Sinai Peninsula, Egypt - 2003


The sun was unbearably bright. So much so that a young, not-quite-yet Ripper struggled to see as he struggled his way through the rough terrain. He looked beaten and worn, which wasn’t a surprise really. He’d spent the last 4 days walking from the coast to the mountains. A brutal test indeed. One that Ariyahu Azrael had been subjected to himself when he first joined the order over a decade earlier.



The Order of Malak al-Mawt was in Ariyahu’s blood. His Grandfather, Taqi El-Sayed was a well respected Anubis, a high ranking official within the order. His great-grandfather also achieved the rank of Anubis, and three generations further back still had high ranking officials within the order. His father however did not come from the order however. In fact, his father wasn’t even an Egyptian.



Taqi only had one child, a girl. Ariyahu’s mother. She caused quite a stir within the order, within her family and within the community as a whole when she chosen not to join the order and instead run off to Tel Aviv to marry Yousef Azrael. An Israeli Jew.



Yousef had passed away when Ariyahu was only 7 years old. On Ariyahu’s 15th Birthday, his mother had informed him of her past, her family and the Order . On his 16th, he had chosen, with her consent, to hike to Alexandria to hunt down the order. By his 17th, he had been ordained as a Malak al-Mawt Mesha, the youngest since his own Great-Grandfather.



Now part of his duties as a higher ranking Medjay was to put the new recruits through the initial program, designed to ensure that the next generation of warriors were able to carry on the Millenia old traditions with the ferocity and reliability that the Malak al-Mawt was known for. His Anubis had decided he would be perfect for this recruit. Those without Arab blood were rare in the Order, although not unheard of, but it had been some time since one had been accepted. This one though, it was obvious he was special. After all, the walk was supposed to take six days.





Anthropolis Badlands - 2326.



I watched as the Young Ripper embraced Delarius. I found myself fascinated by his behaviour. The more I took in, the more I knew that this was not my Ripper. Not to say he was any less deserving of the title I had bestowed upon him at the conclusion of his training, but there was something more human about him. My Ripper was soulless, this one, well he was different.



“What the actual fuck happened?” He asked half-jokingly of the returning Amoralist spy. We had rushed here as soon as the Infernalia show had ended. Interesting concept that show, I was keen to learn more about it, but this was not the time. There was much to discuss.



I followed the militia crew into what had become the defacto war tent. The ‘other’ Deralius’ were already inside. Young Ripper had taken to referring to them as the time-clones. It was a cute nickname, but I was not inclined to follow suit.



There was much to discuss indeed and I, as much as anyone else here, was capivated by the idea of the tale he was about to weave.







Alexandria, Egypt - 2003



As the two men strolled through the wonderful souks of Alexandria. They were attracting a fair amount of stares from the local sellers and shoppers. After all, it wasn’t every day that a man of seven feet stolled amongst the people. Yet, there he was, creating quite the path for himself as people pulled up and out of the way to allow him through.



“Shukran.” He would smile to young families and working men as they allowed him to pass through freely. When he had first marvelled at these stalls and shops, he had been stopped by every single shopkeeper trying to peddle their wares on to him, such was the fascination of this unusual man in their midst. Now though, things were different. Members of the order weren’t often pestered in the streets. Instead treated with a sort of awed reverence. Which was fine when he simply wanted to enjoy the walk, not so helpful when he actually wished to procure said wares.



Behind Ariyahu however, the young Englishman wasn’t having such a peaceful pass through the streets. A young blonde foreigner who spoke literally zero Masry was the perfect target, or so they thought. Ariyahu had on more than one occasion had to double back to ensure that this young Initiate didn’t allow his inner demons to present themselves in this public space filled with innocent people. He didn’t talk much, even in English, much preferring to communicate with actions. These actions, left unchecked, could become problematic without being kept in check.



One young scarf seller wasn’t quite picking up on the hint. If he’d have been anyone slower, Ariyahu would not have been in the way in time to catch the extending arm of his protoge. The merchant opened his mouth to escalate the problem, but one look from the giant Medjay before him put paid to that thought.



“Ana Asf.” He spoke calmly, resting his massive hand on the shouler of the stunned vendor beneath him. “I believe there has been a misunderstanding. Please allow me to escort this person away. The Order thanks you for your understanding. Mae alsalama.”



Before the stunned trader had a chance to respond, Ariyahu had swept away his young charge, storming calmly but purposefully through the displays of rich spices, fragrant teas and glinting jewellery. When they had reached a quiet corner, occupied by only an unmanned pomegrate juicer, he finally broke stride and looked down at the heated young man beneath him. Those green eyes bore right back. He could see the rage within, but luckily, the young man did have the ability to restrain himself when he chose to.



“That fire. That passion. That desire for destruction. Do not allow it to control you. If you can master it, you can become the greatest warrior I have ever laid my eyes upon. Continue on this path, you’ll become to architect of only your own destruction.”



As Ariyahu released his grip, a grin slowly began to snake across the face of the young disciple.



“So, Arik. What kind of Architect do I become if I follow your wise teachings.”



“You dont. You become a demon.”





Anthropolis Badlands - 2326.



“I must preface this little piece by informing you that I wasn’t even that fond of a camera being in my face in my own time. So, this is a little unusual for me. Still, needs must and there is an upcoming competition for me to talk about. So, if you shall indulge me for a moment or two, I will address this upcoming competition.



Firstly, I believe it would be prudent if I would introduce myself first. My name is Ariyahu Azarel. Hemnetjer Medjay of the Malak al-Mawt. I understand of course that this means nothing to you, but I always believe proper introductions are a lost art. I also wish for those who are destined to meet their demise at my hands to know who their maker shall be. It is only proper.



