He sits inside his apartment that's clean because he doesn't have it in his heart to call it his home. Dry blood stains the bottom of his fingernails, he runs his hands across his forehead feeling the 12 staples in his forehead. He sits knowing that a world title shots don't come often, he sits knowing at the age of 23 he blew any chance at becoming one of the youngest world heavyweight champions in the business, he sits knowing that at 5 years in the business he hasn't fulfilled his dreams, his aspirations and the expectations of those who said he would be a world champion in a major promotion by now.

What was there for him to do now? Where does he go from here? They say there's a thin line between winning and losing but against Darkness he saw that line getting thinner but not nonexistent. No one's unbeatable so why couldn't he beat him? He didn't want to look at himself in the mirror in fear of who he would see staring back at him, instead he turned on his television, hoping to just relax and finish the remainder of the night somewhat entertained.

Are you feeling depressed? Lonely? Do you feel like that things would be easier if you weren't around?

DeSean: Jesus Christ

He said to himself, he changed the channel.

There was a time in my life when I felt like a loser

*click*

Soy un perdedor, I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me?

DeSean: Fuck it, off to bed.

He stands up and heads to his room, it's only a feet few away but with the way he's feeling right now. The room looks like it's miles away, slowly he walks across shamefully every so slowly trying to not think about his loss but losing that battle as well. They say Technical Perfection vs the NHFC was about respect or lack thereof but it was becoming deeper than respect, DeSean didn't respect them anymore. He lost respect for them a long time ago no this was deeper than respect, this was about right and wrong, doing the right thing and survival. TCW can't survive with the NHFC still in tact, with Darkness as their world champion, with Freya as their Bleeder champion and Dante hanging around the main event scene. Dante in particular was a person he didn't like at all, it went back to the days of Infinity and how Dante turned his back on all of them, they extended their hand as a sign of respect and not only did he not accept their invitation, he created a rival group designed to take them out. His plan damn near worked, Hammer retired, Highone settled down, got married and had a daughter with the love of his life. Hardy was somewhere more than likely with some ring rat, Shadow disappeared but the last time he checked S-Mart seemed unafffected by the recession, TI and Joyride he wasn't sure where either guy is. Damn what a difference 2 1/2 years makes, he was the only member of Infinity left and it's weird how he's changed over the years. Not physically but mentally as well, he's looked back at some of the things he's done and can't believe that he actually did them, he's mellowed out a lot since then. Gone are the late nights in a club, drinking, multiple women he would take home. Now after a match win, lose or draw he goes back to his apartment only going out on rare occassions in which he didn't have to wrestle, instead of looking for a girlfriend, he was just looking for a friend. Speaking of which, he told himself he was going to visit June in the hospital not even knowing if she really wanted him there but he had to see her, just to let her know things would be ok. As he sat on the edge of the bed, he felt his phone vibrate, without looking at it he knew it was either Deng or Stern calling him. Sighing, he hesitated before he answered the phone.

DeSean: Hello?

Deng: DeSean, it's Deng.

DeSean: Oh yea, hey look I'm sorry about tonight.

Deng: You did a hell of a job tonight, don't worry about it. I just wanted to call you about your next opponent.

DeSean: Ok who is it? Freya or Dante?

Deng: It's Dante but there's a catch. You're fighting for something or someone.

DeSean: Who would that be?

Deng: Your tag partner, you win Matt gets a stipulation of his choosing against Dante, you lose and well I'm sure you know.

DeSean: I get it. I lose and Dante gets his stipulation which I'm sure favors him.

Deng: Right

DeSean: Mr. Deng, I want you to know something. This match between me and Jason Dante isn't going to be a regular technical classic, we hate each other.

Deng: I don't care as long your match doesn't end in some no contest, double DQ finish. Go out there and have a good clean match.

DeSean: Fine, we'll have a good match and I promise it won't end in an DQ on my end at least.

Deng: Good to hear, I'll talk to ya later.

DeSean: OK, bye.

He close his cell phone and laid it on the end table next to his bed before rolling back over.

DeSean: It won't end on an DQ but I can't promise it'll be a clean match.

He told himself before closing his eyes and going to sleep, hoping that tomorrow will be better than yesterday.

His legs felt like they weighed tonnes and that every step his took with them consumed all his energy. The ground felt as if it was made out of quicksand, not giving him any chance to sprint away from the faceless terror that was stalking him in the way Michael Myers stalked Jamie Lee Curtis in Halloween. He tripped, yelled out in pain as the metal of the stairs bruised his skin. Once he reached the cold, hard concrete floor he stared up the stair case in abject horror.

