(Maggall is seen within a horse and buggy in some random place in Mexico with a dirt road, the driver is at the front with the horses while Maggall is in the buggy with some Mexican chick who knows English as a guide. Maggall is eating a burrito and has the Prestige Championship while on the ride through Mexico.)

Tour Guide: So you've gotten onto our ride to learn about Mexican history, and I'm sure to give you a rich telling abo—

Maggall: Nah, tell me about the gypsies in Mexico, the nomads or whatever.

Tour Guide: The Romanis?

Maggall: Yeah, yeah, those guys. Yeah, I mean I heard of these Romanis or Gypsies, but just surface level shit about them not having a home, getting their asses dealt with by Judge Claude Frollo, and some bullshit about Tyson Fury. But I ain't ever really cared about them like that to know more. But all of a sudden, it's Romani King this, Romani Rampage that, and somehow it's my job to fight their hero.

Tour Guide: You seem displeased by this, sir.

Maggall: Man, the Collective came to take down the white populace, yet somehow after taking the straps from the Dynasty, I'm always being attacked by these random tokens of colour. First, it was Iwade, now this. It's like when Fox News sends out their black token to shit on us, or when they have Muslim women out to tell other women to take off their hijabs, or when they have Mexicans come on to say America has got to close the border! It's some bullshit to disarm marginalized voices against the whites by using corrupted minorities. How am I supposed to do my job as a member of my Collective if they rob me of the chance to destroy white people and talk smack on em? Now I've got no choice but to learn about these Romanis and Mark Michaels' non stop crying about their struggles despite his love of the white populace that have abused his people the most.

Tour Guide: Well your request is highly unusual, but I'll what I can do. I have found articles, "Trail Dust:Gypsies caravanned through early New Mexico" from santafenewmexican and "Mexico's Hidden Romani Heritage" from theculturetrip.

(Maggall shrugs with indifference but nods in compliant approval. The guide clears her throat and begins reading from an iPad she has.)

Tour Guide: Let's see. Few visitors to Mexico associate it with Romani culture, yet the country actually has a Romani population numbering more than one million. No one knows their true origins, but many speculate their roots are from India. Regardless, they do not have an official nation-state and are nomads that go anywhere in the world as they spread their nomadic culture.

Maggall: So they're super colonizers you can't even send back home?!!!!

Tour Guide: Just as they had in Europe, The Romanis faced significant prejudice in Mexico. In more sleepy farming villages, their arrival were often anticipated for the excitement for their fun fortunes and activities in the community, however they were also feared as Gypsy women were known for diverting families with their fortune-telling, while their husband would slip around the back and raid hen houses.

Maggall: Damn, so they even stealing from the Mexicans.

Tour Guide: They were a truly colourful people, they wore flamboyant costumes. The men, for example, were garbed in loud shirts, baggy trousers and a silk sash. Many men wore an earring, and on their heads, a fez with a long tassel.

(Maggall snickers.)

Maggall: Allah, forgive them.

Tour guide: Excuse me?

Maggall: Oh, nothing, nothing.

Tour guide: Fortune telling is another aspect of Romani culture that has made its way to Mexico. Palm reading, tarot cards, and crystal balls are still popular today.

Maggall: If Mark Michaels can see the future, how didn't he see his loss at Final Destination coming? How he let Nate Cage win the TV Championship? What, he can't see people's move coming before they happen and have countermeasures? Maybe he doesn't practice. He the king of them right? Can't he order his people to read his lil palm and tell him he's about to have my palms around his bitch ass throat??!! Why don't they swing their arms around all spooky like over a crystal ball and tell him my big black ass is too big to fit in their crystal's vision and he'll never measure up to me? Why don't they pick out some cards and say he's been dealt a bad hand by being set to face me??? WHY DON'T THEY DO IT HUH????!!!!! WHAT'S WRONG WITH THE ROMANIS AND THEIR BLESSED POWERS!?? IT'S ALMOST LIKE NOT ONE OF THEIR LEGENDARY GIFTS ARE TRUE!

Tour guide: Well, if you really want some bad things, there were some unsavoury parts of these articles that mentioned that they were known for eating chil-

(Maggall smacks the iPad out of her hand. Either out of reaching his limits with joking about Romanis, boredom on the topic, and/or his patience has run out with his anger boiling over.)

Maggall: Get that racist cracker shit out of here! Ain't nobody eating no damn babies. Always gotta make up shit to make races seem great or nasty!

(Maggall stares at the camera with rage in his eyes.)

