A little one shot on what exactly happened when the Undertaker became the Lord of Darkness. Written in kayfabe of course. XD I would recommend reading "Oblivion" first, so some of the references will make more sense, but it's not necessary. At any rate, I wrote this a few years ago... Enjoy, and comment!


The time had finally come, he realized, as Stone Cold backed a truck over him and two tons of dirt began to fill the grave he was lying in.

He was being killed--again--and by none other than his own flesh and blood...again! The Undertaker could feel an unholy anger eating away at his reason, burning through his veins like acid.

"Kane..." he whispered with his last breath. "I'll get you... Everyone will suffer for what you've done to me... I will never... rest...in...peace..."

And then it was over. He felt the all-too-familiar tingling that comes when Death comes, and allowed his eyes to close as the dirt covered his entire body, taking away the last of his air, and finally killing him.

Again.

When he opened his eyes, he was in standing, alone, in complete darkness. The soul-room he was in at first appeared to be empty, but, with a wave of his hand, light filled the room, revealing an altar with his symbol suspended ominously above it.

'I have no other choice', he told himself, stepping slowly up to the altar and picking up the long, jagged-edged dagger that lay on it. 'I'm sick of it--sick of being betrayed, sick of trying to care for Kane, sick of being weak! '

With those thoughts, he ran the steel edge across his wrist, letting the blood drain slowly into a golden chalice. His green eyes narrowed as he watched the many glimmering drops of blood pass from his body into what would soon be his army.

"Yes, yes," he muttered, as the cup filled to the brim. When it was full, he slowly slid his shirt over his head and began tearing it into small, fragmented pieces. The Undertaker began to chant is a low, melodic voice; words in an ancient language long dead, and long forgotten. He placed each piece along the sides of the altar and then slowly began to pour six drops of his blood on each.

"Now, rise, my minions, my Druids," he said, raising his head to the non-existent sky. "Come forth from the depths of Hell to do my bidding!"

Immediately, the torn pieces of the shirt began to smoke, becoming surrounded by a dense white fog. The fog grew thicker with each passing second and began to take shape: Each one became a hooded being, clothed in a black robe, bowing to the Undertaker.

He smiled at them, peering into the hoods and seeing nothing. "Good, good," he said, and sent them away into the mortal world, the first members of his Ministry, but not the last.

"Certainly not the last," he said with an evil grin, eyes glittering as he thought of all the unfortunate souls who he'd bring over to the Darkside. But then, his smile faded as he realized what he'd have to do next. If he had been alive, he would have felt his heart pounding in his chest for what he had to do, the pain he now had to inflict on himself if he wanted to take his perfect revenge.

The Undertaker stepped up to the altar and picked up the dagger again, holding it in his hands and feeling its weight. The blade glittered in the pale light, and he felt himself wince. 'You're stalling', he scolded himself even as he tied his hair back with a left over strip of his shirt to keep in from being covered in blood. 'You must do this now!'

"I...am the Lord of Darkness," he said aloud, voice steady even as his hands trembled slightly. "And when I return to the mortal world, I will bring all hell with me. I will take revenge on those who have wronged me... I will do what I will and no one will be able to stop me!" He placed the cold steel against his bare chest and dragged it slowly down, and then quickly across, making a T shape. The cuts were deep, and his breathing became irregular as pain passed over him in waves. Blood began to drip from the wounds and he watched as it collected on the floor at his feet. It was getting hard to see, but he had to finish.

Holding his breath, the Undertaker cut an X shape across the T, finishing his symbol and falling to his knees in front of the altar. He rested his head against the cold marble and found it a soothing contrast to the burning pain in his body.

"Now..." he gasped, moving into a kneeling position. "I offer myself to the Darkness..."

At that moment, something in his heart told him to stop, to think, to not give away his soul for anger and revenge. It told him that he cared for Kane, that he loved his brother, and that if he did this, he might even kill his brother! It was the strangest thing--a mixture of love, concern and worry. The Undertaker only smiled at the feeling, the last bit of warmth that he was sure he'd ever feel again. Because along with those warm feelings was the coldness of betrayal and hatred, and the anger had become so furious as to be maddening. He knew that he would do it, because there was simply nothing else he could do. Or maybe, nothing else that he wanted to do...

Arms shaking, eyes closed tightly, he lifted arms and, holding the dagger with both hands, plunged it into his chest, driving it through his heart and soul.

