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Title: Jamin Olivencia
Description: Change my name to Jamin Please


Brett Dibiase - April 8, 2010 11:57 PM (GMT)

Superstar Image:
http://www.onlineworldofwrestling.com/pict...livencia/04.jpg

Superstar's Name: Jamin Olivencia
Entrance Theme:
Alignment: Heel
Height: 5'8
Weight: 210 Lbs

Finisher(s):Tigerbomb
Other Favorite Moves (Atleast 3):
1. Facebuster
2. Bicycle Kick
3 Brainbuster

RP In Next Post



Brett Dibiase - April 8, 2010 11:59 PM (GMT)
user posted image


Rapture Of The Wicked Angel





Prolouge


Fate. Quite a powerful word. It’s meaning at the very core represents the road that all must travel, the journey that is traversed throughout the span of a person’s life. But what is fate, truly? What is it that brings this strange force to twist and sway us to directions we never dared to go, directions we never wanted to go? Some say fate is uncontrollable, beyond the manipulative hands of man, looming over like an almighty puppet master weaving us through this grand ballroom of our existence on its silken strings. Some believe fate to be nothing but a fallacy, an excuse for the weak to lament their mistakes while those of strong will can send themselves in any direction they desire. Regardless, fate is still a powerful word. Fate is what brought upon the end of a great species more than a billion years ago, left unseen by man. Fate is what set the western lands of Europe through such groundbreaking and extraordinary ages such as the Renaissance and the Enlightenment. Fate is what prodded at Adolf Hitler’s mind, planting in him the ideas and motives that would soon instigate a horrendous era of manslaughter that was the Holocaust. But what is fate to a man like Sinister ? It was fate that drew him to apply for a job in ECW in the first place. It was fate that brought him to House Of Hardcore. . It was fate that allowed him the ability to demolish everyone else from then on afterwards with renewed vigor and determination. And now… it was fate that will send him to face Jacob Davies It was a long, long time ago when a young boy ared to defy the fates, as he cast his gaze high above him, reached up, and tore through the tightened strings that kept him bound by its design. And it was that design that had paved the road for this entire journey. He saw it, he figured it out all too soon just what was in store for him. In essence, it was all just foresight, but he had seen enough pieces of the puzzle to be able to piece together the big picture. At such a young age, he already knew the blueprints of his destiny, how he was supposed to exist as the abstract contrast to a painfully uniform dimension. He was the foil. The yin to their yang. The black to their white. The evil… to their good. There were evils that needed to exist, criminals who needed victims for their crimes, and this was the ultimate role for the young boy. . Born from an abusive father, cast into a sadistic ground, and ultimately left to be the sponge for all the hate in the world, all the disgust and malice and viciousness on Earth, this was his purpose. For the sake of allowing someone a punch, someone needed to be punched. For the sake of allowing a child to laugh, someone needed to be laughed at. The Boy was cast into a battle that he was supposed to lose… and yet he fights. Here, he broke free, and now he fights. There are few in the world who are forced into the role that The Little Boy had been, fewer than that who came to the realization that he did, and even fewer still who achieved this revelation at as young an age as he did. No matter how things may sway in certain ways between polar opposites, some cases at the very core are left with either one choice, or the other. He had his choice. . He could let himself get beat up, or he could beat them up. He could let himself fall down, or he could remain standing. He could win, or he could lose, and he did so wish to win, even if the odds were greatly stacked against him. Yet its these odds that often make immortals of men, and even more so when they win their wars. And that’s all he needed to do was win. As long as he breathed his last breathe with a smile on his face, he would win. As long as he was surrounded by all the scowls and frowns in the world once he was buried, he would win. All he needed was to get the last laugh, and he would do anything to get it. So he broke off, abandoned the name of the victim , and created in himself a god who molded his own fate, the man called Sinister . This was war. Sinister had his own designs that went against those of the fates, and in the end, it all just comes down to his destiny at birth, or the destiny he would carve out for himself. Yet even now, even at this day and age, he finds himself hated, ridiculed, loathed, and even still by most people who have little justifiable reasons to hate him. They were trying to cast him as the victim once again, make him the target of the oppressors. But this is not what Sinister was, oh no. Sinister was the prey that transformed itself into the predator. No longer would he remain to absorb all the evils of the world. He wouldn’t have it. He would send it back, all in full force, give them all a taste of their own medicine. It was all a matter of fighting fire with fire. Being cruel to those who are cruel. Being evil to those who are evil. It was him against the world in a war that was destined to span his entire life, and as the line goes, all’s fair in love and war, and it was with this that Sinister crafted the wicked weapons he would use against those who were wicked themselves. It was here on the theatre of this war that he concocted his battle plan, set in some of the most sickening ways possible. It was here that he utilized his very own god-given qualities against the very god that had given it to him. He would defy his destiny, and destroy those who tried to force him down that same path once again. Sinister had made all the preparations to make sure that he was the survivor, and it was all going to happen on this mans debut.[/align]