I don't give a fuck about no Romani Rampage, just like I didn't give none for White Boy Winter. If the latter couldn't take the title from me, why would the former? They can set me up to defend my championship on any of these lil cute shows for made up for everyone but the brothers, but I'm still going showcase black excellence and walk out of every event champion. Don't think you're special just because they come up with this stupid little event Mark, Romani Rampage is just another alliteration to sell tickets to pea-brained idiots who are swayed by how catchy it is to have letters start-up words back to back. Just like when your mommy and daddy clapped like retarded seals when they thought they were clever by giving you a first name with the letter M. It ain't gonna give you some super power-up like your Romani followers can do a thing once I get you inside that ring and give you no escape. At the end of the day, you're still you, the punk who kept getting lucky due to his partners and now has to pay the piper now that he won't have his friends at his back. If it wasn't for Elijah and Matt Miles your team wouldn't have grabbed that contract to get out of Doomsday in one piece! If it wasn't for again Matt Miles hitting me when I was on the top rope about to squash your whole body, the only alliteration they'd be having for you is that you'd be needing some new Romani Ribs.

These wins have never been because of you, and you know damn well that if my teams were filled with Maggalls ain't no way any of your teams would have made it out like they have. But yet I bet you're going to act like you're one hell of a competitor, someone capable of standing up to big ol Maggall. You're going to be all confident because your white masters like Matt Miles said it was time for you to become champion. You're going to think you're able to live up to the pressure of all your people counting on you, and even extend it to these dumbass OWA fans who think you're somebody to believe in because you've shown small flickers of potential every half year or so. You're going to be the guy who actually cares about OWA and loves his job that finally puts down the big bad part-timer who is only ever around for title shots he knows he's capable of winning.

(Maggall lifts up the Prestige Championship with his hand.)

The reason I'm always instantly in the championship picture is that despite how little I give a damn about this company, something about championship gold makes me take my skills to a level your masters are willing to pay me big bucks and incentives to perform on. I just can't help it. It's like seeing a five-course meal in front me; gold has me acting up! And they want me like that! They want the big-time player that destroyed their hall of famer in Carlos Rosso. They want the Maggall that dismantled their superstar Christopher Sabertooth on day one in that ring. They want the guy that showed up the guys OWA wanted to make it big in Monolith and Miltiades. You wouldn't know anything about my level Mark, I pummel legends before defeating them. You're the soft ass doughboy who gave Nate Cage the only single's champion title he's ever had in OWA. I'm a triple time champion. You're the guy who somehow let a 100 pounder, soaking wet, Niki Khan get one over on you in a gauntlet match. I'm no bitch ass El Ironico you beat to become a forgettable champion, what you going to do to me???! I'm not new to main events Mark, not new to delivering the pain it takes to put little brats like you in their place. In fact I'm the one being taken advantage of by those corrupt suits that know I just can't help it; playing keep away championship gold with you cats is just my calling. I'm cursed with greatness.

I'm going to hurt you Mark. Hurt you like nobody's done before. Your body, your soul, everything is gonna be mine to shatter. You're gassed up because everyone cheered you on being able to lift me when I was stunned by Miles on the top rope. I'm going to have you stinking up the place when I have you pass that gas when I deflate the hype of you ever being able to make weight against a super heavyweight like me. You're used to being the big dog, the king everywhere your nomad ass goes, but just like the Mexicans had your people start practising Christianity, the true big man is going to have you thinking you see the Holy Phantom when I bring you to the doorsteps of the pearly gates.  

(Maggall lays down the championship at his lap, and the camera fades to black as Maggall stares furiously ahead.)

Frost lines the glass edges of the skylight above the training gym attached to Remi’s house. It’s early morning, the sun hasn’t even risen yet, but from the looks of things, Remi Skyfire has been training for a while. The gym is mostly quiet, there is no music, no chatter, just the occasional clang of weights and grunt from Remi herself as she methodically, and mechanically, shapes her body into what it needs to become. Watching her from the sidelines are her trainer, Cassie Belmont, her manager, Danica Cavanaugh, and her girlfriend, Alison Wells.

The gym is heatless, causing Remi’s sweat soaked training gear to steam as she drops her lift bar and walks forward toward a heavy bag. Despite the sweat and cold, Remi is alert and focused. She had definitely not had the showing in OWA she’d wanted to, a losing streak and the beginnings of a bad reputation. All-in-all, it was the worst possible first impression she could have made, nevermind the fact she talked herself up like an idiot prior to her debut. It was time to rebuild.

It wouldn’t be the first time she would need to do so, Remi Skyfire’s career was nothing if not a rollercoaster: the highest highs followed most usually by a crashing low, only to be followed yet again by a rise that would be just enough for people to realize she’s not a total waste of potential. She’d told herself this time would be different, that this time she was going to buckle down and prove to the world that Remi Skyfire was a competitor, someone worthy of holding championships and being a pillar to build the company upon.

