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 |  Subject: A Prologue  Thu Jan 12, 2012 3:01 pm | |
| [Video shows static, before cutting to a man is sitting in a chair. His face is obscured by static. The man begins to speak]
My name is Anton Lavey. By the time you find these tapes, you may know me better as Dante Wrath. I know that one day I will have to explain everything. But when that day comes, I won’t be here to do it. So these tapes will do it for me.
I can’t explain who I am. Let me rephrase that. I can’t even explain what I am. I’m sick. I’m twisted. I should be locked up and have the keys thrown away. Sometimes I wonder if a man like me deserves life. But I’m also a regular guy. I am unemployed. I live in a regular house with no girlfriend, no family, and no friends at all. There’s something wrong with me, that’s for sure.
Let me start off by explaining who I am. My name is Anton Lavey. Yes, I am aware that it’s the same name as the man who formed the Church of Satan. It’s a bit of coincidental irony, looking at it now. But for most of my life, I did not know who Anton was. He was merely another man who existed, and had the same name as me.
I was born in a small house in a small village of about thirty people in northern Russia. My parents were American, and had moved there, along with a handful of others. In the village, we didn’t have much, but we made do. Food was scarce. Sometimes we’d only have enough for one small meal a day. But we learned great discipline from it. I had a younger brother and a sister. My brother Alexander was two years younger than me, and my sister Olga was three. We often stuck together, because we didn’t know many people in our village. My parents liked to keep us secluded.
I think I was about five years old when I started hearing voices. I don’t know where they came from. I don’t know why it happened. But I just sort of started hearing them. At first it was rarely. I would be lying in bed, and someone would tell me to get up. I thought it was my dad at first. But then it told me to just watch my parents sleep. I was so young; I didn’t know what it wanted. So I did what I was told.
As I grew older, the voices became more frequent. I lived with them. Sometimes I would talk to them. They shaped my childhood. Everything that I did was based on their decision for me. It was weird. It wasn’t like they were controlling me. I just listened to what they had to say, and agreed with them. At the time, I was unaware that this was any different from anyone else. I never told anyone in my childhood. I thought everyone had these voices that they could talk to.
The things that I did were never that bad. Sometimes they would tell me that one of my classmates was cheating on his homework. So at recess, I would walk over to him and punch him in the nose. I often got in trouble from my teacher, but the voices told me that it was small punishment for what we were accomplishing. Everything else that I was told to do had little consequences. Stealing my sister’s underwear. Deliberately breaking small things in our house. One time I killed the neighbour’s dog. Sometimes I would even cut myself if I did something wrong. But nothing was ever that serious.
I was a big kid. My parents were pretty tall, but even they couldn’t explain how big I got. When I was fifteen, I was already seven feet tall. And I weighed about three hundred pounds. I was by far the biggest guy in the village. That’s why I was often able to have my way with schoolmates, even the teacher sometimes. My dad taught me how to lift weights. We had a heavy iron bar in the basement that I used every day. The voices told me that it would help for when the time came.
Everything was fine in my life. Until the one day that changed it all.
I had just turned eighteen years old. The night before I had been drinking a lot in celebration. I fell asleep, and when I woke up, I had a massive headache. But I could still hear the voices. As soon as I sat up, they told me that it was time. Nothing more was said. I just knew exactly what to do.
My mother and father were off at work. My brother and sister were still sleeping. It was a peaceful morning. The middle of the summer, I believe. It was not warm by any means, but it was a nice day. I remember walking downstairs and seeing breakfast out on the table. My mother and father must have left it for me. I went to the toolshed. It was where my father kept our axes.
I remember walking up the stairs with the largest, sharpest axe we had in our toolshed in hand. I walked into my brother and sister’s room. They shared the same one as me. They were fast asleep. I knew it would be easy. I found clothes of theirs lying on the ground. I bound their arms and legs to the edge of the bed. I stuffed a pair of my sister’s underwear in both of their mouths. That woke them up. I remember them struggling to escape their bonds. I could see the fear start to grow in their eyes. They realized that there was no escape for them.