Darkness there and nothing more.

Cursing and wiping old dust from his clothes, he got up and started to walk more calmly. He walked around the old warehouse, looking for a way out. Suddenly his skin felt as if it was crawling all over his body. He felt the glare of two red eyes boring their gaze into his head. He could almost see the man who had been following him grinning at him, laughing at his inability to do anything about his pursuer.

He turned around and stared at the eyes of the man who had been stalking him, he looked into the dark and saw the eyes.

The eyes had all the gleaming of a daemon's that is dreaming.

Slowly the face of the man who had hunted him, chased him, stalked him and acted as the predator to his prey. The mouth of that face formed a word...

...the name of his prey.

*****

Dante stared at his face in the mirror. Behind a veil of steam from the hot water that ran from the tap of his “own” bathroom in the cubicle or cell Deng had the twisted humor to refer to as a flat. He stared at the trails that his own dried blood had paved in his face. He couldn't help thinking that there was some small, intricate piece of art embedded into the way his blood had run down his face. The now brownish crimson made his face look like a painting by a madman.

“...a madman...” He said to no one but himself.

The blow hadn't been hard and had only given him a slight headache, but it had still made his blood flow from his brow, he had busted him open...He had made him bleed. Dante felt a surge of anger raise up in him.

“How dare you?”

The first time the question came it was quiet, full of the sense of not being able to believe it at all.

“How dare you!?!”

The second time a tone of anger replaced the lack of belief, he had dared to make him bleed!

“HOW THE FUCK DO YOU DARE!!??!!”

The third accusation was yelled at the mirror and almost made the very glass of the mirror tremble.

He reared back and threw a wild punch at the mirror, stopping short by mere millimeters. He stood there, his face stained by his own vitae, his fist a mere fraction of an inch from the glass surface of a mirror. He stared at his own reflection, for a few seconds a look of surprise floated over his face, only to be replaced by a wide, satisfied grin moments later.

Deep in his mind, something patted him on his back, told him that this was something he needed to do more often. He let the fist drop and then stared into the mirror surface. With a grin on his face, he looked into his own deep red eyes.

“How the fuck do you dare, Strikmore...how the hell...”

The shrill noise of his phone interrupted his thought process. Dante groaned and walked over to pic the phone up. For a few fleeting seconds he hoped beyond hope that he would hear the voice of his wife on the other end. The hop was dashed a few seconds later after the “Dante.” reply.

It was Deng, he had some plans for the next few shows...plans he felt he wanted to share with Dante. Plans that made the grin return to Dante's face. He hung up and stepped into the shower. As the warm water ran over his body, an idea surfaced in his mind, an idea that he actually cherished, an idea he could not wait to turn into a frightening reality.

Strikmore was out of his reach it seemed, at least until the PPV. But instead, Deng had given him the perfect weapon, the perfect reason to provoke that grin again. For some reason his mind filled with the sound of “Sympathy for the devil”. He weas certain that this plan would have been worthy of Bruce-666.

*****

“How the hell are you?!” He screamed at the top of his lungs at the gestalt that stalked him. As the figure walked out of the shadows, the perfect face looked as if it materialized as if out of a dark version of a Star Trek transporter. The face looked as if it had been cut out of a block of palest Italian marble. Set in this face of horrible perfection, eyes that looked like rubies were set. He staggered back as his hunter revealed himself.

“You don't know me?” The answer came in the form of a question.

“I know you.”

“Then what is my name?”

“...”

“WHAT IS MY NAME?”

“...”

“You know my name, don't you?”

“...”

“You do know that my name is Jason Dante, don't you...Desean?”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!”

Blackwell sat up in his bed, his face covered in sweat, his mind filled with confusion. He didn't fear Dante, nothing the pale freak did frightened him. He had never...

Then it dawned on him.

“Infinity”

The word was the key to this. Dante, Darkness and Freya had dismantled Infinity piece by piece. They had thrown both Hammer and Highone at Dante, Dante had shuddered but also had retained his title and more or less confined his former opponents to a life outside the federation. TI had faced him too. In the end, Dante seemed to be like a plague, you faced him...he won and you left.

He shook his head and tried to shake the cobwebs of his quick awakening.

“He's a human...just another wrestler...”

Dante was the inferior wrestler, Desean was his superior in all things in the ring.

“Just a wrestler, just a man...and men can be stretched, men can be beaten and men can be defeated...And Jason Dante is just a man.”