Still, things weren’t all bad, there was still hope: All Remi needed to do was pick up a win against Natalie L.A.S.H. and she was number one contender for the Goddesses championship. Back in the spotlight, back in the hunt for gold, and back on the right side of things. It was driving her, fueling her every waking moment and driving her to push herself harder than she had pushed in a long time. She squares her shoulders and begins her combinations, leaving solid thudding imprints in the swaying bag.

It’s freezing in here…

Danica Cavanaugh, Remi’s friend, and former tag partner in a different life complains to no one in particular. She reaches down to her feet where a stainless steel thermos sits and unscrews the top, letting out hot steam from the coffee within. She takes a drink before screwing the cap back on and holds the container tightly between her hands and against her body.

She’s looking tight, though, I’ll give her that. She’s more focused than I’ve seen her in a while. I’ll hand it to ya, Cassandra, I’ve never been a fan of waking up before the sun and torturing myself, but it seems like Remi responds to it.

She unscrews the thermos cap and takes another drink as Cassie rolls her eyes, but keeps her focus on Remi.

That’s why you were forty and still wrestling in high school gyms…well, that and the bourbon I smell in that coffee. It’s barely six in the morning, Danica, don’t you think it’s a little early?

Shhhhh, not in front of the cop!

Danica nudges Remi’s girlfriend, Alison, in the ribs. Alison Wells was an Interpol Special Agent who worked as a liaison to local departments, an important, if boring job that mostly let her travel the globe with, and support her girlfriend. She gives an annoyed sigh and shakes her head.

Dani, I've been around long enough that I didn't need to smell the liquor to know it was there. You’re lucky Remi’s your friend, probably despite her better judgement. You ever feel bad about constantly drinking around a recovering alcoholic?

Danica shakes her head.

Nah, I’m retired, I’ve earned it. Besides, Remi isn’t some fragile flower, she’s tough as hell. She can handle my drinking, just like she’s going to handle Natalie this week!

Alison furrows her brow at Danica’s words and leans toward Cassie.

Do you think she will?

For a long second she thinks that Cassie didn’t hear her, to the point she almost repeats her question before Cassie sighs.

She certainly can. Will she? I don’t know for sure. Her training is a back breaker regime that I put together to put her back on track and focus her. She’s in her head a lot these days, but if she can get over that and pull herself together I think she’s got this. Natalie is a lot, but she’s past her prime and working off a head injury…I know it’s not a great answer, Al, but it’s all I got. You ask her, I guarantee she says she’s gonna take it…so there’s that.

Alison frowns and looks at Remi who is currently running suicides from one side of the gym to another. She had never seen Remi push herself so hard, never saw such focus in her eye. They hadn’t spent much time together in recent days, not that Alison was jealous, she understood where Remi was coming from, but she was used to Remi sleeping in, taking things easy, and being laid back. She admired the passion and focus her girlfriend had, she just hoped it would be enough.

Don’t worry, Al, she knows how to dig herself out. I wish she didn’t have so much experience with it, but she’s got this. I’ve seen her a lot worse off and still turn things around, I think she’s punching so hard because she’s ashamed of how she came in all hot and running her mouth, but didn’t back it up.

Cassie’s assuring words seem to work and Alison’s frown softens. She starts to answer, but Danica cuts her off.

Yeah, she’s got this. She just needs to focus on what’s important and bring home that title. Remi’s a champion if I ever saw one.

Cassie gives Danica a sideward glance that could wilt. She doesn’t think much of Cavanaugh, sees her as a hanger-on, and has told Remi to cut her loose, but Skyfire is loyal to her friends and somehow sees good in her. So instead of beating a dead horse, she turns back to Remi.

Alright, Killer, time for a break!

Remi jogs to a stop, breathing heavily, and heads toward her audience. As she nears, Danica smiles.

You looked like a champion out there, Remi!

This time Cassie doesn’t stay quiet.

Are you kidding me?! You think this is what a champion looks like? You’re a blind drunk, Remi looks starved out there, she’s clawing for her life and doesn’t need you gassing her up and making her think she’s anything other than fighting for relevance out there! Get out of my gym with that nonsense, Danica, go pass out somewhere and we’ll call you when we need you!

Danica scoffs and looks to Remi.

You gonna let her talk to me like that?

Remi looks from Danica to Cassie, who was also her friend,maybe her best. It was true that Danica had been her first tag partner, but Cassie had been her trainer since the beginning, and would always give Remi the truth, whether she wanted it or not. She shrugs and looks back at Dani.

Cassie’s right. I’m not a champion out there, not even close. I can be though, I can see a way through the weeds, if I can just get there. It’s going to take a lot of work, though, long hours. If you need a break, we can catch up later, after training is done…you don’t have to hang around, sis, go enjoy being retired!

