“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” It was a woman’s voice and her smug tone rang familiar. The Wizard instinctively spun around, to face the commentator, but he found no one; the street was empty, besides a few pushers at the corner. The old man grimaced, ‘I should have expected as much.’
“Rosemary!” he roared at the top of his lungs, earning him the attention of the drug dealers who tossed him crooked expressions. “This is your magic, isn’t it?”
The woman appeared inches from his face, in a cloud of smoke that only he could see. Rosemary was ethereal, immaterial … like a ghost. Her treacherously beautiful hair flickered in the wind like a lively fire, as she stared him in the eyes, smirking.
“Oliver, dear, you couldn’t begin to comprehend my magic.”
“What is this? Why have you taken me here?”
“To play a game.”
“A game?! You think this is f—“
“Now, now, Wizard, don’t lose your temper. Take a look at your watch and tell me the time.”
His watch? But he wasn’t wearing a… and there it was, on his left wrist. It had appeared out of nowhere, as good as new. The device taunted him with its ticks as he pulled it in to read. The time was 11:11 PM. That night … the tragedy had taken place just after midnight. He still had time! But none of it was remotely plausible. Oliver furrowed his brow with frustration, before lifting his head to question the witch. But Rosemary was gone—wisped off in a gust of wind.
The night’s cool air embraced his statue-esque figure, as he stood in the middle of the street: alone and silent.
“...damnit.”
---
The Wizard had ascended a ladder in an alleyway off of Young & Bloor and was now scaling the rooftops of South City’s red light district. His Godmark was glowing quite fiercely, animating the passion he carried with each stride. ‘Save her,’ was set on repeat in his mind, calling out from every dark corner of his psyche. Although the possibility was slim, he was starting to come around to the impossible setting; he was starting to believe in Rosemary’s Game. If there was even the slightest chance that he could change that night, he had to hang onto it.
Puffing cigarette smoke into the air, Oliver lunged forward onto a building he knew quite well. His run had depressed to a walk, as he looked over the edge. There was an abandoned warehouse across the street. It was the same one he had found the Ripper in, just five months ago. And it was there, he would find Marion … and change her fate. He stepped out, preparing to vault himself toward his destination, when a cold skepticism hit him like a bullet-train. The Wizard stopped in his tracks.
There was a crack of lightning and a boom of the thunder from the clouds above. It started raining … again. The déjà vu was sickening.
“No, I won’t believe it,” the broken man whispered bitterly, “this place can’t be real. It’s just … a memory.”
It was then that the red-haired goddess returned to him. Her mischievous expression had changed to an oddly sympathetic one. Rosemary’s Ghost sat next to the old man. Her long legs dangled freely off the edge.
“No, Oliver. This world is real if want it to be. Maybe not the reality you know … but it can be that, and more. You see, the human brain is a remarkable instrument with boundless potential. If utilized correctly, it can forge reality, as the creator sees fit,” she paused, struggling to explain, “All the mind needs is a little push and that’s what I did for you.
“You can get your revenge, Wizard. Kill the Ripper … save Marion! You can change everything and start over.”
Oliver Nash looked to the concrete beneath his feet, near the edge of the building’s rooftop. He was quiet … contemplative.
“That power is yours; all you have to do is reach out and grab it.” Rosemary’s tone was soft and genuine. In truth, she had looked into the old man’s soul and saw his existence for what it was: a tortured one. His was a spirit on the fringe of death, with only its ancient values salvaging what it once was. Perhaps she could save him?
---
The Wizard’s eyebrows narrowed and quite suddenly he launched himself off the edge, into the air and above the buildings. He came crashing down hard on the warehouse roof with a ‘thud’. When he got to his feet, the former detective kept his ears attentive.
Oliver was quietly gauging his surroundings, when he heard a whimper. It had come from below, probably two floors down. “Let me go!” a woman protested. He recognized the voice. It was Marion. He didn’t wait another second. With all the might he could summon the man unleashed his Shocking First Bullet on the concrete below him; and he hammered his way through not one floor, but two!