Scene 1: Crippled Wings Sinister's dream.



The Scene Shows a Mirror which stands a man. but not just any man, not just your typical man. No, this man, is of exceptional standards. A martyr among modern day Christs, a pariah among the realm of revolutionaries. This man, is none other than Sinister . Dressed in baggy blue jeans, a red hooded sweatshirt, and a skull cap. The Glass was uncanny, unsettling, the strange aura that radiated within the boundaries of the small mirror. There was a sense of overbearing danger that filled the air, and Sinister simply reveled in it. He washed himself with it, bringing him almost to an unreal, ethereal high. He slowly leaned his head back and closed his eyes as he allowed himself to wallow in the shadows of the weapons that could very well bring upon his own demise. The Mirror showed Sinister. His eyes open as he begins to speak.

Sinister: Brought into its rebirth once again, ripped from the essence of dreams that should have never been dreamt. Dreams that were forced into this mind. It was all so long ago, wasn’t it? Back when the virgin innocence was shattered, when my mind was impregnated with wishes of pain and retribution. I could only sit and imagine how beautiful you were back then, how magnificent it would be when you would finally come to life. I would sit and I would think of how wonderful it would be when you were finally conceived, brought into this world. I thought vividly of how I would dress you, where I would bring you, and who I would bring you to. It was too long, far too long that you were kept contained intellectually in utero. Yet here you are in all your splendor, born again, summoned back into this wicked ground for the purpose of serving my commands. Are you… happy? Are you pleased? I’ve brought you here once again after so long, and you can finally see the light of day once again. You can finally meet all those new faces that you wanted to meet. You know why I always call you when I do. There is someone else that I want you to meet. Someone else who I am eager to introduce you to. Are you excited?

Sinister opens his eyes and stares at the Mirror in front of him, which rattle eerily in response to his question, drawing a smile upon his face because of it.

SinisterYou were always so ecstatic whenever I gave you a new playmate. You always seemed so happy. Remember… remember the last time I gave you someone to play with? Do you remember this names? I remember hearing your laughter, interspersed with the screams of your little toys. I remember how happy you were when you watched me battle against them. You… are quite abusive. You know no mercy to those who love you, and those you love in return. I remember telling you how you would get to meet The Ultimate Warrior and Andrew The Gaint. How I would introduce him to you, face to face, and yet… he didn’t show up. He did not arrive to our little meeting, and in his place, we met with a drunken clown.

At the mention of the drunken clown’s name, the glass shatter's as pieces fall some landing atop of Sinister. His eyes close once more as a smile is seen across his face, he take a deep breathe before continuing.

Sinister I remember. You were not pleased, not at all. I promised you , yet I gave to you a drunken clown n. We had to punish him. We had to deliver unto him the pain that was originally meant for his deeds. We had to transform him into another martyr, and in the end, he became nothing but another sacrifice to you, my greatest work. I know how long it’s been since I last unleashed you, and you have yet to be nourished since then. I have yet to deliver anything to you all this time. You needed a body, a toy to keep you content and comforted, something to sate you so that you may not act up. You needed to rediscover that taste of blood, for it can be the only equivalent of a mother’s milk to feed to a demon such as you. And I know how much you crave, how often you cry for that crimson nectar. It will come soon enough, I promise you this.

It appears this abomination has little patient for its next feeding, and yet there is a voice there to calm this twisted spirit.

Mysterious Voice: Shhh… don’t cry. Don’t cry, my dear.