Danica looks like she’s been slapped.

Like I need this shit, I’m taking off!

The door to outside slams open, filling the gym with a fresh burst of cold air that cuts through to everyone’s bones, and a second later Danica is gone.

She’s a lot, but at least she believes in me…


No, Remi, she is a drunk who sees a meal ticket. Look, I know she’s your friend, but she’s just around to use up whatever name recognition you have left until you’re just a broke down wreck like she is.

Cassie gestures to Alison.

We believe in you Remi, do you think we’d be here if we didn’t? You damn sure can do this, but it’s not going to be easy.

Remi finishes the bottle of water and nods.

Right. What’s next?

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You ain’t have to tell me who the underdog in this fight is, it’s obvious. That don’t mean I’m not gonna fight though, Hell no! If there’s anything I do well it’s fight. No matter the odds, no matter how decorated my opponent is, or how skilled, Remi Skyfire will never go down without a fight, you can set your watch on it. You can goddamn sure bet that Remi Skyfire isn’t going to fold in front of a lame brained so called super hero whose only power seems to be jumping off of shit and being a lesbian, which speaking of, makes me almost ashamed to be one myself. “Lesbian and a Super Hero”, what the actual fuck is that even supposed to be anyway? “The Guardian of Oddessy”? How the hell is some five-foot-nothing woman who weighs less than what's in my bra going to guard anything?

Look, I know, I know, longest reigning champion, I get it, you’ve got skills, Natalie, and I’m not really in a position to talk, but fuck it, I’m going to anyway. Y’see, I wish I could wake up and have forgotten some of the shit I’ve gone through, some of the mistakes and missteps I’ve made, but I can’t. Hell, I just hit two years sober, so I can’t even drink failure away anymore, I just gotta wake up and face it. Every. Single. Day. Every time I look in the mirror I’m reminded not just of who I am, but who I could be. Who I should be, and it kills me. Nothing you can do or say to me is going to hurt more than what I’ve already done to myself.

See there’s a huge difference between a losing and defeat. Everyone loses, Natalie, everyone. There isn’t a single person who has ever stepped into the ring that hasn’t. You gotta get up, keep moving forward, otherwise you’ve been defeated, and once that happens you should just hang it up. Defeat is accepting loss, becoming comfortable with it, familiar. That’s when it’s over, that’s when you  need to just call it quits and go home.

I’ve not been defeated, no ma’am, not by a long shot. Sure, things haven’t gone the way I’d like them too, and sure, I’ve probably been written off by a lot of people, but fuck ‘em. Only person I need in my corner is me. See, I watch you wrestle, it’s almost automatic for you, and I respect that, but watch me. I’m not better than you, technically speaking, I get by, but I’m not on anyone’s list of top technical wrestlers. Matches with me are fights. Bloody, violent, and brutal. You might hit me, probably will, matter of fact, but I will hit you back. I will walk through more than you think I should, and maybe more than you can even dish out, and ask for more.

You want to come out, be the hero, take down the bad guy, but this bad guy isn’t too interested in that story, it’s boring and cliched. This bad guy wants to take down the hero, bring her down to my level and make her hurt. You might be the hero, Natalie, but this isn’t the story you think it is. I’m Remi Skyfire, I’m the Blackheart, and I’m about to collect a cape.

MYOJIN stared down at the reflective, metallic main plate of the championship resting in their arms; the Outlaw title. Their eyes slowly looking it over, up and down as they quietly thought to themself.

The Outlaw Championship, a belt that seemed to carry with it a curse that affected every holder of it. At first? When the Shining Star had won the belt for the very first time months ago, they hadn't believed the warnings that Theodor Pavel had given them. They hadn't believed him, assumed that maybe it was just his insecurities speaking. But now? It felt different, so much had changed since then- and the blonde could only help but wonder… Had he been right? All that time ago, would MYOJIN have gone the lengths that they have in order to take what they wanted back? Why did this championship truly mean that much- to the point where they would betray everyone and go back right to where they started; at Arata's side. Against everyone else.

There was the tiniest bit of guilt- but it was completely washed away once they had remembered the events of Dimensional Warfare, and everything that had predicted would happen… DID happen. Egos clashed, people lost their focus, but Golden Dawn stayed true. They knew what they had came their to accomplish- and they had did it, even though there had been a few complications. If that was anything to go by, then MYOJIN had to believe that maybe they had joined the right side.

But this title. The championship that they held once again; a part of them continued to wonder if it had been worth everything. A part of them continued to wonder if they were doing the right thing.

“Shouta,” The blonde looked up from where they sat in the Golden Dawn dojo, turning to look toward the voice that had called out. It was Jack Daito, the man that had recruited them to Arata's cause once more… For better or for worse. “I have been looking for you.”