As the last words left his mouth, Desean almost jumped as a quiet, muffled laugh filled the room and his ears.

“YOU!”

The lights came on and across from Blackwell's bed Jason Dante sat, dressed for once in all black, making his complexion or lack thereof seem even more striking.

“Yes, me...the stuff your nightmares are made of Blackwell.”

Desean composed himself, collecting himself and the resolve and cockiness returned to his face.

“How the hell did you get in?”

“Deng is cheaper then a Polish whore, the locks can be opened with a simple screwdriver.”

“What do you want?”

Dante seemed to grin even wider at the asking of this question.

“Why, I want to save you of course.”

“Save me? Save me from what?”

“Save you from Strikmore and his fanatic devotion to screwing himself and all his associates with over of course.”

Desean stared at Dante with nothing but distrust and distaste in his eyes. Despite his distaste at the man on the other side of the room, he found himself intrigued.

“Go on...”

Across from him stood one of his arch-enemies, a man he had no respect for, his lips curled into a Cheshire cat like smile. DeSean could tell Dante was enjoying this, he wanted to leap out of his bed, dropkick Dante out the fucking window and end all of the bullshit that's been plaguing him recently but he didn't. No instead he stayed in his bed and decided to hear his opponent out, any asshole who has the balls to walk much less break into the home of one his arch-enemies just to talk, deserves some type of admiration.

DeSean: What is it? I see you standing in front of me with a shit eating grin on your face, so what is it your saving me from? Tell me Y2Cream?

Dante: Oh it's the inevitable Albino joke, it never gets old coming from you.

DeSean: Well I try milky, spit it out.

Dante: How did this feud between us start? Not us per say but between Technical Perfection and the New Hellfire Club? A feud between a tag team and a stable because of Matt's "devotion" more like his obsession of proving me wrong all this because I have no respect for him and with his speeches, you're not apart of this. I don't blame you, I know we came from different backgrounds.

DeSean: Obviously

Dante rolled his eyes at his opponent's side comment but continued anyway.

Dante: Look at you, look at what you're putting your body through is it really worth it?

DeSean: So what are you suggesting?

Dante: I know you're trying but sooner or later you'll turn on Matt, you two still have unfinished business but I'm not even asking you to do that. Just take a dive, call it the night. You've been through hell already. Just lose, what do you say?

There was silence for a couple of seconds as DeSean seemed to put some thought but Dante didn't know what DeSean was really thinking. It was dark so he couldn't tell what DeSean's facial expressions were showing was it contempt? hatred? A sly smile that DeSean was known for which usually meant you couldn't tell what he was thinking, he then heard chuckling which turned into a chilling laugh but then it stops.

DeSean: You think this is a fucking game? Do you? You must think this is some joke? This has nothing to do with Matt and you, my problem with Darkness is that the longer he holds those belts the more TCW suffers and that's been my feeling since day one. After everything we've been through, Infinity....all gone. This is deeper than you and Matt, this has nothing to do with you and Matt and everything to do with you and I. Let's face it, I've been waiting a long time to face you in a one on one match and I'm not going to blow my chance now.

Dante said nothng, he nodded his head as if he understood then turned and walked away.

"Just a man" DeSean thought to himself as he smiled and went back to sleep.

....................................

beep.....beep....beep....beep

No matter what state you're in, what country, continent the sound remained universal. That familiar sterile smell, DeSean hated the smell of hospitals as a matter of fact he hated hospitals period. They were always so fucking depressing, a bunch of sick people around, doctors and nurses always looking serious, with their clipboards in hand and stethoscopes around their necks. There's usually a sound of baby crying in the distance, while a family sits around in a lobby trying to maintain some optimism while there's a TV on in the background that no one's watching. While the signs were all in Chinese, he somehow figures out where the emergency room is. With his limited knowledge of the Chinese language, he asks the nurse sitting at the desk for the room number of a June Song. Thankfully the nurse doesn't recognize him as he rather not delay seeing June like he's done so far. As the nurse gives him the room number (rather easily to his surprise) he heads over there with the Art of War book she gave him, clutching it like it's his personal bible. He looked around a corner and there she was laying in her bed, eyes opened. He could see her through the window staring at the television just wondering what she was thinking. He took two steps forward but step backwards, he shook his head and turned around.

"You can't face her can you?" his negative side spoke to him.

"Shut up" he whispered softly to himself.

"If you can't face her, what makes you think you can beat Dante?" Mr. Negative asked him.

"Totally different" DeSean quickly fired back.