Landing abruptly in a cloud of plywood, dust, smoke, and debris, Oliver’s entrance caught his nemesis off guard. The South City Ripper, with his exposed skeleton and gelatinous skin, accidentally lost his grip on the girl, who shuffled away from the beast. Awed, but relieved, she clung to Oliver Nash; and he could feel her racing heart beat pulse create a dialogue with his own. Her warm touch … he had forgotten what it felt like. Marion was in his arms again—
Crack!
Clearly, he was distracted by the moment, and he paid for it when he tasted the fist of the annoyed demonoid. The self-titled ‘Demogorge’ followed up with a parry of hits, and the girl yelped, agonized by the damage dealt on her lover. A conclusive hit with a little more ‘umph’ behind it slammed Nash into a wall. Blood trickled out of the fighter’s locked jaw and down his chin.
The Wizard simply smirked. Compared to Jackson Pride, the Ripper was an amateur. The old man lunged forward like lightning and caught his enemy unawares, grabbing him by the neck. It was apparent now, that Oliver had made up his mind. But the ritual wasn’t finished. Not yet. Rosemary took a deep breath and spoke; her voice dominating the Wizard’s senses.
“I see you’ve made your choice. But I’ve got one more question, before I go.”
Rosemary’s sentence had come at an odd time, while Oliver’s hands were wrapped around the neck of the South City Ripper, strangling the life right out of him. The beast gargled, defiant, but the Wizard’s grip was too strong. The scar—in the shape of a lightning bolt—glowed, a bright white, as his meridians pumped ki into his fingertips. He crushed the Ripper’s alien jugular with inhuman force.
Her voice boomed that infamous, defining question: “Friend or Foe?”
---
The question echoed through his head for what felt like an eternity; each vowel and consonant lasting an eternity. And Oliver Nash spent that time contemplating his actions, how he had come to this moment, and what exactly he was about to do. “I…” He was struck silent. But someone spoke to him, from within. It wasn’t Rosemary, nor was it his own conscious. No; this was a calling from the next dimension. When he heard its message, he responded. “I understand.”
---
“Hrrraaaagghhh—FRIEND!” He roared, throwing one last punch in the face of his arch nemesis as he cried out his answer. Turning, the Wizard gave the confused maiden one last look. The gaze was soaked in sorrow, but at its core burned a love that was stronger than anything else in the Universe. The pained contestant closed his eyes, held out his arms, and in a blaze of white aura: burst through the open ceiling, out into the sky. From below he heard her cries, begging him to return. But he couldn’t.
Saving her now, in this mock reality—no matter how real it could be—would never undo what was done. It couldn’t erase his memory of that fateful night. Revenge, despite his undying hunger for it, would not bring his love back to life. It could have been the perfect existence, but he rejected it.
Because one day, he would leave the world—the real world—and be reunited with Marion. But for now, he had to live on … to fight. Because that’s what she loved about him, and that’s what she would have wanted.
"I will live on-"
Lit up like a comet, he blasted through the atmosphere, from the Earth, out into the cosmos…
"-for you."
…and a single tear fell from the stars.
---
Oliver arose like Frankenstein, elevating himself ninety degrees to face the red-haired manipulator. His gaze was dark, cold. And it fell on Rosemary, like the barrel of a gun. He got to his feet.
The Wizard looked right into her eyes, ignoring her siren's song, and spoke.
“You look into our souls and see us for who we are.” His wrinkled face was expressionless, “well guess what? I see you, too, Rosemary. The real you.”
There was a pause, an eerie tension between the two. Juno looked on, uneasily.
“I see a false prophet.”
“Wizard, I don’t think taunting her is going to do us any g—,” Juno protested, but it was in vain and he was cut off.
“I see a little girl who’s taken up the front of an amateur deity,” the Wizard taunted, seething between words, “I see someone who thought they could stop all of this, and needed our help to do it.
“So you sat in God’s chair for a while and tried to make us better, good enough to beat this game and defeat your old friend Kai.
“…but its due time you realized that the chair’s too big for you, sister.”
The Wizard stepped forward, up to the plate. His right fist was cocked and crackling with energy, as he dragged himself halfway across the thrown room. Grinding his teeth, the old man lifted an arm and pointed it at the woman, accusingly.
“You're playing people like chess pieces; and that makes you no different than him," Oliver spat.