“What is it?” They quickly stood, draping the championship around their shoulder as they turned to face Daito. The look on their teammate's face was unreadable, leaving MYOJIN wondering about what was on his mind.

“Come, walk with me.” Daito spoke, and MYOJIN followed close behind. The two left the inside of the Dojo as the multiple students trained in the outside courtyard. A lot had changed with the faction formerly known as Black Sun. The Outlaw Champion remembered that once upon a time they were merely only a small group, albeit with much power given Arata's godhood. He remembered fighting against that power once upon a time, winning that battle along with the same people they had turned against. But something changed. Black Sun, or now known as Golden Dawn had grown so much more powerful- with so many more following the OWA World Champion's lead.

“What's this about? I was going to start preparing for our upcoming match.” MYOJIN begun as the two stopped, looking toward each other.

“That's exactly what I was going to talk about: this match.. Shouta, I need to know that you are prepared. That you are ready to do whatever it takes to win against our enemy.”

The look on their face changed to confusion, MYOJIN blinked as they adjusted their title. “What are you talking about? Of course I'm ready. I always am for a fight. This is going to be nothing new.”

“Really? Because there seems to be a doubt in you… and I'm not sure what it is. Maybe you are having second thoughts? Maybe you aren't truly ready to face Sunshine? …Or maybe you've already grown complacent after gaining the Outlaw title once more?”

“Where is this coming from? Did I or did I not help you and Arata win Dimensional Warfare? Didn't I risk everything to make sure that our team won? That we would get what we wanted?” MYOJIN retaliated defensively, scowling at the sudden questioning of their motives. Though Daito didn't seem to react much.

“Shouta,” He began. “I saw the look in your eyes when I asked for my wish- if I didn't know better, it had seemed like regret- regret that Jeff X and Chris Sabertooth were about to die despite all they had done. And when Emmanuelle, that traitor, reversed my wish- you seemed relieved. I am just making sure I know what your motives are before the next Kingdom.”

He wasn't wrong. Even though a great deal of MYOJIN had grown to resent the rest of Kingdom, especially the two that they would be facing soon- There was also a part of them that never wanted things to go that far. They hadn't wanted anyone to lose their life, their hatred wasn't as strong as Daito's or Arata's… At least not for everyone but one singular person in particular. MYOJIN frowned ever so slightly, before speaking again.

“In SSW. when we had faced Havoc and Long together- we had won that match remember? I had your back long enough for us to beat two of Golden Dawn's greatest enemies back then.”They started. “You don't have to worry about me or my focus. I know what I'm doing, and I know that we can beat Bishop and Sunshine.”

“And then you had betrayed us soon after… Will you do that again?”

MYOJIN frowned, but took a deep breath. “It's a little too late to do that now, don't you think? I know it's hard for you to do. But you're just going to have to trust me. Okay?”

The two stared at each other in silence, before Daito simply nodded before walking past the Outlaw Champion. MYOJIN looked down, wondering to themself quietly. They had gotten what they wanted from Dimensional Warfare. Their revenge on Bishop, on all of them, had been fulfilled… but was joining Golden Dawn the right decision?

Well, they'd find out sooner than later…

Oh, I hate to be the one that says I told you so… but I did, indeed, tell all of you, didn't I? I warned every single last one of you about what was going to happen in that battle. That all of you wouldn't be able to get over yourselves and move toward your common goal; trying to stop the Golden Dawn.You'd all be so focused on your selfish desires, on your own wants instead of cooperating like a team… And it costed you. It costed all of you greatly. Your friends, Kenny Drake- Chris Sabertooth- Jeff X may all still be alve. But Arata still has his one wish that he's saving, and sooner or later- all of you are going to realize how much of a mistake you had made when you lost focus and we beat you.

Honestly, I would've expected you to learn since then, Bishop. But then again, an old dog can't learn new tricks, can it? And that's all you are, an old dog. Every time you open your mouth it's like listening to a record on repeat, it's like the only thing that you're capable of saying again and again is talking about your past- and how you earned a fluke win over me at Bloodbath. You should be thanking me, old man. You should be on the ground and kissing my feet for banishing you from the Outlaw division, because honestly? I did you a favor.

I am forcing you to stop playing the big fish in a small pond. I am making you get out of your comfort zone and stop hiding in that division because you're scared of the talent above you. I'm forcing you to move on, grow a pair, and actually try something new for once in your miserable, repetitive life. Though, I guess you don't see it that way. It's easy to tell that you're scared of failing again- after all the two men in the main event, Arata and Theodor- they both have wins over you, don't they? You have never been able to win the big one, have you? Never been able to step up the ladder and break past the glass ceiling, even at your age- and believe me, your age is starting to catch up. All those injuries on that worn out body, I doubt that you'll ever become a champion in anything that doesn't revolve around this belt.