Dark red blood gushed from the wound as he slumped against the altar, unable to breathe or see. He coughed and his mouth filled with the sweet taste of his own blood. His green eyes struggled to open and he saw that the blood was becoming clear as it poured from him, and then black as though some vile liquid had infected it. His body was completely limp, and he fell backwards, the dagger coming out of him, as he stared sightlessly in front of him.

The darkness grew deeper as he lay there, as the black blood pooled at the altar, and the Undertaker was not moving. He closed his eyes as the Darkness took him, and felt a coldness worse than death come over his body.

Then he sat up, and the world changed.

His green eyes had darkened and became nearly black; his already long hair grew to reach his mid back; his facial hair changed so that it resembled that of the Devil in various works of art, although it may have been the Devil mimicking him. His body was whole again, though scarred, and filled with the Darkness he had once vowed to never give in to.

The Undertaker stood, feeling power flowing through him. He stretched his arms, his back, like a cat waking up from a sleep. A mad smile stole over his lips when he realized that the ceremony had worked--he had done it. He had done what was forbidden to his own self. And now, he truly was the Lord of Darkness.

A Druid appeared from the Shadows. "Here, my Master," it said in a low, scratching voice that would have made a mortal's ears bleed. It was holding out an elaborate black robe, made of the softest material this side of heaven. The Lord of Darkness took the robe from the Druid's hands and slipped it on over his body. A perfect fit. He now needed only one more thing.

Using his new power, he closed his eyes and called out a name. Come to me, for I have need of you now. I will ignore all of your past sins. Come to me at once. And, instantly, there was a man standing there, stunned. He had been in bed only moments ago, and now he was here... where ever here was...

"Welcome, old friend," the Undertaker said, voice cold and emotionless.

Paul Bearer only stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to believe what he was seeing. The change in him was great, and it was obvious what he had done. "You...you did it to yourself..." he said, unable to believe it. "You sacrificed yourself...Why?"

The Dark Lord stared into the man's eyes and smiled. "Because I wanted to," he began, pulling the string out of his hair that he had used to bind it earlier. "Because I was angry. Because I'm tired of being weak." His soft curls fell down past his shoulders in a cascade of red darkness. "Because I'm insane."

Paul nodded, for he knew that his old friend was telling the truth. "You do realize that--"

"I know, Paul," he said, slowly raising his arms. Thunder began to roar, and Paul became even more afraid. "I summoned you here because I need you. You are the only one I wish to aid me in forming my Ministry of Darkness. Only you have the potential to survive the great Darkness of my soul." A circle of flames suddenly surrounded both men, and the flames were not orange, but black. "Take my hand, Paul, and we will plunge the world into eternal night. Starting with Kane, my brother, your son."

Paul knew that the man he had once called his friend was completely serious, despite the madness of his words. The Undertaker--no, the Lord of Darkness--was completely out of control. And there would be no denying him.

The terrified man reached out to shake his hand. "Together again, eh?" he asked, trying to seem as though he was joking. "Seems we'll always be together..." He looked into the black eyes and shuddered. "It seems I can never get away."

At this, the Dark Lord laughed, and it sent chills through Paul's soul. "Very true," he said, taking Paul Bearer's hand, and leaving it coated with his black blood. The Deadman turned, suddenly, and walked through the flames.

"I shall return to the mortal world soon," he said, fading into the darkness. "I expect you to be waiting for me." With a flick of his wrist, Paul was transported back to his bed, and would probably think that everything that had happened was a dream... except for the blood on his hands.

The Lord of Darkness was pleased at what he had accomplished thus far, and stood there silently, wondering if he would ever regret his decision. He knew that the price he had to pay was worth the power, but in return, he could only return to his normal state through the very human emotion of Love.

And he was so far from being human at this moment that he couldn't care less. He was the Demon, the Reaper of Men, the Chaser of Souls, the Weaver of Nightmares, and Hell was his domain. There was nothing except Darkness.

And yet...the wings that had so often appeared on him in death were still there, clear and shimmering, glowing with a pure white light right before fading away, leaving an outline of silver light that for a moment held back the darkness and dispelled it from the room.

The Undertaker took no notice of this, however, as exhaustion spread through him.

"Kane... Austin..." he growled before lying on the altar. "You, and everyone else will suffer... Suffer as I have suffered... And I will enjoy your pain." Just thinking about it made him smile, and it was in this way he fell into the healing sleep of Death; a small smile playing on his lips at the thought of the Hell he'd unleash on Earth very, very shortly.

The Era of Darkness had begun.