Post by capello on Jun 2, 2024 10:02:32 GMT -5
The confessional booth was dim, the air heavy with the scent of incense. The priest could barely make out the outline of the penitent through the small screen. She began speaking in a low, trembling voice.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been... a long time since my last confession."
"Go on, my child," the priest encouraged, sensing her hesitation.
"I have lied, Father," she admitted. "Small lies at first, to friends and family. Then they grew, until my whole life was a web of deceit."
"Lies can be forgiven," he said gently. "What else troubles you?"
"I have betrayed trust," she continued, her voice growing firmer. "Not in small ways, but in ways that have changed lives. I've betrayed my colleagues, sabotaged their careers, and manipulated outcomes for my own gain. I created injuries, Father, real injuries that ended dreams."
"Sabotage and betrayal are grave sins," the priest replied, his concern deepening. "But if you truly repent, there is still hope for your soul."
The woman paused, a chilling silence filling the booth. "I have hurt people, Father. Not just emotionally, but physically. I used my skills not to entertain, but to harm. I've sent opponents to the hospital, ended their careers, and all for my own amusement and advancement."
The priest's heart quickened, but he kept his voice steady. "Violence, especially premeditated, is a dark path, my child. But redemption is possible if your heart seeks it."
A soft, almost imperceptible laugh came from the other side. "Repentance... yes, I’ve thought about that. But the truth is, Father, I don't feel remorse. Not for the lies, the betrayals, or the pain I've caused. They were all part of my journey, necessary steps in my awakening."
"Awakening?" The priest's voice wavered for the first time.
"Yes, Father," she whispered, her tone cold and detached. "I follow a path of power, one that doesn't seek forgiveness or redemption. My sins are not mistakes; they are offerings."
The priest felt a chill run down his spine. "What do you mean? What path are you talking about?"
"The left-hand path, Father. The path where I embrace the darkness within and use it to shape my reality. Confession isn’t for seeking absolution; it’s for savoring my deeds, recounting them as one might recall fond memories."
The priest's breath caught in his throat. "You must seek help. This... this path leads only to damnation."
"Perhaps," she said, almost cheerfully. "But it's a damnation I've chosen. And in it, I find my true self."
There was a long pause. The priest opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. When he finally spoke, his voice was weak. "If you feel no remorse and seek no forgiveness, why come to confession at all? Why tonight?"
The silence stretched, and then she spoke with a chilling calm. "Because, Father, tonight is a special night. A night where my actions carry more weight. Your church, your faith, they hold power, and by confessing here, in this sacred place, I taint it. I wanted to see the fear in your eyes, hear the tremble in your voice. You are my witness, my unwilling participant in a ritual of my own making."
The priest's hands shook as he clutched his rosary tighter. "You cannot desecrate this holy place with your darkness."
"Too late, Father," she whispered. "The darkness is already here, and it’s hungry."
She rose, and for a moment, her shadow loomed large and menacing against the screen. Then she was gone, leaving the priest alone in the booth, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. He remained, clutching his rosary, praying for the strength to face the darkness that had just whispered its way into his soul.
The night air was cool against Alessia Capello’s face as she sped down the highway on her motorcycle. The rumble of the engine was a soothing counterpoint to the chaos of her thoughts. She relished the sensation of power and freedom, her dark hair streaming behind her like a shadow. As she weaved through traffic, her mind drifted to the upcoming event that had consumed her thoughts for weeks: her debut match.
The arena lights, the roaring crowd, the scent of sweat and adrenaline—Alessia could already feel the electricity of the moment. But what excited her most was not the spectacle, but the opportunity it presented. A battle royale, where she would face nine other competitors, each one a stepping stone on her path of power.
Alessia’s lips curled into a smile as she envisioned the carnage. Each opponent was an offering, each scream of pain a tribute. She had trained relentlessly for this, honing her body into a weapon of brute force and precision. The thought of their bodies breaking under her strength, the sound of bones snapping, and the sight of blood spilling drove her forward, a sick satisfaction bubbling up from within.
She remembered the looks of admiration mixed with fear in the eyes of her trainers and fellow wrestlers. They saw her as a powerhouse, an unstoppable force. They didn’t know the depths of her ambition, the dark rituals she performed in secret, the whispered invocations to ancient powers that fueled her strength.
As she leaned into a sharp turn, Alessia’s thoughts lingered on the moment she would step into the ring. The spotlight would be on her, the crowd’s anticipation a palpable force. Each move, each strike, would be a calculated act of dominance. She had studied her opponents meticulously, learning their weaknesses, planning their downfalls. There was no room for mercy in her heart, only the cold, calculated hunger for victory and the dark satisfaction of seeing her adversaries fall.