And that's the real reason you're so upset about my wish, aren't you? So upset that when you fail, you can never go back to your stomping grounds where things were easier. You can never hold this championship again- and that eats you up inside, doesn't it, Bishop? You will never be able to call yourself the Outlaw King again.

And you can call me a paper champion all you want. You can say what you want about me, about how you were choking me out- when the only reason you won that match is because of the impartial referee that is your partner. But the truth is, Golden Dawn won Dimensional Warfare.

Wolvesden simply wasn't good enough. And if you had won, if you were the fighter that you constantly claimed you were… Well, maybe I wouldn't have been able to take away this championship from you so easily, hm? I'm glad that it upset you. I'm glad that you now know what being cheated out of what is yours feels like. The only difference is that you'll NEVER have this again…

But that's enough about you. You're irrelevant, an ancient relic that's not worth anything anymore.

Hello, Savannah.

Have you missed me?

I know many have been talking about how I betrayed you. About how what i did to you was wrong, leaving you behind- and that it's my fault that Team Starburst no longer exists. Though let me ask you all something: Is it considered wrong when you kill an insect that had been bothering you? Is it wrong to rid yourself of a prasite that had been leeching off you for so long? Is it wrong to cure yourself of a cancer that had been weakening you for so damn long?!

That's what I thought.

Savannah, you are nothing but a nuisance. I didn't what to believe it, but everything that everyone had said about you had been right. You're nothing more than a body, something to carry toward wins- and you know what? I could've forgiven what had happened at the Festival, even though I never needed your help or ever needed you to protect me- But I realized something… and that something was that I never needed you.

We were thrown together as a tag team, a team that I never initially had even asked for. When we won the tag team championships, who had been the one that made Dampshaw tap out? Me. Who had been the one that cost us those titles? You. Matter of fact, you lost every match when you weren't being carried by me or your new favorite person to leech off of, Bishop. But trust me, there's not much life left to suck out of him.

You are a useless bitch- and I regret nothing. I am happy to finally rid myself of you once and for all, and then you can get the fuck out of here and never come back. And once Daito and I finally defeat the two of you once and for all-

I never want to see either of your faces on my brand again.

I suppose I should say that what happened at Civil War 2022 didn't go as we...or I expected and it's something I can't change back. I wish I could do better and if I had a time machine like how I travelled back into the past in one of my movies, I would do it again, let me make it clear.

But hey, that's not too bad, considering Maggall and I are not hurted at all and we're 100% healthy to go to this match to face off against Matt Miles and Mark Michaels. We can still kick some asses and we'll kick more asses and that's what the BBC want to do to both Miles and Michaels.

Why? Let's be honest. Both are some kind idiotic punks. Both are some pompous, arrogant, stupid fools. I do want to say, they have their reasons for it but all your arrogance is going to blind your eyes and clouding your minds and the moment when all the dust becomes clear, they will bite you back in an instant. But I suppose I would let both Matt Miles and Mark Michaels live their moments and enjoy their time because they probably need this to beat me and Maggall. Sadly, professional wrestling is always associated with trash-talking and for this match, they started this.

But as I said. They have their reasons, so I'd love to give both Matt Miles and Mark Michaels some kind of credit, to be honest. Both of them are great talents. World Class athletes. Too good to not be Champions and I have to give other credit that both Miles and Michaels have sacrificed their own blood, sweat, and tears, and I have to acknowledge it, they always have the "I never give up and never surrender" attitude regardless if they have been successful or not.

I'm trying to give a different perspective and I guess I just did. Let's talk about my partner who is a natural athlete and a monster though. Maggall is not always around in OWA but when he wants to win a Championship belt, he'll get it. He is still the Prestige Champion after all. Maggall is one of the best... arguably the best wrestler in OWA right now and he should have been in a higher position rather than teaming up with me. Maggall is the best of the best and what he's best at is kicking people's asses and he'll do it to both Matt Miles and Mark Michaels.

If the BBC didn't win, it would be on me. It would be my fault. Let me be clear with that.

But I'm not going to discredit myself either. I just want you all to know that Maggall is impossible to be overlooked. He'll do whatever it takes to beat up people and that's including both Miles and Michaels.