"How so? What are you afraid of DeSean? Is the potential look in her eye once she finds out that you lost?"

"No" he said in a very curt manner while quickly walking out of the hospital failing to block out the negative thoughts running throughout his mind.

"Will it be the look in her eye when she finds out you know who attacked her? The expression on her face when she finds out that you failed to stop them, that YOU failed to help TCW? That TCW officially has not faith in you? That you, yourself is a waste of talent, that as you take the walk of shame, that YOU, DeSean Blackwell is a complete and utter failure?"

He stopped walking and sat on a sidewalk while multiple thoughts are swirling throughout his mind muddled thoughts of his entire career start to come into fruition, multiple images in his mind fast forward and rewind until he can't take it anymore.

"DAMMIT JUST FUCKING STOP!"

He yelled out loud to himself some of the pedestrians on the street stared at him but quickly continued walking not knowing what the crazy American would do to them.

"Just stop" he told himself again while standing in the middle of the sidewalk. "I need to start thinking clearly, I can beat Dante, no I need to beat Dante. For Infinity, for TCW and for myself. I gotta take control of my life."

DeSean reached into his pocket and pulled out the craptacular phone that Deng gave them, he then dialed Deng's number after 2 rings, he answered.

DeSean: Mr. Deng I have an idea for my next match.

Normally he would brood, normally he would dive deep into his navel and gaze longingly at a death, and an end he would never get. For the last few years that had been his modus operandi. A confrontation would fill him with angst and the desire to cry his little emo heart out.

But for some reason...he didn't feel like doing that now. He felt like celebrating, he felt elated and he felt in charge again. As he walked past a window on his way away from the sad little apartment complex that Deng had the gall to call their home in china, he looked at his own reflection and stopped in amazement. For the first time in what seemed forever, his eyes glowed with that inner, baleful glare that he had grown accustomed to. His eyes reflected something that had happened deep inside him, something that he had thought he lost.

A grin spread on his face and slowly turned into a broad and vicious smile. Desean would be like a lamb at the slaughter, he wasn't even fighting for himself, he was fighting for his zealous buddy a match he could live with.

“Desean, I love it when you try to be wittier then me.” Dante said and he began to walk towards their “barracks” again. Suddenly he had a plan, suddenly he had hope.

Suddenly, the horns were back on his forehead.

*****

Little over an hour later, Dante found himself walking up to the front door of his humble abode. He walked in and in the hallway of the house, he found Galadd the werewolf that some, unfortunately his fellow were-kin included referred to as the oaf. The young “pup” seemed transfixed by something on the screen of his brand new laptop. Dante liked the big guy and walked up to him.

“Hey.”

Galadd looked up and squinted as his eyes got used to the light, as soon as he saw the albino he grinned.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, watching stuff on youtube.”

“I see. New laptop?” Dante asked, fearing the reply.

“Yeah, Darkness bought it for me.” Galadd replied, justifying Dante's fears.

“Did he now...that's nice of him.”

“Yeah, Galadd” replied. “He seems to be nicer and more...you know...cool now.”

Dante nodded as the feeling of being nauseous filled his mouth.

“Oh, yeah...that's...good.”

“Yeah. I think he thinks we all need to relax a bit, you know get comfortable and things like that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“That's...thats' good.”

“Yeah.” Galadd said and went back to watching some clip that caused the big half-wolf to howl with laughter.

Dante began to walk up the stairs, he felt dizzy and angry at once, he felt that he needed to do something but he didn't know what.

“Hey, Dante!” Galadd called out, probably waking half the house.

“Yeah.” Dante replied.

“I heard Desean asked for some special match or something like that from Mr. Deng.”

Dante's eyes narrowed.

“Did he?”

“That's what I heard Freya say.”

“Did she say what kind of match?”

“Nah, she just seems worried that he is after her belt.”

“Is she now...”

“Yeah, that's what I think at least.”

“Ok, thanks Galadd...” Dante said without getting any reply.

He walked up to his apartment, flung the door open and slammed it shut behind him. He sat down on his bed and tried to think.

This was hell, this was the beginning of the fucking end...something had to be...

He paused, the solution had been there all along, he had started implementing his plan before he even knew it was a plan, he realized what he had to do. Quickly he crossed the floor and flung a drawer open. He fished out a coin from the clutter. He held it up so that the reflection of the moon shone on it. He watched his own face on one side and Darkness' on the other.

He knew what to do now, he knew what had to be done. The plan was set, as with all huge important plans sacrifices had to be made...

...unfortunately for Desean Blackwell, he would be the first man on the altar.