Sinister expected as much, seeing as he was alone and in a brooding mood at the moment, that there would be yet another demon to be brought upon his presence. It was the same one as before, the one known as Mother , who came to whisper sweet nothings into the soul of this monstrosity.

Mysterious Voice: It’s okay. Mother is here with you too. Stop your crying now. Shhh…

As he stared, he saw, if only for a brief moment, a reflection on it. It was not his own, but instead the ghastly pale face of a woman who had appeared to be standing directly behind Sinister . It was only for a single moment that Sinister n had seen this before the glass shattered violently before him. The shards did not simply fall directly down as would have been expected. Instead they flew off in random directions, as if caught in an explosion. Sinister quickly raised his arm to shield his face from the shards, only to find his arm fairly shredded in turn. As the glass pieces settled on the ground before him, Sinister took a look at his arm, noting the blood that started to secrete out of his new wounds. Swiftly, he swung his arm down, flinging droplets of blood upon the mat. It was at the very moment where the blood touch the floor that this tremor had started to subside, until soon enough, all was peaceful once again. The Voice spoke once more.

Mysterious Voice: Look what you did…? Are You Okay?

The sound was different than normal. It wasn’t soundless as it usually was. No, instead, he could hear it directly behind him, a female voice, one that he always imagined yet could never dream of hearing in reality. This meant only one thing. His Mother was truly here, not in voice, but in form as well, and it was at this discovery that Sinister ad found another conclusion. That woman reflected on the glass could only be this voice in true form, and she was standing directly behind him.

Sinister I… I’m fine. It’s nothing.

Mysterious Voice: I'm Glad Son.

At this moment, Sinister had felt an insanely chill on his arm, starting from the shoulder and sweeping down towards the tips of his fingers, as of someone placing their icy hands upon him to soothe his wounds. It all lasted for only the shortest moments before it subsided, to which Sinister took another look at his arm only to find not a single trace of a scratch anywhere.

Sinister's Mother: How neglectful. It’s been cast away for so long, without sight, without words, and it is only here now that we see how lonely it is, how thirsty it is. our child has lashed out at you. It cries for nourishment.

Sinister Nourishment it shall have. You know why I beckoned its return. You know the reason why I called it back into these grounds.

Sinister's Mother: To abuse it for the sake of punishing a slave of maniacal ego? Is that why?

Sinister Is there a problem with that?

Suddenly, Sinister felt that stinging cold once again, this time wrapping around his waist. Quickly, he glanced down, and for the first time, he saw the image of the pale transparent arms of this ghost who has continued to haunt him since his childhood. Its breath was caught upon his back as it spoke once more.

Sinister's Mother: No Son, there’s no problem at all.

Sinister saw it, the arms that were quickly wrapping themselves around his torso. He could feel an even greater chill this time from behind, consuming his entire back as his mother had closed him in for a tight embrace. She soon lifted her right hand up, letting it slide up onto his chest where she placed it right on his heart, if only just to feel it beating.

Sinister's Mother: I was the one who planted the seeds in your mind. You were the one who conceived it. But do you know why we gave birth to this atrocity? Do you remember the purpose?

Sinister You wanted me to be famous, the battlefield of the damned, birthed with the design to annihilate all who have been deemed too corrupt to exist in this world. They are the cattle who have been infected, and this is the slaughterhouse that puts them to rest. Mother

Sinister's Mother: There is one who brazenly enters the slaughter while bearing its horns to its executioner, isn’t there?

Sinister JACOB DAVIES.....

Sinister's Mother: Exactly.

Suddenly, the grip on Sinister's hand is released as she back off leaving Sinister tanding still in the middle of nowhere. Her presence in the area sends an unnatural breeze flowing through the building, swirling the fog around the ring into a sort of calm tornado, and yet despite all of this, Sinister remained calm.

Sinister Jacob n himself is the prey locked upon the crosshairs, and yet he still tries to reverse the roles. I will not be the weak sheep that is left to be hunted down. I will not be the victim again!

As Sinister screams that last line, the unreal breeze blowing throughout the building grows stronger, twisting the black mist around into a tornado, casting them all within the eye of the storm. The chains hanging over the ring begin to shake slightly, as if shivering at the sight.

Sinister's Mother You see son that’s it. They all want to ruin you, to kill you, to eliminate you. They all want to see you fall all… over… again.