The highway stretched out before her like an endless black ribbon, and Alessia felt a surge of exhilaration. Tonight’s confession had been a ritual of its own, a declaration of her intent. The priest’s fear had been delicious, a foretaste of the terror she would invoke in the ring.
Alessia’s eyes glittered in the darkness as she imagined the scene: bodies sprawled across the mat, the crowd in a frenzy, and her standing victorious amidst the chaos. Each fallen wrestler would be a testament to her power, each cry of pain a melody that resonated with the dark forces she served.
As she roared toward her destination, the arena looming in the distance, Alessia felt a deep sense of fulfillment. She was not just a wrestler; she was a force of nature, a harbinger of pain and power. The darkness within her was insatiable, and the upcoming match was a feast she eagerly anticipated.
Approaching a sharp curve in the road, she saw a sign warning of the danger ahead. But to Alessia, danger was not a deterrent—it was an invitation. With a wicked grin, she leaned her body into the turn, pushing the limits of her bike and her own capabilities.
The roar of the engine echoed in her ears as she accelerated into the curve, pushing the boundaries of control. For a fleeting moment, her heart pounded with exhilaration as she danced on the edge of disaster. But to Alessia, the thrill of danger was intoxicating, a rush that fueled her darkest desires.
With a reckless disregard for her own safety, Alessia leaned even further into the curve, defying gravity as she navigated the treacherous turn with ease. The wind whipped through her hair, and a manic laughter escaped her lips as she embraced the chaos of the moment.
For her, there were no rules, no limits—only the pursuit of power and the thrill of the ride. As she emerged from the curve unscathed, a triumphant smirk graced her lips. In that moment, she felt invincible, untouchable—a force of nature to be reckoned with.
With a final twist of the throttle, she accelerated into the night, her destination clear. The debut match was not just a fight—it was an offering, a ritual of blood and bone that would cement her place in the pantheon of darkness. Alessia Capello was ready, and she would not be denied.
Alessia’s presence loomed large in the abandoned church, the flickering candles casting eerie shadows on the crumbling walls as she stood before the camera, her figure silhouetted against the dim light. With a sense of dark purpose, she began to speak, her voice carrying through the desolate space with a chilling intensity.
“Ego sum salvator meus,” she declared, her words echoing off the ancient stone walls. “I am my own savior.”
Alessia’s eyes carry a dark gleam to them the fierce intensity of her words cutting through the darkness of the long abandoned place of reflection.
“You see, being your own savior isn’t just a declaration of power,” she explained, her voice resonating through the empty halls of the abandoned church. “It’s a philosophy, a way of life. It’s about embracing the darkness within and harnessing it for your own ends.”
“Being your own savior means taking control of your destiny,” she declared, her voice ringing with conviction. “It means facing your fears, embracing your desires, and forging your own path, no matter the cost.”
“And what is that cost…im sure you’ve heard of deals for your soul….No….no we reject that! Not when we have others to offer up first..”
Behind her 9 candles flare to life each marked with a name:
Cox.
Sabrina.
Smyles.
Argyros.
Hendricks
Anderson.
Saynt.
Gomez.
“In the upcoming battle royale, I will face nine souls,” she continued, her voice low and menacing. “Nine souls to be sacrificed on the altar of my ambition. Nine souls to feed the flames of my power and ensure my victory.”
Each candle is snuffed out as an inferno erupts behind them revealing a tapestry being licked by the flames. Its image is that of Clyde Newton.
“You see, there’s a reason why I’ve come to this new battleground,” she began, her words echoing across the pews. “It’s not for the glory, the fame, or the accolades. No, it’s for one purpose, and one purpose only: to finally end Clyde Newton.”
She would spit on the ground in utter contempt as the fabric begins to slowly burn.
“For too long, Clyde Newton has been a thorn in my side,” she continued, her voice growing louder with each word. “That’s not to say he has been an obstacle…..ask him about FTW!”
“As for Alexandra Calaway,” she said dismissively, her voice dripping with disdain, “She’s merely a footnote in my story. A gnat who the powers that be must want me to destroy..so be it….”
Alessia’s gaze pierced through the camera, her words carrying a potent mixture of threat and challenge she planned to act out.
“And to my so called…..competition,” she began, her voice oozing with sarcasm. “I offer you this: face your fears head-on. Embrace the inevitability of your defeat and fail with pride. For in the end, that is your only option…you might as well look good under my boot”
Alessia’s words hung heavy in the air, a challenge to her opponents to confront their own mortality and accept their fate with dignity.
