WELCOME TO THE NIGHTMARE
It is absolutely necessary, for the peace and safety of mankind, that some of earth’s dark, dead corners and unplumbed depths be let alone; lest sleeping abnormalities wake to resurgent life, and blasphemously surviving nightmares squirm and splash out of their black lairs to newer and wider conquests.
Carpenter Brut.
“Imaginary Fire”
The hard hitting tones guide us as we scream across a barren landscape. The surrounding world is desolate, dull, dusty, and hot. A city in the distance rushes in quickly; a tall, pointed tower in the forefront. We fly across what was once a long, enormous and rectangular pool, now dirt-covered and housing a wide-scale brawl of hundreds of combatants, all clad in repurposed metals, leathers, and junk. We fly overhead to a large construct, looking like an immense shoebox with twelve pillars in front. Inside is a massive statue of a seated, gangly man with a chinstrap beard, though most of the statue is crumbled and broken.
Embedded within the statue, a throne built from skulls.
Sitting upon that throne: Brandon Youngblood. Armored in leather and bone, hand gripping the handle of a massive broadaxe, blade sitting on the ground and the handle serving as a prop for the Tower of Babel. He overlooks his arena and the chaos within.
“When you’re on your own, you default to guilty.
It’s fine, you’re wasting your own time.”
The God-Beast, Mushigihara, bear-hugs an opponent, crushing him in his arms. David Fox releases a bolt from a jerry-rigged crossbow nearby. Much to their surprise, two blue, swirling portals open overhead, the duo of Randall Schwartz and Kenny Freeman dropping to the battlefield, looking to each other confused as to their current situation.
“But don’t drag me in just to push me away.
We can make this simple! But it’s really up to you!”
Darin Zion removes a rusted gladiatorial helmet, taking a short reprieve to catch his breath, but is forced to lift his shield to a leaping FLAMBERGE, bringing his sword down against the bulwark.
“It takes resolve to see,
THAT YOU REALLY DON’T GET NOTHING FOR FREE!”
The Multitudes that are Anna Daniels, clad in her crowd and worn robe, punts the head of a poor soul to the dirt. The body lands in a dusty heap at the feet of Mortimer Kjedelig, who draws his gaze up to the Time Lord. The camera pans around to the back of Mortimer’s head as he peels his mask from his face, but revealing nothing for us to see.
“Oh it takes a lot to love,
the way that you feel when you’re all alone.”
After power-bombing an opponent to literal dust, Sid Phillips is startled as a bazooka shell rockets past him, exploding in the background. Joe Fontaine, standing nearby looks up to see the source, then dives behind Sid, screaming in terror. The camera pans quickly to reveal El Hijo Del Super Cool Guy, clad in spiked pauldrons and a smoking bazooka over his shoulder.
“But we create the stars above,
when we go…”
Hayes Hanlon cuts a wide swath with a gleaming greatsword, taking a moment to bellow in victory to the spectators of this apocalyptic battle-royale. A small device slides between his legs from behind, a red light blinking quickly. He turns to see the grinning face of Rezin, black fingers wrapped around a remote, and his thumb on the button.
“And I really want us both try,
to leave the imaginary fire behind!”
The stabbings of Ria Nightshade are prolific, anyone within range subject to her whirlwind. Her blades graze the chest of The Anglo Luchador, arching back to avoid the cuts. In his left hand he holds a Corona, and in his right a Pacifico. He smashes each bottle against the heads of nearby opponents before advancing on the Toxic Queen.
“OH BEHIND!”
Bobby Dean lounges above the arena’s edge, being fed grapes from a handful of concubines. He throws up the horns for Trent Sadikaj and Barry Delgado, who thrash guitars made from literal battle axes to provide the fray with the necessary grooves. The form of Doozer materializes from the air behind Bobby, and smacks him across the head. He points to Solid Gold Rock n’ Roll and urges him to take action.
“If you want to resume your position with me,
I won’t. I’m in another place.”
A dilapidated and clearly homemade contraption flashes onto the field, “Time Machine” written in spray paint across its flank. A hatch on the side cracks open, billowing with smoke, followed by the red eyes of Garbage Bag Johnny and Nova. They survey their surroundings, and after a shrug, hop back in their Time Machine and flash away.
“And you’ll tell yourself that I’m pulling away.
We can make this simple! But it’s really up to you!”
Tattered trench coat whipping about, Dusk throws fans of daggers into the crowd around him. As he goes to throw another from his fingers, a stringy, milky strand shoots from his flank, snatching the dagger from his hand. It propels back to the white strand’s owner, Phil Atken, wielding a glue gun of sorts. The aged warriors share a glare before rushing each other.
“I know it’s hard to feel,
BUT YOU REALLY DON’T GET NOTHING FOR FREE!”
GREAT SCOTT charges across the battlefield astride GREAT BEAR, roaring out into the maelstrom with his sweet Beats by Dre headphones. The monster that is Balaam, Mask of Malice bursts through the combatants, Duke and Hoyt Williams behind him and wrenching back on his chains. He sends multiple opponents flying into the air before slamming into GREAT BEAR, wrapping him into a big bear hug. Nate Colton, having ducked the charge of Balaam, spots GREAT SCOTT rising from the floor after falling from GREAT BEAR’s back. Colton takes a fistful of chain, whipping it overhead before moving toward The World’s Greatest SCOTT.
“Oh it takes a lot to love,
the way that you feel when you’re all alone.”
The T-Shades that could only belong to the COOLympian drop down the bridge of his nose, his gaze looking across the battlefield to the calm form of Julian Bathory. The Carpathian Devil slowly lifts his palms, the tentacles of black shadow beasts emerging from the dirt.
“But we create the stars above,
when we gooo…”
Back to back, Jonathan Rhine and Paxton Ray fend off the hordes, Paxton clobbering and crushing limbs with spiked knuckles around his fists, and Rhine thrusting and swinging a jagged spear, teeth grinding and eyes burning behind a makeshift eyepatch. He turns to find Jared Sykes, burninating his enemies with a janky flamethrower. Sykes lifts his re-purposed welding mask to lock eyes with Rhine for a moment, before flipping his head forward to shut the visor.
“And I really want us both try,
to leave the imaginary fire behind!”
Emerging from the fray, Impulse drags his sword along the ground, walking toward the end of the field and looking up toward the broken statue. The Last Diamond rises from his Skull Throne, lifting his axe from the floor and taking hold in both hands. Youngblood glares down at The Marathon Man before we zoom out away from the frenzy.
“OH BEHIND!”
Welcome to the Nightmare….