Something a little weird about Miles and I. I don't think we ever had a one on one personal problem, at least from my part but it seems like we are never in the same group. Miles returned to OWA in 2020 as a Phantom Troupe member and now he's a Dynasty. I was fighting against Phantom Troupe and now I'm a part of The Collective. A conflict of interest always happened between Miles and I assume but I don't think I ever actually hate his guts. So, what I'm trying to say is that, I don't know why Miles and I are always on the opposite side and maybe he'd love to tell me that I'm an idiot or so to my face why me and him are always not on the same page but I do want to beat him up in this match. Not because I hate him...or Mark Michaels for that matter, but just because I want to win and just because Magall wants to win too. Miles has more experience than me I think, so he should know what I'm talking about. But just because I'm trying to be humble and to make it clear this isn't personal to me, I would still want to break a bone. That you might want to expect and don't say I didn't warn you, Miles.

Then on the other side, we get Mark Michaels. I've got to say Mark has been trying to prove himself ever since he came here, so he deserves a credit where he deserves it. He has been improving since he left New Jersey, so he is taking this very seriously. Well, why wouldn't he? Because Mark Michaels, out of all people, needs to prove himself that he belongs to this business. He has to prove himself that he isn't a meme. I do think Michaels is a good wrestler because he actually pushed Graham Baker to his limit and he did well at Civil War earlier this year. He's not even a coward anymore because last year, I remember he was begging for his life when Noah Reigner, Liz Karlson, and I were surrounding him to give Michaels a hard beating which is actually what we did. One thing that kinda bugged me about Mark Michaels though is that, before Civil War, he said something about my new attitude as in Nobi's attitude. Well what about my attitude? I would prefer it if Michaels actually said that he's been the one that is always trying to change attitude for years and getting face surgery like twice a year because no matter what kind of faces he has, he always has an autistic face. But well, as long as you are comfortable, Michaels, I guess just be you.

To sum up everything I've said: The Collective is ready to beat Matt Miles and Mark Michaels. We're ready to beat them for this match. I would love to say good luck to them because they would need it. But assuming one's don't believe in luck, guess what I could say is that you all better hope to bring your A-Games because if you don't, no need to be ashamed to losing. Just remember that.

(Jonetta is seen being taken care of at the Dollhouse estate, bedridden with help applying ice to her head as she lays there disgruntled.)

I just can’t believe you’d do this to me, Banshee. After everything I did for you. I made you the most powerful weapon Odyssey has ever seen! I made the world shake at the calling of your name! They used to mock you Banshee. They would ridicule your strange ways, and find ways to escape you at every turn like scattering mice able to scurry into their holes in the wall with the big cheese you’d promise to keep away from them. Of the rising girls in OWA, it was always you who never managed to amount to anything. No cup, no briefcase, no title, all your rivals from Hana, to Grace, to Brookes, and to Harper obtained their prized possessions, while your immense power was marginalized as a sideshow act for laughs and momentary awes. But under my vision, they couldn’t laugh anymore. For the first time ever, you would constantly lay out the members of the Odyssey roster. No one will ever forget that Odyssey where you virtually decimated all of Team Aria all be yourself when I told you to. No one will ever be able to erase the one-sided massacre it was when you, Diantha, and I were left as the last members of Team Llorona when all the heroes of Team Aria were annihilated at Civil War to earn us this match. SO HOW COULD YOU RUIN ALL OF THAT AND TURN ON ME AFTER I SET ALL OF THIS INTO MOTION?!!!

(Jonetta grips at her bedsheets with righteous fury and hurt as she says words she does not oft say.)

YOU STUPID BITCH!

(Jonetta turns her head away, disgusted by the Banshee.)

I could have asked you, and Diantha by proxy, to jump into the ocean and never come back up if I wanted to! I could have killed you two off in so many gruesome and entertaining ways at any time! I could have even sold you into slavery as your own wretched family did! But I didn’t. I took care of you. Just like I always have since I decided to not end your career in your very debut as a wrestler here in OWA. Make no mistake, you were so naive and weak back then that I could have snapped your legs as McDonell if I had so chosen and nobody would have cared about a wretched wench such as yourself! Yet I instead taught you how hard wrestling in OWA would be from the very beginning and set you up to know the battles to come would not be easy so that you could mature into a great part of the roster. And once you became ripe to be taken to the next level, I bought you to be under my wing and took OWA by storm in our amazing stint of dominance over Odyssey. Yet you lash out at me? For what? Because you feel I was using you to protect myself?

Don’t you know anything, Banshee? That’s how the world works. The soldiers have to protect the commander on the field that gives them hopes of winning a war. It’s no different than the players that are supposed to make sure nobody tackles their damn quarterback in a good ol game of Football! In fact, I’m the Tom Brady of OWA.