There are many things to know about me, my life and what makes me the most powerful warrior on planet Earth. At least, I was. I am very keen to find if that is still the case, and I have been afforded the most incredible opportunity.



You shall have to forgive my lack of understanding of how things work in this world. See, for me, it was 2008 only a mere three weeks ago. I was also not aware that I had been recruited into the Colosseum, but it does seem as if the escapades of Young Ripper and I caught some people’s attention with our… behaviour… towards some of the Amoralists inside the Colosseum building.



So, I have been snatched from my own timeline, placed into this… very different… universe and immediately have been placed into the Main Event of the next show against Gordy King and Harlan Moretti. I have been informed by Young Ripper that this is the very place we should be.



I must admit, if I was being placed into this combat situation with my own Ripper, then the outcome would be inevitable. I am sure that if the Young Ripper was provided an opportunity to reunite with his Anubis, the result would be the same. Yet, this is not the case is it? We are being placed together with only a rudimentary understanding of who we are as a unit.



This would seem unfair would it not? Our opponents are partners, teammates and close personal friends. To many it would seem that this well oiled machine is the likely candidate for victory over a pair that technically, are teaming together for the very first time.



This is however, a foolish and unfounded belief. I have spent the last few weeks with this version of The Ripper. In a fortuitous turn of events, it seems as if I might be the greatest warrior in my world, and he is the greatest in his. This seems to mean that by default, as a unit, we are the true force of this world. I am slotting into a world I don’t belong, into a team that I have never competed in, under a unit name I have never known, uploading the legacy of a man I have never known. For the record, I plan on surpassing that legacy.



You see, I have been informed that the man you all knew was a man reaching the end of his active life. He was a man whose better days had long passed before you even knew him. Yet he still became a dominating, well respected legend. I invite you now to wonder what I might capable of.”





Malak al-Mawt Hwt-Ntr, Egypt - 2004.



The scorched sand was proving to be a problem for the young initiate. Most men took months, even years to secure their first victory in the firepit. Not him though. So far, this was because he had blitzed the floor and eliminated opponents before he had really even had chance to hit the floor. This time though, as he faced Imarlisan, widely considered inside the temple as the strongest warrior in training, he had stumbled upon a roadblock. Imarlisan was too strong, too big and too skilled. There was no sudden takedowns here, so now he had to stop and think. Problem is, the sand beneath his feet was scorching hot. Falling would provide no reprieve however, as this training was undertaken with nothing more than a cloth tied around the waist. Keeping a cool head in the face of insurmountable, overwhelming pain was a key factor in becoming a Medjay.



The scrap had gathered quite the audience. Unusual for a battle between initiates, but it seemed Ariyahu wasn’t the only one to realise that there was something special happening in the ring. He watched as his young initiate side stepped a charging opponent, and in a move Ariyahu was sure went unseed by many around the ring, stabbed two fingers right into the layrnx of his larger opponent. Imarlisan fell face first, choking on the sand. Could have been bad for him, but the swift and catastrophic elbow to the base of his spine made his hurty throat seem like a considerably smaller problem.



It was that day that Ariyahu bestowed the Moniker of Ripper on him. Not because of the action in and of itself, but the joy that was smeared in blood across his face.







Anthrolopis Badlands - 2326



“I have limited information when it comes to analysing our opposition for this coming week, so I must apologise if my information seems a little inaccurate, but it seems there is one very important point of contention that needs to be addressed.



The Pact have been seemingly handed a silver spoon and I have been reliably infomed that the three of them have taken turns in placing it inside the rectum of another, passing it around when required. This has resulted in a situation in which rather than focusing on the true revolution of this industry, The Young Ripper is forced to watch as the Pact play a game of ‘will they, won’t they’ just waiting for Moretti and King to finally kiss at the airport.



This makes the third consecutive show in which Harlan Moretti and the Uncrowned King are to be locked in combat, and it seems based on previous history that The House will once again rather turn on his master than face the unslayable monster that is The Ripper.



There seems however, that there is nowhere to hide on this occasion. For the Pact to succeed in this endeavour they cannot simply beat one another, they will actually have to defeat someone worth stepping in the area against. I must confess, I am curious how they will attempt to do this.”



The camera spins on the spot, landing on the tanned face of Danny B, that trademark smirk plastered across his face.



“Does it matter? They are stepping into ring against a Seven Foot, 300 pound Warrior King, the greatest of his generation, and the GODMADEMONSTER himself, the undefeated, untouchable Beast of the Best, the Uncrowned Real King of The Colosseum.



Do you want to know why we keep ending up here gentlemen? Because there is an astronomical gulf in the talent this company can produce. You seen there’s me right at the tippy top, then a few rungs below me is Shane. Then a few more there’s Gordy. Then about 15 more there’s Caledonia. Then, right at the bottom, mired in the cesspit, is every other fucking competitor. I’m done with this. This time. I put the Pact down, for good.”



It spins back again. The night-black eyes of Arik center in the frame.



“I wish to make a mark on my 24th Centrury debut. It seems as if I have been provided the perfect opportunity. I have been labelled a Demon of Death. Unlike ‘The House’ and ‘The King,’ I wish to model myself after the Young Ripper and live my name. We didn’t ask for this battle, but you will beg for forgiveness.”



From off the camera, Danny’s voice rings through again.



“Come one, we’ve got a raid to plan. Those two idiots aren’t worth any more of our time.”



Arik stands, his immense size filling the shot.



“Baruch Dayan HaEmet”