Violence, Alone

[Shione "SURGE" Ōshima]

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APW Presents: Shione "SURGE" Ōshima
Violence, Alone
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The scene unfolds in moonlight, the trees of a luscious oak forest lit by pale shadow. Twisting away from the verdant depths reveals a tower of stalwart stone, set against a cliff that falls away from tree and soil with an urgent rapidity. Waves can be heard crashing far below, but otherwise the night is still, and calm.

A window atop the tower is lit bright by firelight, and it's here that a figure crouches, staring intently at the flames. The woman is clad in garb of leather and chain – the practical attire of a huntsman, albeit with the better appointing of one who has lived – and hunted – well. This is a woman accustomed to wealth, but far from afraid to earn her own keep.

As she turns toward the window – no more than a finely-wrought slash in castle stone – her features identify her readily. Despite what the setting and the distinctly western European dressing may suggest, it's Shione.

A sudden cry from below attracts her attention, bringing her sharply to her feet. Quick steps carry her to the window, only for quicker and harder to resonate from beyond the door in her chamber. From looking out across the forest, she turns to the opening portal as it creaks and shudders on heavy, partially rusted hinges. A breathless face greets her from behind the nosepiece of a helmet; from the man's attire, he's easily marked as a castle guard.

Guard: Milady, the outlaw is within our walls! She was upon us before we knew it!

The Crashing Wave narrows her gaze, her hand roving to her hip – where it comes to abrupt and grasping rest upon the haft of a short, hefty warhammer. It's half from it's mooring loop as she speaks.

Shione: She dares to come here, after the message we sent? Tell the men to fall back. I handle this myself.

A numb and stricken nod heralds the guard backing away, as his mistress rushes on, brushing past him with a fleeting smile as she soars to take the tower steps three at a time – bounding downward like her namesake tide, crashing with each step, leather boots upon unyielding stone. She makes the rampart door and bursts out into the night, cheeks flushed from the run but gaze all the keener for it – reflecting still the blaze of her fire's light.

She's greeted by a looming presence upon the battlements. A grappling hook lies embedded against the rock, chewing a furrow where it's been used to haul up the demonic creature that stands now with one hand holding aloft a slaughtered guard and the other extended with fingers unfurled, dripping blood from each nail. It pools beneath this creature's lithe limbs, the air grim with iron and fear as searing eyes turn toward Shione and her flourished hammer.

Shione: Hood!!

The name is a whisper upon her lips, and the answering hiss becomes a cackle – then a wild sneer.

Hood: The forest screams vengeance, thou cruel bitch! I am its wrath, embodied! Face me!

Shione: I faced you before, in your den of sin. I turned away your poison! The forest screams joy at my actions. In your pride you mistake it for something else. In your hubris you believe yourself more than you are...

She tails off with a grim note, mouth a drawn line as she steps forward into reach of the demoness' long, deadly arms. That extended claw seems to beckon, briefly, before the noble huntress' foe hunkers down, slamming its burden to the floor, gaze still boring hatred as they match stares. Shione is unbowed, cutting off the next hiss with bold words:

Shione: But I will face you gladly! Draw your weapon!

In the darkness of the rampart, Hood bares her teeth – her fangs, slathering with vile venom.

Hood: I am a weapon.

The huntress flashes her own molars now; a fiery, reckless grin at odds with the calmness of her step as she circles about the narrow parapet, keeping only cursory distance from this demonic thing. She holds her own armament forward, but seems unprepared to strike – rather she's holding it up for examination as she speaks.

Shione: In your legend, you wield a bow, and your weapons are finesse and cunning. What I see is no more than the hammer I hold; blunt, savage brutality. You cannot beat back the tide with violence alone, Hood.

It loses patience, the ill-bred creature, and surges at her – a wild slash of bloody talons drawing a gout of fresh crimson from Shione's flank as she spins, scything through leather and ripping chain links aside. A few are severed, tinkling to the stone below as she sucks in a breath and turns about to return fire. The hammer strikes an elbow joint. The resulting snap is stomach-churning, as the demoness' arm bends inward at a sickening angle.