"Such actions have consequences. No more games, Rosemary. Give us the emblem or face your judgement that is long overdue.”
“Rosemary!” he roared at the top of his lungs, earning him the attention of the drug dealers who tossed him crooked expressions. “This is your magic, isn’t it?”
The woman appeared inches from his face, in a cloud of smoke that only he could see. Rosemary was ethereal, immaterial … like a ghost. Her treacherously beautiful hair flickered in the wind like a lively fire, as she stared him in the eyes, smirking.
“Oliver, dear, you couldn’t begin to comprehend my magic.”
“What is this? Why have you taken me here?”
“To play a game.”
“A game?! You think this is f—“
“Now, now, Wizard, don’t lose your temper. Take a look at your watch and tell me the time.”
His watch? But he wasn’t wearing a… and there it was, on his left wrist. It had appeared out of nowhere, as good as new. The device taunted him with its ticks as he pulled it in to read. The time was 11:11 PM. That night … the tragedy had taken place just after midnight. He still had time! But none of it was remotely plausible. Oliver furrowed his brow with frustration, before lifting his head to question the witch. But Rosemary was gone—wisped off in a gust of wind.
The night’s cool air embraced his statue-esque figure, as he stood in the middle of the street: alone and silent.
“...damnit.”
---
The Wizard had ascended a ladder in an alleyway off of Young & Bloor and was now scaling the rooftops of South City’s red light district. His Godmark was glowing quite fiercely, animating the passion he carried with each stride. ‘Save her,’ was set on repeat in his mind, calling out from every dark corner of his psyche. Although the possibility was slim, he was starting to come around to the impossible setting; he was starting to believe in Rosemary’s Game. If there was even the slightest chance that he could change that night, he had to hang onto it.
Puffing cigarette smoke into the air, Oliver lunged forward onto a building he knew quite well. His run had depressed to a walk, as he looked over the edge. There was an abandoned warehouse across the street. It was the same one he had found the Ripper in, just five months ago. And it was there, he would find Marion … and change her fate. He stepped out, preparing to vault himself toward his destination, when a cold skepticism hit him like a bullet-train. The Wizard stopped in his tracks.
There was a crack of lightning and a boom of the thunder from the clouds above. It started raining … again. The déjà vu was sickening.
“No, I won’t believe it,” the broken man whispered bitterly, “this place can’t be real. It’s just … a memory.”
It was then that the red-haired goddess returned to him. Her mischievous expression had changed to an oddly sympathetic one. Rosemary’s Ghost sat next to the old man. Her long legs dangled freely off the edge.
“No, Oliver. This world is real if want it to be. Maybe not the reality you know … but it can be that, and more. You see, the human brain is a remarkable instrument with boundless potential. If utilized correctly, it can forge reality, as the creator sees fit,” she paused, struggling to explain, “All the mind needs is a little push and that’s what I did for you.
“You can get your revenge, Wizard. Kill the Ripper … save Marion! You can change everything and start over.”
Oliver Nash looked to the concrete beneath his feet, near the edge of the building’s rooftop. He was quiet … contemplative.
“That power is yours; all you have to do is reach out and grab it.” Rosemary’s tone was soft and genuine. In truth, she had looked into the old man’s soul and saw his existence for what it was: a tortured one. His was a spirit on the fringe of death, with only its ancient values salvaging what it once was. Perhaps she could save him?
---
The Wizard’s eyebrows narrowed and quite suddenly he launched himself off the edge, into the air and above the buildings. He came crashing down hard on the warehouse roof with a ‘thud’. When he got to his feet, the former detective kept his ears attentive.
Oliver was quietly gauging his surroundings, when he heard a whimper. It had come from below, probably two floors down. “Let me go!” a woman protested. He recognized the voice. It was Marion. He didn’t wait another second. With all the might he could summon the man unleashed his Shocking First Bullet on the concrete below him; and he hammered his way through not one floor, but two!
Landing abruptly in a cloud of plywood, dust, smoke, and debris, Oliver’s entrance caught his nemesis off guard. The South City Ripper, with his exposed skeleton and gelatinous skin, accidentally lost his grip on the girl, who shuffled away from the beast. Awed, but relieved, she clung to Oliver Nash; and he could feel her racing heart beat pulse create a dialogue with his own. Her warm touch … he had forgotten what it felt like. Marion was in his arms again—
Crack!