Slowly, the black mist begins to fade around them. Sinister looks all around him as the fog subsides, where he starts to see the forms of various people lingering around the ringside. As it completely dissipates, the fog reveals what it had been hiding this entire time; an entire crowd that had filled the arena just to watch the event. They are screaming. Booing. Restless. There are quite a few people in the crowd who are rowdy enough to start throwing objects into the ring. Bottles, cans, assorted recyclables, and even a good number of improvised weaponry too, such as steel chairs, crutches, even a loaded garbage can. And it’s all aimed directly at him.

Sinister's MotherDo you see it? Once again, it’s all the same. They hate you. They want to bury you in their filth. They want to erase your existence entirely. Will you allow this to happen?

Sinister shakes his head No, when suddenly he felt a cold touch on his shoulder, and a pale finger at his side pointing towards the entrance way. Naturally, he turned to look, where he saw the exact image that he would be seeing just one night from now. There it was upon the distance. And Suddenly a tear shed from the eye of Sinister. He looks at his mother.

Sinister This match is for you mom

The cold feeling suddenly stops as Sinister in a bed. He raises up shirtless with baggy sweatpants. He sighs getting ready for the day ahead of him.


Scene 1 End.



Scene 1 Word Count 3062




Scene 2: All Eyes On Me.

It was finally time. Time for the show everyone was so anxious to see, The Debut of Sinister There was a lot of excitement that had built up for his Debut. he focus all becomes apparent when everyone finally takes notice of Sinister, who is seen in a very familiar place, sitting upon the staircase leading up to the rafters. His appearance is that of the classic Raven attire from the original , opting to wear a pair of ragged blue shorts and a black leather jacket over a shirt promoting the band Slipknot. His Short, spiky hair seems to slightly obscure his face from view, yet he pays this no mind as he begins to speak.

SinisterPassion. Deception. Remorse. These are the words that all seem to tell a story that no one can ever fully understand, even if they themselves are the ones who wrote it. I’ve tried desperately to escape it, to run away from it, but there’s no use in running. This is the story book that had been cast open for me, and it reads of a tale of a boyy, A boy who wished for a shred of love, but instead received all the hate in the world. It’s horrible how I can look through these pages and watch as it distorts from a tragedy to a ridiculous comedy. I sit and as I read, I notice how there’s always a joke for every tear shed, always a smile for every bruise bared, always a laugh for every scream heard. No matter how I try to revise it, rewrite it, the theme is always the same. Have you ever noticed how interchangeable laughing is… to crying? Polar opposites, yet stand as twins, one of sorrow, one of peace. You laugh when I cry, you cry when I laugh, and yet it all just sounds the same, doesn’t it? It’s just so easy to make that mistake when something gets far too familiar. Am I crying, or am I laughing? Am I truly distraught, or is it all an act? And it’s all I ever get from you assuming bastards that you think you can understand what has happened to me. Jacob Davies , you’ve already judged me. You’ve already looked at me and thought of how shallow the intricacies of my words are. You’ve already branded your thoughts as truth. Do you truly know what goes on in this heart and in this head? The truth is in perception, and even then, there is only one person who can know the truth, and that’s me. Yet when you twist things around, I have seen you, and I have cast my judgment of you as well. Do I deem you as evil? I do. Do I plan to rip your eyeballs out and shove them down your throat? I do. And what reasons do I need more than the fact that you have attempted to hunt me down? . There is nothing more to understand then that, and yet you still attempt to know more. You still attempt to claim that you know what goes on within me. The truth is nothing more than a waste of time at this point. You will not listen to my truths, and I do not care to listen to yours. You wish to hide in your entrapments of assumptions, while I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what the hell your motives are. You try to kill me for whatever reason, I will kill you first. It’s as simple… as… that. But Jacob n, there’s just one truth out there, one that has already brought in your demise, and it was you who was foolish enough to ignore it. Do you understand what that truth is?

Sinister slowly bows his head down as he pauses in his speech. The image on the titantron soon starts to distort in unnatural shades. Sinister himself seems to fade into a lighter color, as the room around him soon changes completely. No longer is he seen in a dark, empty room. The room around him now looks very familiar, yet the distortion makes it hard to decipher. Sinister hen resumes speaking, yet his voice sounds slightly… different.