Hood: You answer violence with violence, and still you know nothing of me! DIE!

Long limbs unwind, the broken flailing madly and horribly at nothing as the other seeks a clawed grip upon Shione's throat – but she bends back at the last instant, and brings the warhammer up with a grunt of exertion.

There's a hiss, as the second arm breaks at the wrist, then something glints in the moonlight – the hammer, released by the Crashing Wave – whipping past the wild vision of the beast, as the huntress rallies and surges forward. Pitching herself against the demonic thing, she thrusts it back toward the tower's edge. They catch in the torchlight spilling from the entrance; and for a moment, Shione is tackling not a demon, but a woman, purple-haired and beautifully dressed.

The fleeting mirage is gone, as they rebound from the opened doorway with a crunching impact, pinwheeling against the rampart and then both disappearing into the darkness beyond. Stillness falls again, filled only by the plaintative hooting of a lone owl as the forest stirs in its eternal slumber. Then, there's a damp sound of sweaty flesh striking stone.

Guard: Milady?

The voice from the doorway is met with a hollow grunt, as Shione pulls herself up over the rampart, a fresh wound opened from collarbone to hip, the frayed ends of leather jerkin and the busted mail surcoat hanging open and stained. But she lives and breathes, the fire still present in hazel gaze as it finds the nerve-stricken man. From the shadows, she grins.

Shione: Like the tide, I come again. The outlaw is gone; the beast... is slain.

A ragged cheer sounds from within. In the light of the tower are visible not a single guard, but many now, all gathered as their mistress rises to her feet. She walks forward into their midst, and the vision begins to fade, the walls of the castle crumbling away and the very roots of the trees twisting inward upon themselves as it all falls to nothing – blackness overwhelms, as does the absolute calm of silence. But silence, like rules...

"All the world..."

...is made to be broken.

"...is a stage."

As Shione speaks anew, the fade reverses, light returning to the camera's view. Night still reigns, and that light is still moonlight; but it mingles now with the more soulless glow of electricity. A thousandfold, in fact; from the forest and a lone-towered fort, we find ourselves upon the apex of the Ericsson Arena, the lights of Stockholm stretching into the horizon on all sides. This city does not sleep – it's vibrant, and alive, a festival of colour and sound.

The Crashing Wave is no different, clad now in her ring attire and wearing that familiar grin, a fist pressed to either hip as she's presented resplendent upon the roof of the arena itself. A giantess, a titan, standing atop the globe.

"And you and I, Robina Hood, we are just players, yes? Or perhaps not. Perhaps, in your words..."

Suddenly Shione leans forward, and we swoop in close, seeing now the iron in that burning gaze.

"This is not a fucking game. In fact, I may look forward to this meeting more than I have any other. More even than when I was given – blessed with – the chance to match my skills against the Big Apple Man. Because while I do not look beyond my opponent, while I throw myself into every battle as if it were my last, for the first time in APW I find that this is not just a wrestling match... not just a fight – oh, no, Miss Pointy..."

That grin flares up again, or so it seems; then it pulls tauter and tighter, teeth scraping against one another as the Crashing Wave clenches a fist and brings it up beside her jaw. Her knuckles are white, the hand beginning to shake.

"I want to break you. I want to bend you in ways you have never been bent. I want to destroy you."

She draws a sharp breath, the camera zooming out as she lowers her arm through an act of will, and folds it with the other across her chest, hands hanging as loosely as she can manage to either side. Her shoulders quiver momentarily before she finds her composure, hazel eyes lidding before they unveil with a calmer intensity.

"I want to do this, because you have no respect for your opponents. Last week on Overdrive, you defeated my countryman, Tatsu Kobashi Okimoto – a true warrior, and a powerful man. You beat him, and I give you that much; you are a worthy foe, Miss Pointy. But in what followed, you shamed him. You spat in his face."