Looking back, even now, I didn’t feel any remorse. As I swung the axe down at their necks, separating their heads from their bodies, I felt no such feeling. In fact, I felt, if anything, aroused. Watching the life immediately vanish from their face, the blood pouring out of their severed necks. I knew it was wrong. I knew that I shouldn’t like this. But I did. I enjoyed watching their lifeless bodies lying there, in pools of their own blood. The voices told me that I had done the world a great duty. But my job was also not finished, and I knew it.
When my mother came home from work, I knocked her unconscious, tied her to a chair, and then cut her into pieces with a butcher’s knife. I axed my father to death when he came home from work. The next day, I killed my neighbours. The day after that, I murdered their neighbours. Each day, I was killing more and more of my village. They knew it was coming, but they were powerless to stop me. By the end of the week, my entire village was gone. I had killed them all, in brutal fashion. I was the only one left.
The voices told me that I had done a great service. They told me that there was more for me out there. That I didn’t need these people in the village, the ones who were holding me down. They told me that I must go on. I left the village that day, walking for days. I was eventually picked up by a group of Japanese travellers, who took me back to a small town in Japan, and dropped me off. It was there I first realized that there was more in my life than just my village. The voices slowed down again.
And then, as quickly as they slowed down, they started up again. This time, it was during a wrestling match. I had joined a local promotion, and was doing quite well. But the voices told me otherwise. They told me that I was disgracing myself. They told me that I needed to punish the nearest thing around me. And once again, I found myself with a man in front of me, and a butcher’s knife in my hand. I cut that man to pieces, in front of thousands of fans.
I was arrested. Sent to jail. One day, a guard tried moving me, and I snapped his neck. The voices were getting more powerful now. But I was learning to control them. In jail, I developed a mindset, where I could release the voices at will. Eventually, I tried to escape my prison. I murdered five guards along the way. But I was caught. The Japanese decided that I could not be contained. They sent me, in an underground deal, to a maximum-security North Korean prison. It was there where I went from Anton Lavey to Dante Wrath.
Upon entering prison, I was immediately taken into isolation. They said that I couldn’t mingle with the other prisoners, for I was too dangerous. I was in my cell twenty-two hours a day. The other two hours were spent alone in the weight room, lifting weights. It was the only thing I had. My taste for blood and gore was at an all time high. Sometimes the voices would get past my will, and engulf me. But there was nothing that I could do.
Until one day, the warden approached me. He offered me a chance for release. A chance for freedom. All I had to do was wrestle once a week. If I won seven matches in a row, he would sign my release papers, and send me anywhere I wanted to go. But there was a problem. No one in the prison knew who I was. The warden did everything based on marketability. How could I become popular, especially being a Russian, when all of the other wrestlers were Asian? Surely they would hate me, for I was a foreigner. So the warden gave me something to help protect my identity.
And thus, Dante Wrath was born. I would wear the mask upon being escorted out of my cell, and lead to the wrestling ring. The rules were simple. When the opponent was no longer alive, the match was over. This is where I really learned how to control the voices in my head. When the mask was on, I would let them run free. But when the mask was off, I was just Anton Lavey. I spent many hours wondering what was wrong with me. Why I heard these voices. Why I took such pleasure in the murdering and mutilation of human beings. And to this day, I cannot answer. It’s just something that I have to live with.
I won seven matches in a row. I killed seven prisoners in the ring, and a few outside of it. Finally, the warden signed my release papers. He showed me a video. It was of the Insurgency Wrestling Federation. They seemed to welcome violence. The warden said that they were the most well known wrestling federation in the world. So he arranged for me to be flown to their headquarters. I walked in, and ten minutes later, walked out with a contract.
And now I’m here. No one has ever heard of me. No one knows who Anton Lavey is. And no one ever will. But the name Dante Wrath. Soon, the world will know who he is.
I can’t help the way I was born. I know it’s wrong. I know that I live a demented life. My fantasies are of death and destruction. But I’m also just a regular man, trying to tell my story.
I am Anton Lavey, and this is my story.
[Video cut to static]
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