Sinister Jacob this is House Of Hardcore the ultimate prison of mortals and sinners, and this is the place of your judgment. Jacob once… once I would have been afraid to build a place like this. Once, I would have never dreamed to bring a monstrosity such as this to life. But no, I had to. This place had to be built, if only to bring retribution to those who wallow in the filth of their disgusting sins. The thing is… I have long ago lost the luxury of calling myself human, calling myself mortal. Call me what you will. Demonic, undead, inhuman, it’s all the same. I am not like you, not anymore. The name of Sinister has long been carved upon the epitaph, and you do not look at me and see him in these eyes. The man who has traveled the path of ECW is not the man who you will face tonight. Sinister is a name parallel to those of the deities of old. Sinister is a being of black fire, that which burns and scorches the corrupt in their own ugliness and perversion. This sanctum that I call House Of Hardcore… is the haven for this god, and by entering you have sealed your own demise. This is your trial, to bring down a deity in his own realm. In this heart is Thanatos incarnate. In this body, the soul of Azrael. And it is with this steel that I have carved out the execution block of those who fall from grace. And Jacob … you have indeed fallen from grace. I see that way you looked at me when i first entered in HOH only a fragment of your ego. What has once been a glorious accolade has become nothing more than an idol built in your own honor. That belt has become your own incarnation of the Tower of Babel, and like the gods before me, I shall punish you for it. You have fallen from grace in the eyes of god, and you are no longer deemed worthy to hold that title, and yet you cling to it like it means your life. Then again, maybe it does mean your life? You’ve poured so much of your heart and your ego into that belt, how much would it pain you once I finally rip that title from out of your cold, diseased hands? How badly shall it rend your soul when it is finally taken away from you? And once it’s all gone, what will happen? Will you change? Will you die? To understand the concept, Jacob , all I’ve seen in you… is a Pussy. So easily do you deceive us with your color and your energy, and yet all that beats inside is a one-dimensional heart. I’ve only seen you traveling one path, working in one direction. All I’ve seen in you is cruelty and deception, with no trace of altruism or justice within your veins. Have you ever noticed it? Jacob , you’re used to the routine. It’s become you so much, that it becomes all too familiar, like clockwork. You’re used to being the best. You’re used to being on top. You’re used to wearing gold. Yet when I break that clock and twist its hands in different directions, when I pilfer your gold and leave you buried at the bottom of the ladder, what will happen to you? Will you crumble beneath my feet? Will you break down as a wreck here before me? Or will you stand up, and try to defy me once more, just as you are now?

Sinister bows his head down once again and pauses before slowly standing up. He then slowly wanders over to a steel chair hanging on a chain above him as he starts to speak again

SinisterI am human, yet not human. There is a man in me who thirsts for salvation, and a deity in me that cries out for vengeance. what hope do you have to achieve deicide on such sacred a time? What hope do you have to kill that which is immortal? There is a god of vengeance that waits for you on the battlefield. On tattered wings, he soars, casting his shadow over all who linger below him. Warriors shall stare, children shall scream, mothers shall weep, all at the sight of their world being brought into an eternal eclipse. Do you hope to be their savior? Do you hope to be the messiah? Come, Jacob Davies Come with all your might and learn how useless your slings are against me. I am the immaculate Metatron of death. I am the summoner of the end. The Rapture is soon to fall. Armageddon is coming far sooner than you could have ever hoped. Black ashes will rain down and paint your hallowed ground in sickening shades. Your blood shall be the ink that I use to craft this final masterpiece. Your screams of misery and horror shall become the aria of my wake. This place shall be your grave, I promise you. I will leave you buried in the ground, and you shall look up at this fallen god, adorned in a golden shine, with your prize in one hand, your heart in the other, and it is here that you will learn that this… is your Day… of Reckoning.

Sinister lightly placed his microphone down by his side as he sits still, waiting for his opponent to arrive for their match to begin. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait for long, as the symphonic chorus soon beckons the arrival of his opponent…





Scene 2 Word Count:1669
Total Word Count: 4736

Vince McMahon - April 9, 2010 03:42 PM (GMT)
Approved! Welcome to WWE: NXT. Thanks For joining and enjoy your time here




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