“And so,” she concluded, her voice a low, menacing growl. “On behalf of the darkness that fuels my power and drives my ambition, I bid you farewell. May your journey be swift and your defeat swifter, for in the end, there can be only one and it will be me.”
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been... a long time since my last confession."
"Go on, my child," the priest encouraged, sensing her hesitation.
"I have lied, Father," she admitted. "Small lies at first, to friends and family. Then they grew, until my whole life was a web of deceit."
"Lies can be forgiven," he said gently. "What else troubles you?"
"I have betrayed trust," she continued, her voice growing firmer. "Not in small ways, but in ways that have changed lives. I've betrayed my colleagues, sabotaged their careers, and manipulated outcomes for my own gain. I created injuries, Father, real injuries that ended dreams."
"Sabotage and betrayal are grave sins," the priest replied, his concern deepening. "But if you truly repent, there is still hope for your soul."
The woman paused, a chilling silence filling the booth. "I have hurt people, Father. Not just emotionally, but physically. I used my skills not to entertain, but to harm. I've sent opponents to the hospital, ended their careers, and all for my own amusement and advancement."
The priest's heart quickened, but he kept his voice steady. "Violence, especially premeditated, is a dark path, my child. But redemption is possible if your heart seeks it."
A soft, almost imperceptible laugh came from the other side. "Repentance... yes, I’ve thought about that. But the truth is, Father, I don't feel remorse. Not for the lies, the betrayals, or the pain I've caused. They were all part of my journey, necessary steps in my awakening."
"Awakening?" The priest's voice wavered for the first time.
"Yes, Father," she whispered, her tone cold and detached. "I follow a path of power, one that doesn't seek forgiveness or redemption. My sins are not mistakes; they are offerings."
The priest felt a chill run down his spine. "What do you mean? What path are you talking about?"
"The left-hand path, Father. The path where I embrace the darkness within and use it to shape my reality. Confession isn’t for seeking absolution; it’s for savoring my deeds, recounting them as one might recall fond memories."
The priest's breath caught in his throat. "You must seek help. This... this path leads only to damnation."
"Perhaps," she said, almost cheerfully. "But it's a damnation I've chosen. And in it, I find my true self."
There was a long pause. The priest opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. When he finally spoke, his voice was weak. "If you feel no remorse and seek no forgiveness, why come to confession at all? Why tonight?"
The silence stretched, and then she spoke with a chilling calm. "Because, Father, tonight is a special night. A night where my actions carry more weight. Your church, your faith, they hold power, and by confessing here, in this sacred place, I taint it. I wanted to see the fear in your eyes, hear the tremble in your voice. You are my witness, my unwilling participant in a ritual of my own making."
The priest's hands shook as he clutched his rosary tighter. "You cannot desecrate this holy place with your darkness."
"Too late, Father," she whispered. "The darkness is already here, and it’s hungry."
She rose, and for a moment, her shadow loomed large and menacing against the screen. Then she was gone, leaving the priest alone in the booth, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. He remained, clutching his rosary, praying for the strength to face the darkness that had just whispered its way into his soul.
The night air was cool against Alessia Capello’s face as she sped down the highway on her motorcycle. The rumble of the engine was a soothing counterpoint to the chaos of her thoughts. She relished the sensation of power and freedom, her dark hair streaming behind her like a shadow. As she weaved through traffic, her mind drifted to the upcoming event that had consumed her thoughts for weeks: her debut match.
The arena lights, the roaring crowd, the scent of sweat and adrenaline—Alessia could already feel the electricity of the moment. But what excited her most was not the spectacle, but the opportunity it presented. A battle royale, where she would face nine other competitors, each one a stepping stone on her path of power.
Alessia’s lips curled into a smile as she envisioned the carnage. Each opponent was an offering, each scream of pain a tribute. She had trained relentlessly for this, honing her body into a weapon of brute force and precision. The thought of their bodies breaking under her strength, the sound of bones snapping, and the sight of blood spilling drove her forward, a sick satisfaction bubbling up from within.
She remembered the looks of admiration mixed with fear in the eyes of her trainers and fellow wrestlers. They saw her as a powerhouse, an unstoppable force. They didn’t know the depths of her ambition, the dark rituals she performed in secret, the whispered invocations to ancient powers that fueled her strength.
As she leaned into a sharp turn, Alessia’s thoughts lingered on the moment she would step into the ring. The spotlight would be on her, the crowd’s anticipation a palpable force. Each move, each strike, would be a calculated act of dominance. She had studied her opponents meticulously, learning their weaknesses, planning their downfalls. There was no room for mercy in her heart, only the cold, calculated hunger for victory and the dark satisfaction of seeing her adversaries fall.