Twisting an arm up, Shione slaps herself gently in the right cheek with an open hand, then lowers it.

"I want to do this, because you have no respect for the fans of Action Packed Wrestling. Was it only two weeks ago that you assaulted a fan, and were dragged away, because you'd lacked the drive and wherewithal to win a match? Because you could not get your job done, you took your pound of flesh from one who makes it possible for you to even have that job. This may not be the first time it has happened, I do not know; but I was there, and I saw."

She cants her head with the last, an eyebrow lifting, and then slowly, deliberately slaps herself on the other cheek. Much as the last, she doesn't blink as she does it – just keeps her gaze on the lens, lowering the hand once more.

"I need to do this, because at One Night in Hell, Robina, we fight for the title you failed to capture for a long, long time. For the title you lost to my friend – and another, true warrior – the Hong Kong Sensation, Amy Zing. I do not wish to take the title away from her, but I will not allow you to have your rematch without me present... because when you lost that title, you did everything within your limited power to cheat. To win by cheating is not to win at all, Miss Pointy."

This time, she holds up both hands, and slaps herself on both cheeks at once. Her hands don't lower immediately afterward; instead they tilt outward, sketching an exaggerated mime of a shrug as she leans forward. Her expression has shifted, a frown starting to touch her brow before she speaks again, tone lowered and confiding.

"I need to do this, because the saddest thing of it all... is that we are the same, I and you. We are both creatures of violence. Both things born from the darkness of our lives. We swim in blood, and we thrive on pain. I said the same to Victor Hades – my Kerberos, the gatekeeper I defeated fairly, if cunningly – and I said the same to the Sickly Lion, who I put down last week. Leon Roberts. A man you could not defeat, cheat as you could. Cheat as you did."

She smiles, teasing it up to a half-grin that bares her left canine, flashing in the night lights.

"Do you see the difference between us, Miss Pointy? You are violent and brutal. You are good at being that. I have no shame in telling you that you are a worthy opponent, and one I am excited to face – you will test me, you will push me to my limits... but then, you will lose. You will lose because I have something you do not; even many and more things. I have pride and remorse. I have pity and mercy. I have honour... and I have composure."

Drawing herself up to her full height, Shione heaves a breath, lifting one arm in a sweep to take in the rolling expanse of shifting lights that make up Stockholm. The sound of roaring traffic and the hubbub of partying folk can be heard.

"I also have the fans, Robina Hood. They understand what I am, and I thank them for it. I thank them for allowing me to fight you; to beat and break you, to bathe in your blood and stand towering above you victorious, because it entertains them. I thank them for forgiving me, monster that I am, because of all else that I can be."

She leans back toward the camera, head tilting once more, tone now confident – her rhythm found.

"But the most important thing I have, is the ability to walk into that ring knowing what faces me; and not turn to foul play or desperation when it seems overwhelming. Like the tide, I come and go, I come back to break time and time again upon the rocks until they relent and fall before me; I do not give up. I do not relent. I stick to what I do best, and I do it until I succeed; on my own terms, whatever that takes. You could not break Amy Zing, Robina Hood, and it has haunted you...."

A drifting, falsified expression of sympathy flutters away on the breeze, and Shione grins, thumping at her chest.

"Know, then, that you cannot break me either. I am Shione. I am the Crashing Wave. And I always find my mark. Consider yourself not just haunted, but hunted; your time is gone, and mine..."

She flings her arms out, turning upon the rooftop, the camera panning around to show the entirety of the city visible from the Ericsson Arena. By the time it comes back to Shione, she's smiling, the very soul of peace and happiness.

"Mine is now, as my place is here, upon this stage."

At least until a flicker of the madness and mischief return, not to be shackled.

"I wonder if the view will be as good from your broken body?"

Blackness returns, the final view that of the plucky powerhouse's irrepressible grin, resplendent above the colourful array of her tassels streaming in the Swedish wind.