A Sermon
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The scene opens on a single lit candle, its orange hue bouncing off of the wall behind it, and a rising trail of smoke going above. Zooming out shows this candle amongst several others atop long, golden poles, making up a symbol that is hard to make out from the current front-facing angle. Containing these candles, as well as our cast of TORN inhabitants, is a “church” that appears aesthetically gothic. Pointy chandeliers hang from the ceiling, large glass murals depict different decrepit variations of nature, the walls are trimmed with floral decorations near the ground and ceiling, an overhanging balcony carries three medium-sized bird statues along its rails, and seated at numerous rows of black pews are members, followers, of The Residence. We see men and women dressed in formal attire of suits and dresses, all matching, with hues of blue and violet, mixed with black and light splashes of white. On their face, are white blank masks. Mixed in are people in robes, both in the seats and standing behind. Their robes have a similar colour, with their face wearing a same mask and traditional tri-pointed hats that match their attire featuring an eye logo in the front.
At the podium area at the far end, we see a slightly more elaborate recreation of Malice’s shrine, except instead, the tables are covered in a violet satin cloth. The pictures on the stands include their recognized idol, Brian “Humanity” Zebowski, along with pictures of the members themselves, Damien Axel, Hangman James and Donavon Grayson. Laying on the table, we see a noose, a hockey mask, and a pair of boots similar to Grayson’s. Behind the “shrine,” is a statue resembling Brian Zebowski. He is on his hands and knees, tired, broken, similar to how he was after his loss to Shinzo Omega. There are cracks along it.
The “church” is largely silent, only a hum can be heard. Through this silence breaks a loud creak and thudding sound. The figures all turn around simultaneously to gaze at what are two large doors adorned with what can only be described as intricate bloody patterns. From between the doors comes smoke and an imposing figure, that figure being a pastor's-robe wearing Slate Bass.
“Greetings, everyone. Thank you for attending today’s service.”
Slate walks down the aisle as the gaze of the “church” goers never break from him. He ascends small steps leading to a slightly raised platform with a podium in the center of it. On this podium appears to be a…coloring book with Keres’ name on it?
“Damned fools, husks, tortured souls and liberated spirits alike, welcome to the TORN Gospel! You are all here to be part of something bigger than yourselves!”
Slate’s preaching eerily echoes through the uncomfortable silence. The figures remain unmoving and non-reactionary.
“Yes, the pain and anguish your poor existences wallow in are a thing of beauty in their own right, for they prepare you to be washed clean of the aspects of yourself that claim the parts of you yearning for liberation! Yearning for the death of what holds you back! Yearning to be TORN!”
The “church” goers suddenly yell “TORN” in perfect unison, much to the joy of Slate Bass, who lets out an uncharacteristic bellowing, almost boastful, laugh.
“All of you, yes all of you, have been misguided, used and abused for the purpose of someone else’s personal gain your entire lives, but no more! No longer shall you poor creatures be burdened by the heresy of those that shackle you and those that you vow your life to for no acknowledgment in return!”
Slate slams his hand on the podium, letting off an incredibly loud banging sound that cuts through the air.
“None shall be misguided, all shall reach their true potential through the will of the TORN Universe, and those of you strong of mind will be the most virtuous of all! For too long have false idols led you astray! None shall claim to be god’s in this world. In jest, perhaps. But to think so highly of oneself and have neither the courage nor the ability or power to show their true self… that makes you nothing more than a pawn to the cruel hands of your fate! Malice breeds failure, well I say Malice no more!”
The “church” goers yell out “No more!” in unison, mimicking Slate Bass.
“Today we have joined together within these walls to not only speak of the power of the TORN Universe, but to bear witness to the lengths it will go by correcting the course of four lost souls… the souls of the aforementioned Malice and the man they idolize!”
Slate Bass holds his arms out to his side, ending his speech with an uncomfortably said “Ha-lle-lujah!” then composing himself.
“Now, I ask that you all please rise, show respect, and clap for the most dedicated follower amongst us, your Princess, Nova.”
Slate motions his arm off to his side, signaling the “church” goers to turn. We see two large side doors swing open and four followers carry Princess Nova on a throne. The throne is with purple cushions and a black outline. Princess Nova has a gothic style princess dress, with it being long and poofy and long, a black with very subtle violet trims. On her head is a black tiara with thorn designs and purple and blue gems. Holding gently in her arms, she has Keres in a smaller version of her dress. The followers drop her down and help her off. She gives a small curtsy to those who helped her and steps up to the podium, holding Keres in her arms who appears rather comfortable around her older sister figure. Nova clears her throat and speaks softly and elegantly, contrasting the booming sermon from Slate.
“We as followers of the TORN Universe live by a code and in service. We are not just in service of the TORN Universe in which controls all, but have a dedication to the betterment of ourselves and each other. I thank Slate, our strongest warrior, for the introduction and I hope these lessons do not fall on deaf ears. Not just yours, but of the unfortunate souls known as Malice. As we know, the three members, Axel, James, and Grayson, have lost their way, using violence as an end, and not a means of it and are willing to interfere with fate, to act without violence. Upon feeling their wrath, Slate and I felt physical pain, but mental exhaustion and pity. I feel ashamed in their dedication to a false idol, a hidden part of another man’s personality, one which does not love them back. Acting in pure emotion without thinking of the consequences. Their methods are proven to fail, through their failure when faced with the task of facing us, and of their hero, falling short in his pursuit for gold.”
