and a wife, is a man of science who created the Greyward Tech Department of Research and Development. His son has big shoes he can fill because he has stepped out of his father's legacy to be a beacon for humanity.

Blah blah shut the fuck, you are bootlicking cunt said as I turned off the channel, then took out a flask from my glove department in my car; my drinking buddy dale gold gave it to me. He told me he got it from a more solid he healed in the medical bay during the war. I could feel the potent moonshine hit my chest and burn. It felt like a professional boxer set his gloves on fire and then started punching me with the speed of light. I look in the rearview mirror at my bloodshot red eyes and pull up my shades.

I started chain smoking until I reached the big city of New Motown. I Saw a large holographic project of me and the sons of the grave keepers of Vulfix. I saw a projection of smoke tech new weapons and cybernetic weapon enhancement chips. There was dancing, barely clothed strippers that had eyes of pure lust and sexual pleasure; there was a holographic ad for promoting a movie called They Came from Sea. Drive up to the security checkpoint, two gray stone soldiers in massive hulking metal frame armor were armed from head to toe with various smoke tech weapons and another tech.

I gave them ID. Then, one of the Motown police had a marker and the main event poster. I could see the eagerness in his eyes. He was a fan, so I smiled at him. As I signed the poster, he returned to his post like he won the lottery.his joy was so fucking annoying. I swear on everything; I felt like I wanted to puke.

I rolled my eyes. What a fucking loser, I thought as I drove past the entry point to the massive city of new Motown. It was such a beautiful city; I couldn't lie; I miss the old Detroit, but this was a good change for the town. The environment was eco-friendly and advanced; I saw massive mega-corporations resembling towers of pure greed. I thought as I drove past Smoke Tech, Graystone, Greywardtech, bio Lex Corp, and various other corporations. I saw the sky have heavy traffic from new flying cars using solar energy. They made my truck look like a vintage hunk of metal junk on wheels. I drove deep into the city. Driving past little Yokohama, a beautiful small Japanese town in Motown, I heard it's Iron Tiger Claw territory. This gang is known to have been hired as local security guards for Yokohama and merch during corporate wars. My plug supplier is a member of the Iron Tiger Claws. I never met him, but I hope I don't from the stories Dave told me. He's like a death merchant. He would send you the lands of Duhov at the drop of the hat. I swear on the good gods; he was a ruthless son of Bicth.

I roll my windows down and feel the sun's rays hit my skin. The winds blow a cool, light breeze. It felt terrific. The sun's warmth felt divine as if the gods of the sun were blessing our state. I drove until I reached the Sliver Shisa stadium. It was the biggest wrestling stadium in the world. Luckily, it was two hours away by car from black creek. I step into the back of the stadium, park my car, and then walk to my trailer to prepare for the match. You made it here, you fucking old dog. You want a little white before the game. This is pure shit, said Dave rubbing his hands together like he was a Bond villain; he wore a black and white jumpsuit, A lower golden grill, He had a buzz cut with a large x shaped scar

.yeah, but today I want the top self shit like I want to fucking see the throne of the other gods of light and order you got some powder that will unlock my chi and make put me in the zone for battle.

I gave Dave a thousand five hundred dollars from my gym bag; Then I watched Dave unlock his sliver skeletal luggage case; he pulls a bag of pink and purple powder it looked like a fucking easter egg; he put most of the cash in the luggage case in a hidden department pocket then put some money in his wallet. I have your great deal, and I should love the easter morning bag; it's like Coke, but it will last your whole match. It will give high of both shrooms and coke, but with a twist: since you are engaging in a battle, you will go into a state of berserk rage. This stuff, Mr.Showtime, will have to chase the dragons of zailton himself. This right here made the shit I gave you earlier seem like mid in that's my vintage corporation members-only coke.

Pulling out one of his prerolled weed cigars, he lit it with a skull like a liter. He took deep inhales as he puffed out big clouds of smoke. He was coughing the scent of the weed field of my trailer. He closed his luggage and then passed me his blunt.

I took a couple of hits and coughed hard. What the fuck are you smoking, bro? This must come from the gardens of Verdan themselves; this is that druid pack. I passed the blunt back to him, trying to catch my breath. I took a seat cause I felt somewhat lightheaded because I took a heavy hit. I rub my beard; how many lines should I snort for the match? I don't want to fucking od a mid-fight that would tarnish my legacy of being Mr Perfect Natural. I laugh as I watch Dave take deep inhales. He puts on red aviator shades. I recommend that a big boy like yourself take four thick lines that will last to match or snort them over time. I passed him a silver plate from the gym bag, and easter Sunday was the symbol for the year of the rabbit on it.

He pours half of the bag on the plate. He cut for thick lines of powder; He poured the rest into the bag, ensuring that he scraped all of the easter Sunday morning. He pulled out a hundred-dollar red bill and rolled it like a straw. I got money on you, old man; You better fuck those boys up. I took the plate, and the rolled-up red bill sat in my polar grizzly bear lazyGrandad armchair. I smirked before I snorted the Easter Sunday morning. I felt a magical rush through my body, a head rush that made me lean back into my chair because I was so dizzy. The world felt like it stopped spinning for a couple of moments. I rub my face and breathe deeply. Man, I'm a little wired; I'm not going to lie to you, Dave, you got this batch from the Iron Tiger claws. He looked at me and laughed.

No, brother, this came from the Morrigan daughters of the cosmic warg. They let me cook. I'm their high facility, but of course, at a high price that I won't divulge, or they would put my and my loved ones' heads on the plate. Because they are a cult that worships Wayaothteme, the cosmic warg, they are led by the rumored outer god Morrigan, the daughter of Odin, and Wayaothteme, the cosmic warg. From their great battle, the blood of Odin, the crow father, and rage fused with Wayaothteme, the cosmic warg blood, and rage became the physical manifest of the god's wrath. Another aspect here is the herald of Morgen. Dave Jamesport said that Lightwood is Morrigan's physical gang leader and pawn.

Yo, pour me a drink of that moonshine on the counter. I want to take toast on your impending match with those sicko bastard backwater scumbags or with take a nose dive in our career in you make me lose ten thousand dollars on this match. I pray to the gods of victory that you win for me and your old dog. He firmly shakes my hand with the grip of a warrior. Just because he is petite and skinny doesn't mean he is weak and a sheep. I saw the glow purple and gold of his cybernetic Hercules trojan horse omega frame, hidden exoskeleton, and hidden cyber muscle from the rival of smoke tech, Bio Rain, a company that works biological cyberware, bio drugs, Biology warfare, and other horror movies mad fucking scientific evil shadow government I thought as he walks out he waves his hand I felt for a moment he hands ten hands and sixty fingers I was wondering if I was hallucinating from the easter Sunday, but I shrug it off. I walk into the dressing room of my trailer. I put on my long pink fox mink; my golden brass knuckles dug into my hands as I shouted fuckkkkkk, that shit never gets fucking old my hands glow blue and then blend with my flesh.

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