As the gloom departed and dim light crept onto the screen, an eerie choral singing began. It was only a whisper, the faintest suggestion of unseen children harmonizing akin to Undertaker’s “druid song”, but utterly chilling to hear. As the scene began to develop, these children were nowhere to be found – but The Undertaker was clear for all to see.



The Phenom had his back to the screen. He wore his signature trench coat and hat, long hair flowing about his shoulders, and he did not move. It was almost as though he did not know anybody was watching.


“Judge… Jury… Executioner.”[/purple]

The words were muttered, barely audible, Undertaker still entranced by the videos playing out in front of him. He was distant, detached from the world to which he would have to return if he were to defeat Tyler Breeze on Warfare.


“For eighteen years I have walked among the condemned, watching them as one by one they entered the monument of death and destruction that man has named My Yard. I have walked their final path at their side… and one by one I have laid them all to rest. Judge… Jury… Executioner.”

Turning, he drew his gaze away from the flickering videos and to the shrine. He advanced on it slowly, the cameras moving with him. Still with his back to the screen, he advanced on the wall and ran fingers tenderly across the carefully-clipped articles and features he had collected across the years.




“The Judge calls to account any man who would defy the rule of law. Those who seek to pervert and manipulate their environment to suit pride and ambition… are one by one summoned to judgment. Such is the way that balance is maintained.”[/purple]

Undertaker picked a particular clipping from the wall and lifted it away. He held it up to his face and studied it closely, the merest flicker of a smile twisting across his pale, lifeless lips.


“All who are called to judgment believe that they are the architect of their own summons. They will rationalise their fate… they will believe that it is a part of their own design. Some would even dare to say that they WANTED an opportunity to step inside My Yard. But the fact of the matter is laid plain before me… when I look into the eyes of my accused and I see not pride… not ambition… and not confidence. In that moment… as the cell is lowered and a man stands across my yard from the Reaper of Souls… it is fear alone that I see. It is fear… and regret… that fester within the soul of the condemned. Because they know that they have staked EVERYTHING for a chance at immortality. And they know that they have failed.”

That certainly seemed to be the message. Undertaker raised his head now for the first time and those ice-white, piercing, lifeless eyes burned out and through the heart of every man, woman and child in the arena. His gaze had lost none of its potency.


“The higher a man can climb upon the bodies of those he has betrayed… and the higher he reaches for his immortality… so heightens the fall from grace when he confronts The Undertaker. I have taken men at the apex of their career and I have cast them down from the height of their triumph. So it has been these eighteen years… and so will it be forever.” “The Executioner resides within the darkest corner of my soul. It is necessary to carry out the sentence that awaits the condemned. One… by one… each and every soul that has been called to account within this cell has felt the cold grip of death upon them. They have all been marked and attainted by the suffering that they endured at the hands of the Executioner, and every one of them has been humbled by the experience. From twelve such trials of blood… only four men who have faced me have emerged and still compete within this industry. All of the rest have given way to the scale of brutality that consumes them as surely as flame. Some… have withdrawn utterly into the abyss.”



The cameras faded back into darkness and the video closed on an image of Undertaker, still lost in his memories.

SCENE TWO
THE ACCUSED

The sold-out capacity crowd came unglued. Lights flickered around the cell and an eerie music played. But it did not lower, not yet. Not until the gladiators had entered the arena.

Darkness.

BONG!

Shrieks of excitement went up all around as a pale blue pervaded all, choking the life and warmth out of the arena.

BONG!

A gloom settled upon the stage, thousands of pairs of eyes straining to make out the silhouette of The Phenom as he arrived.

BONG!

And there he was! Advancing slowly onto the ramp came The Undertaker, played in by his iconic organ music.

The Phenom was unmoved by theatrical heralding and similarly disinterested in the ear-splitting ovation and support that the crowd were giving him. He looked neither left nor right, eyes only for his yard and the battle to come, as he paced his way toward the ring. This was a different beast to the one from yesterday’s video. This was a wild animal, snarling, cold eyes driven to butcher the prey that would be placed before him. This was an Undertaker fully seized of the magnitude of the moment that awaited him.