Raising her voice, Nova says. “Learn from their mistakes! Do not fall victim to their lies! While Slate and I could not get to the end of the Turmoil, we still found our wills intact. The thought of what we serve helped us rise to our feet and push onward. Just like how even after a loss we push forward in service, a lesson I had to learn long ago and we could act in anger, but we remember.”
Closing her eyes, Princess Nova has a small grin. “Everything happens for a reason. That was a test for us and despite it not showing as an official win, we survived. We know where we are and where we shall go next. It is just another step. The process to become TORN is one which may take a lifetime and you must be willing to take the step. It is frightening. I resisted it at first. But upon giving in, a weight was off my chest. That feeling I know you shared once you finally freed your mind like myself, and here we are today.”
Turning to the followers, she speaks to them. “Feel the presence of those around you. You are all tabula rasa, ready to be rebuilt. We are not vultures, but nurturers in nature. We wish for each other's success and share in the joy of it. Eden helped Slate shed his old self long ago into his most powerful form. The TORN Warrior. Eden and Slate have provided me a family and guidance. While I provide love, love towards those who helped me…” Nova grins, looking at Keres. “And love towards her.” and Keres lightly grabs Nova’s nose and the Princess giggles before kissing her on the forehead. “Together we are free. Together, we provide stability that is needed in our chaotic world. Grayson, Axel, James, they will have a chance to be saved, or, maybe they will prove to be the ones that are not worth saving, thank you, and with that, I pass the attention to our guiding light.”
Princess Nova motions to her side. “A woman who has touched each and every one of us. Behold the Seamstress of our TORN reality, Eden."
“Lend me your ears..”
Eden’s voice threateningly flows through the air as everyone turns their attention towards the balcony, where Eden sits on the rail, her legs hanging off of it. She is dressed in a black bodysuit, complete with black gloves and equally as black boots.
“Through all of the talk, through all of the self-imposed confusion, and through all of the, hmhm, daddy issues that Malice suffers from, I must admit that I feel a slight amount of pity. In my former life, I too was a victim of a false idol. Albeit willingly and knowingly riding that wave to a superior end… but nonetheless, I can recognize their pain even if they refuse to. The differences are hilarious, mine was an outright abusive boyfriend prior to Slate, there’s is an indirectly-abusive and dismissive boyfriend. You know, I think it’s better to know the slap in the face is coming than to pretend there isn’t anything wrong going on. The striking similarity is that just like Slate ended that man from my past… he, as well as Nova, are going to end you all. Then we’re going to burn the image of your false idol…well, more than we already have, that is.”
Eden begins swinging her legs, uncaring of the height she sits at.
“It’s going to be oh-so much fun to crush your world before your eyes. It’ll be damn near orgasmic when you’re all lost, wandering like fools and perhaps come crawling… to me. And as my Princess iterated earlier, you might not even be worth the effort of saving. Maybe I’m already giving you savages too much credit, you might not even know what direction to crawl in to find us after we cripple you mentally and physically. One way or another you will learn, as many have in the past and many will in the future, that The Residence and the TORN Universe always gets what it desires. Right now, they both desire your price in blood…and your dreams in fire.”
Eden snaps her fingers and the numerous seated figures all stand up.
“Proceed with the…hahahaha, ritual.” She says mockingly.
The followers reach down and all bring up gas canisters. Like a choreographed dance routine, each row goes in the opposite direction of the preceding row and pour gasoline on the floor beneath them. Over by the podium, Slate Bass pours gasoline across the stage and then walks in the direction of the shrine. He taps it roughly with his foot and it partially collapses, spilling a few of the items on top of it onto the ground.
“Whoops.”
He then pours gasoline over the shrine itself, chuckling as he does so.
“Nova, take Keres and exit, please. Oh, and get the lights.”
Princess Nova nods, "Of course, Eden,"
Eden goes over the rail and disappears out of sight. Slate Bass and Nova walk towards the door to leave, but before they do, Keres, who is being held by Nova, passes her an unlit match.
“Here you go, my dear Eden.” Nova grins as the family backs up.
The Seamstress of Reality lights the match and holds it in front of her. “Let this be a warning for those who oppose The Residence and our way….”
Dropping the match into a trail of gas, the fire is lit and quickly spreads and goes into the “church,” with the members seemingly still inside. The doors are shut and the blaze spreads quickly, soon shooting out one of the windows on the side. There is a smirk on Eden’s face as slowly and surely, the building completely is enveloped in flames, an orange glow appears on their faces as we see behind them…
The TORN followers are outside, standing behind The Residence, somehow, making out unharmed. The building continues to burn as Slate says…
“Ashes to Ashes…”
Princess Nova follows. “Dust to dust…”
Finishing after Nova, Eden responds… “The TORN will rise again, anew.”
With the sound of the blazing inferno, and some of the foundation of the building beginning to crack, the scene fades away.
Credit: @Nostradamus for Eden and Slate Bass