The highway stretched out before her like an endless black ribbon, and Alessia felt a surge of exhilaration. Tonight’s confession had been a ritual of its own, a declaration of her intent. The priest’s fear had been delicious, a foretaste of the terror she would invoke in the ring.
Alessia’s eyes glittered in the darkness as she imagined the scene: bodies sprawled across the mat, the crowd in a frenzy, and her standing victorious amidst the chaos. Each fallen wrestler would be a testament to her power, each cry of pain a melody that resonated with the dark forces she served.
As she roared toward her destination, the arena looming in the distance, Alessia felt a deep sense of fulfillment. She was not just a wrestler; she was a force of nature, a harbinger of pain and power. The darkness within her was insatiable, and the upcoming match was a feast she eagerly anticipated.
Approaching a sharp curve in the road, she saw a sign warning of the danger ahead. But to Alessia, danger was not a deterrent—it was an invitation. With a wicked grin, she leaned her body into the turn, pushing the limits of her bike and her own capabilities.
The roar of the engine echoed in her ears as she accelerated into the curve, pushing the boundaries of control. For a fleeting moment, her heart pounded with exhilaration as she danced on the edge of disaster. But to Alessia, the thrill of danger was intoxicating, a rush that fueled her darkest desires.
With a reckless disregard for her own safety, Alessia leaned even further into the curve, defying gravity as she navigated the treacherous turn with ease. The wind whipped through her hair, and a manic laughter escaped her lips as she embraced the chaos of the moment.
For her, there were no rules, no limits—only the pursuit of power and the thrill of the ride. As she emerged from the curve unscathed, a triumphant smirk graced her lips. In that moment, she felt invincible, untouchable—a force of nature to be reckoned with.
With a final twist of the throttle, she accelerated into the night, her destination clear. The debut match was not just a fight—it was an offering, a ritual of blood and bone that would cement her place in the pantheon of darkness. Alessia Capello was ready, and she would not be denied.
Alessia’s presence loomed large in the abandoned church, the flickering candles casting eerie shadows on the crumbling walls as she stood before the camera, her figure silhouetted against the dim light. With a sense of dark purpose, she began to speak, her voice carrying through the desolate space with a chilling intensity.
“Ego sum salvator meus,” she declared, her words echoing off the ancient stone walls. “I am my own savior.”
Alessia’s eyes carry a dark gleam to them the fierce intensity of her words cutting through the darkness of the long abandoned place of reflection.
“You see, being your own savior isn’t just a declaration of power,” she explained, her voice resonating through the empty halls of the abandoned church. “It’s a philosophy, a way of life. It’s about embracing the darkness within and harnessing it for your own ends.”
“Being your own savior means taking control of your destiny,” she declared, her voice ringing with conviction. “It means facing your fears, embracing your desires, and forging your own path, no matter the cost.”
“And what is that cost…im sure you’ve heard of deals for your soul….No….no we reject that! Not when we have others to offer up first..”
Behind her 9 candles flare to life each marked with a name:
Cox.
Sabrina.
Smyles.
Argyros.
Hendricks
Anderson.
Saynt.
Gomez.
“In the upcoming battle royale, I will face nine souls,” she continued, her voice low and menacing. “Nine souls to be sacrificed on the altar of my ambition. Nine souls to feed the flames of my power and ensure my victory.”
Each candle is snuffed out as an inferno erupts behind them revealing a tapestry being licked by the flames. Its image is that of Clyde Newton.
“You see, there’s a reason why I’ve come to this new battleground,” she began, her words echoing across the pews. “It’s not for the glory, the fame, or the accolades. No, it’s for one purpose, and one purpose only: to finally end Clyde Newton.”
She would spit on the ground in utter contempt as the fabric begins to slowly burn.
“For too long, Clyde Newton has been a thorn in my side,” she continued, her voice growing louder with each word. “That’s not to say he has been an obstacle…..ask him about FTW!”
“As for Alexandra Calaway,” she said dismissively, her voice dripping with disdain, “She’s merely a footnote in my story. A gnat who the powers that be must want me to destroy..so be it….”
Alessia’s gaze pierced through the camera, her words carrying a potent mixture of threat and challenge she planned to act out.
“And to my so called…..competition,” she began, her voice oozing with sarcasm. “I offer you this: face your fears head-on. Embrace the inevitability of your defeat and fail with pride. For in the end, that is your only option…you might as well look good under my boot”
Alessia’s words hung heavy in the air, a challenge to her opponents to confront their own mortality and accept their fate with dignity.
“And so,” she concluded, her voice a low, menacing growl. “On behalf of the darkness that fuels my power and drives my ambition, I bid you farewell. May your journey be swift and your defeat swifter, for in the end, there can be only one and it will be me.”