I wrote this story before Survivor Series so obviously I don't actually know what actually happens there. Oh and, any other Undertaker fans that want to talk to me, email me. As always any comments are appreciated.
*
The lights went down. The gong sounded. The mist started pouring into the crowded arena, and, as the gong sounded again, a tall imposing figure dressed completely in black appeared as if from nowhere, the graveyard fog billowing eerily around his feet.
He started slowly moving towards the ring, the mist cloaking him from the waist down so he appeared to float down the aisle. His presence was so forceful that the normally rowdy wrestling crowd was completely silent after their initial cheer at the first gong. They watched as the spectre walked slowly down the ramp. He reached the stairs to the ring, and lifting his black leather coat deliberately out of the way, he mounted the steps.
Posing for a moment with his hands slightly raised as if in some unholy benediction, he seemed some sort of satanic priest, blessing his followers. Then his black-gloved hands started to move upwards, and as if by magic, the darkened arena slowly returned to normal.
He carefully entered the ring, and reaching up slowly he grasped his hat with both hands. Dramatically lowering the hat from his head, it covered his face briefly. When his deathly pale face was again revealed, it was to show the crowd a frightening sight... His eyes had gone completely white.
After returning to normal, his light green eyes unhurriedly moved to pierce the older man standing in the ring, looking ludicrous in his cowboy hat. He cringed back unconsciously, truly intimidated.
The Undertaker had arrived.
* * * * *
Janelle absentmindedly reached for the bag of pretzels sitting on the table in front of her. She wasn't finding SmackDown particularly interesting today, but the Undertaker's entrance was slightly more interesting than listening to her fiancé and her best friend argue good naturedly about something. She thought it might be politics but she wasn't paying a lot of attention.
She tuned them out even further as she semi-amusedly watched "The Dead Man" go through his little routine; eye rolling and light raising and all that. She had to stifle a yawn as the Undertaker
finally
managed to make his way to the ring.
The Undertaker was just trying to intimidate the other man, "Cowboy" something, she thought he was called, when her attention was caught by her best friend changing the subject to hair dying. As she started to argue fiercely with him about whether women with dyed blonde hair and fake breasts were attractive or not, she only kept one eye on the show, getting more and more angry with the nastiness and sexism of the world.
* * * * *
The Undertaker focused his eyes firmly on the man groveling in front of him. The man was desperately beseeching him to spare his son, but the Undertaker never was known as a merciful man. He shook his head firmly and turned to go, when suddenly his attention was drawn away from the scene in front of him. A shock went through his whole body. Someone out there somewhere had just reached the level of emotion necessary to be ready for him. Someone who was going to be his.
He started scanning for the mortal who was destined for him, totally ignoring the man who continued to beg for his son's life.
So absorbed was he that he didn't sense the presence behind him until too late. He whirled around quickly, but he was still caught full force by the devastating R.K.O.
He collapsed on to the wrestling mat heavily. He used the rest of his energy to push himself onto his hands and knees, and with the rest of his considerable strength, he looked straight into the camera at the one whom he was going to claim. Forming a link with her took only seconds, and he sent his power along it and into her. His energy temporarily gone, he fell back to the canvas, content with the knowledge that his message had been sent.
* * * * *
Janelle angrily stuffed another pretzel into her mouth to buy herself time to think of a suitable retort. Even so, she was unable to come up with anything better than "I still think Trish would look better with her natural hair and breasts, and I am just sick of asshole men who prefer fake..."
Her voice abruptly stopped as her eyes were drawn towards the TV without any direction from her. An unexplained shiver went through her body. She could have sworn that the Undertaker's intense eyes were looking straight at her before he collapsed. A strange feeling of foreboding stole over her, along with an even stranger excitement.
She shook her head, ashamed of herself for giving in to these fanciful thoughts and berating herself for having an overactive imagination. She forced herself back to her prior train of thought before anyone noticed her lapse. However, it was hard to focus, and she was uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the evening.
* * * * *
He sat in his hotel room, the doors locked, the blinds lowered and the lights off. He was completely still, his eyes wide open and unblinking as he stared directly north. After a few minutes, one large hand came up and pointed. He focused all his will into his pointing finger, and forced it beyond. Suddenly, he was in her dream.
He strained to find the one who had called to him across the miles. With the ease of long practice, he scanned the room. Since it was her dream, she must be here. He was in a large room, like a church hall. It appeared to be some sort of Ren Faire. Everyone around him was dressed in medieval-style clothing and some people were dancing a beautiful period dance. His eyes were drawn towards the dancers, and his instinct was soon proven correct as he saw her.
She was the only one other than he who was not dressed in a costume. She was happily dancing, her shoulder length brown hair bouncing, her hazel eyes sparkling. She was wearing a tight black tank top that showed off her round breasts to perfection. Her jeans clung to her curvy hips and ass. She was beautiful. Even better, he knew that she was the one he had come for.
He had to caution himself not to ruin everything by being overly excited. It had been a long time since he had found someone, and the last one he had found had not been for him after all. He had been searching for so long... Reaching out mentally with the lightest touch he could manage, he twisted her dream so that he was now a part of it.
She looked over at him, obviously startled though only for a few seconds. She stared at him, and then slowly left her place in the dance and started to approach him.
Janelle recognized the Undertaker as soon as she saw him, of course. Since it was a dream, she was not at all surprised that he was sitting on the floor in the middle of her SCA dance practice. She did notice that everyone else seemed to be avoiding him, looking at him sideways as if they were scared of him. It was this that decided her.
She started walking over to where he sat by himself, long legs crossed, back against the wall. He rose gracefully to his feet as she approached. She gasped out loud as she got near to him. He was enormous! Long leather clad legs went on forever, and a broad muscled torso was displayed by a black sleeveless shirt. He had a black hat atop his long auburn hair, and his gorgeous, light green eyes seemed very serious and intense as he watched her. His sheer presence was completely overwhelming her, and she had to swallow deeply before making herself talk to him.
Before she could do more than open her mouth, she was suddenly sitting on a leather covered seat in a car. Such is the nature of dreams and she didn't question it. She looked over to her right, and yes, there he was. So close to her that her breath caught in her throat. She smiled tremulously at him, and he reacted by resting his huge hand on her leg.