Clearly, he was distracted by the moment, and he paid for it when he tasted the fist of the annoyed demonoid. The self-titled ‘Demogorge’ followed up with a parry of hits, and the girl yelped, agonized by the damage dealt on her lover. A conclusive hit with a little more ‘umph’ behind it slammed Nash into a wall. Blood trickled out of the fighter’s locked jaw and down his chin.
The Wizard simply smirked. Compared to Jackson Pride, the Ripper was an amateur. The old man lunged forward like lightning and caught his enemy unawares, grabbing him by the neck. It was apparent now, that Oliver had made up his mind. But the ritual wasn’t finished. Not yet. Rosemary took a deep breath and spoke; her voice dominating the Wizard’s senses.
“I see you’ve made your choice. But I’ve got one more question, before I go.”
Rosemary’s sentence had come at an odd time, while Oliver’s hands were wrapped around the neck of the South City Ripper, strangling the life right out of him. The beast gargled, defiant, but the Wizard’s grip was too strong. The scar—in the shape of a lightning bolt—glowed, a bright white, as his meridians pumped ki into his fingertips. He crushed the Ripper’s alien jugular with inhuman force.
Her voice boomed that infamous, defining question: “Friend or Foe?”
---
The question echoed through his head for what felt like an eternity; each vowel and consonant lasting an eternity. And Oliver Nash spent that time contemplating his actions, how he had come to this moment, and what exactly he was about to do. “I…” He was struck silent. But someone spoke to him, from within. It wasn’t Rosemary, nor was it his own conscious. No; this was a calling from the next dimension. When he heard its message, he responded. “I understand.”
---
“Hrrraaaagghhh—FRIEND!” He roared, throwing one last punch in the face of his arch nemesis as he cried out his answer. Turning, the Wizard gave the confused maiden one last look. The gaze was soaked in sorrow, but at its core burned a love that was stronger than anything else in the Universe. The pained contestant closed his eyes, held out his arms, and in a blaze of white aura: burst through the open ceiling, out into the sky. From below he heard her cries, begging him to return. But he couldn’t.
Saving her now, in this mock reality—no matter how real it could be—would never undo what was done. It couldn’t erase his memory of that fateful night. Revenge, despite his undying hunger for it, would not bring his love back to life. It could have been the perfect existence, but he rejected it.
Because one day, he would leave the world—the real world—and be reunited with Marion. But for now, he had to live on … to fight. Because that’s what she loved about him, and that’s what she would have wanted.
"I will live on-"
Lit up like a comet, he blasted through the atmosphere, from the Earth, out into the cosmos…
"-for you."
…and a single tear fell from the stars.
---
Oliver arose like Frankenstein, elevating himself ninety degrees to face the red-haired manipulator. His gaze was dark, cold. And it fell on Rosemary, like the barrel of a gun. He got to his feet.
The Wizard looked right into her eyes, ignoring her siren's song, and spoke.
“You look into our souls and see us for who we are.” His wrinkled face was expressionless, “well guess what? I see you, too, Rosemary. The real you.”
There was a pause, an eerie tension between the two. Juno looked on, uneasily.
“I see a false prophet.”
“Wizard, I don’t think taunting her is going to do us any g—,” Juno protested, but it was in vain and he was cut off.
“I see a little girl who’s taken up the front of an amateur deity,” the Wizard taunted, seething between words, “I see someone who thought they could stop all of this, and needed our help to do it.
“So you sat in God’s chair for a while and tried to make us better, good enough to beat this game and defeat your old friend Kai.
“…but its due time you realized that the chair’s too big for you, sister.”
The Wizard stepped forward, up to the plate. His right fist was cocked and crackling with energy, as he dragged himself halfway across the thrown room. Grinding his teeth, the old man lifted an arm and pointed it at the woman, accusingly.
“You're playing people like chess pieces; and that makes you no different than him," Oliver spat.
"Such actions have consequences. No more games, Rosemary. Give us the emblem or face your judgement that is long overdue.”
[SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
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