He stepped into the ring after bringing up the lights with a wave of his hands, and as he did so his eyes. He advanced, trying not to appear uncomfortable, though in truth he was grateful and relieved when Undertaker held out his bandaged, gloved hand for the microphone. The crowd cheered again, thrilled that this one would not go down without The Deadman addressing his enemy directly, and attempted to settle down to allow him to speak.



When something at least vaguely resembling silence was at last achieved, The Deadman raised the microphone to his mouth.


“I find it mystifying that after two decades of evidence to the contrary… there are still those who believe that they can step inside My Yard with me.., and endure. Tyler Breeze… make no mistake about it: the hour of your judgment has come.”

That statement alone generated another pop, forcing Undertaker to stall while the crowd settled.


“You have to realise your own limitations, and that is something of which Tyler Breeze has proven time and time again that he is incapable. And so, tonight, it falls to me to lay those limitations bare before the world. Before tonight is over, Tyler will be in NO doubt about the amount of pain his body can endure… because I will take him far beyond it. I know that you are watching, Tyler and I know that you are afraid. But fear not. Look into my eyes" (The camera nearest Undertaker zoomed in as he looked directly at it, the soulless pits of ice in his eye sockets threatening a distant and other-worldly malice. His next words were spoken carefully and clearly, directly at Tyler.) “This is NOT a question of survival. It is simply a question of how much pain and suffering you are prepared to endure before you allow yourself to yield to your own destruction. This path upon which you have set yourself ends only in one place, Tyler, and deep within your soul you have always known that fact“

Undertaker paced the ring like a caged lion, warming to his sermon. He was growing in authority and confidence with every word, the judgment of the cell swaying above him, looming, menacing.




“ Tyler I will give you a demise worthy of stories. I will give you a demise that men will talk about for decades. And in the end… to be remembered is all that you have ever wanted. You want your name to live on, to echo into eternity like Shawn Michaels… like Mick Foley… like Triple H. And so it will. Because what each and every one of those men has in common is that they over-reached themselves and tried to make a name for themselves within My Yard. They each thought that they had what it took to put me down and one by one I have taken their careers, I have maimed them and I have left them a broken remnant of the warriors that once they were. THAT is the legacy that I will leave to you. THAT is the fate which awaits when you step inside the steel that is to be the tomb of a once-great career.”

Those final sentences had been furious, fast-paced and vitriolic. Undertaker paused to catch his breath and let calm wash back over him. A fire had been lit behind his eyes and now they reverted to an ice-cold void. His speech had even garnered a faint chant of “This is awesome!”, so rare was it to hear the Phenom speak for so long, unbroken. But this was no ordinary situation. When he next spoke, the Reaper of Souls was audibly much quieter, much more controlled. There was a chilling threat about the softness of his voice.


“Tyler Breeze… I call you to your judgment. I summon you to the battleground on which your guilt will be weighed and sentence is passed. And make no mistake about it… tonight you join the hall of the immortals. Tonight you join the list of those whose names I have etched, brick by fiery brick, into the very gates of Hell; men who believed that they held dominion over the grave… who thought that they had what it took to usurp the throne of The Undertaker. Tonight… I bury the Gorgeous One, Tyler Breeze… and I will truly become… The Last Outlaw. And
as for you, Tyler… you WILL…
Rest… In… Peeeeeace!!!!”

The crowd roared again, “Un-Der-Ta-Ker!” chants echoing thunderously around the arena. This was it. Show time. The Deadman turned and locked his eyes on the stage, waiting for Tyler to emerge.



And so, as Undertaker waited for chaos to be unleashed, the war for a generation, for a legacy, and for the future direction of pro wrestling was underway. Would Tyler Breeze prevail to validate himself as a truly top class of wrestling? Or would The Undertaker brush off yet another challenger and set his own foundations for a future run as World Champion and terroriser of a fresh new generation of young victims? The answer was coming, and soon, because at long last Warfare was upon us all.