I make a few great plays and have you make a few touchdowns and all of a sudden you think you don’t need me???!! Without me throwing the ball your way Banshee, you’ll never be able to achieve the same greatness that finally made these fans realize that you can be an all-star champion in OWA. Because of my precise play and utilization of your abilities, you and everyone else seem to think your domination over OWA comes easy, but that’s only because I made it look that way with my genius! You need my expert hands as your guide to superstardom! Llorona is all fine and dandy, but she’s the coach, she’s the GM Bill Belichick, she’s not the one on the field playing the role of captain! In the first place, you and Diantha only got on the team because Llorona was looking for me, and WE made a deal. You two just joined in on the ride! Now the two of you have a chance to become number one contenders because of it! So how dare you put your hands on me! It’s pure madness. It’s like one of the players deciding to jump their own quarterback right before the Superbowl. We still have to finish off all the wrongdoings of Aria Jaxon by taking out her prized world champion Stephanie Matsuda! You’ve put all of our work in jeopardy by hurting me! And for what? Meaningless anger over petty pride for being a puppet? Better to be the most iconic puppet since Pinocchio than to be free and as forgettable as any passing nobody. Or was it these fans? Did you really enjoy their empty cheers that much Banshee? I rewatched to see that ridiculous look in your eyes as you heard them, I couldn’t believe that you could be so easily swayed! You’re supposed to be a banshee, yet you can’t tell that their cheering is mere siren’s call like the pretty ones that lead sailors to their demise to rocky crashes at sea?

They only cheer you on because they can no longer ignore you and now are trying to manipulate you to be on their side, instead of decimating their favourites. Is it not too all convenient that they all of a sudden love the Banshee, after the most successful victory of your career? Just like Revy, they want you to stay pestering me instead of living up to your potential as a champion! This path will only get you manipulated for nothing, sweetheart.

Go ahead, Diantha, tell Banshee how foolish she’s being by letting herself be manipulated by these accursed OWA fans! I saw how her silly new connection with the fans gave you pause! You know how perilous this path she’s on truly is! You used to be a fan favourite, you worked tirelessly to fight victoriously through a chamber, won two clashes, and had two championship reigns. Yet, your foolish dedication to these fans led your combined reigns to not even have HALF the length of the championship reign I had with ONE reign. Each of you reigns ended up being sad tales where you let utter gutter trash stain the top of Odyssey. First it was Eris, a woman who couldn’t handle the pressure. Then it got even worse afterwards with Niki Khan, a nepotist crony who leapfrogged over all of Odyssey by winning some ridiculous match on Atlantis when the rest of us were busy with a PPV. And YOU somehow allowed Khan to follow it up by outdoing you in one of the vilest crimes I’ve ever seen. Tell Banshee how much of a recovering addict you are for these wretched fans. And how if you continue to associate with her and these fans you’d relapse into being the same miserable pond scum you were for all those years you spent in a drugged-out haze of their worthless adulation.

Diantha, you know damn well you aren’t capable of steering Odyssey towards absolute supremacy here in OWA. Sure, you may have a newfound ruthlessness that’ll put you above most of the riffraff around, but you’re no Jonetta Stone. You’re barely even what the Banshee was before she let the fans be the angel on her shoulder that feeds her false hope. You’re still a short little squirt who was never a natural destroyer. Even though you were the toughest pillar to tear down, you were still the one that didn’t measure up to the others and caused Odyssey to have an uneven downward slope to mediocrity. It took you this long to finally adapt to what this business is all about and abandoned trying to be a good samaritan! But that’s no surprise, considering it had taken you so long even to feel you had the right to use your own last name. Everything about you comes way too slow for you to stay on top of the wildly changing landscape that is found at the top of the world of professional wrestling. The competition isn’t going to wait for you to catch up at a snails pace each time you have to learn the most obvious of lessons! It’s not going to wait for you find a way to finally step up and be a true champion.

Imagine a kitchen Diantha, because this will very much mirror how you perform in OWA. To reach the kitchen wall cabinets, you probably have to stack a few chairs so you can hop onto the counter, and from there you hop from counter to counter like some wild animal to get what you need. And while it’d be impressive to see you do all those jumps every day, it’s only a matter of time you’d mess up in one of those leaps and break your neck on the kitchen floor trying to do a basic task of getting food supplies. Me? I can walk into that kitchen and I’m tall enough to reach those shelves and get whatever I want to nourish myself like a proper adult. I can’t depend on you to take that championship from Stephanie and end the corruption of Aria Jaxon having her little pal be the champion. Stephanie would take advantage of how frail your psyche is. And before you try saying Stephanie got the championship from me, you of all people know how empty that is! Stephanie never took me out, just like you never had Dulce, and that’s why you were a champion who couldn’t retain even once. And Stephanie will be a champion who is always running away from the one woman she can’t beat. Even if you did manage to take it from Stephanie, you’d probably lose it to someone like Devi Krysis and make things even worse like you always do! No, no, I’m the only person in this match worthy of being the world champion.

I’m sure you two both think I’m too hurt to get the job done and that I’ve lost the help of you two as my receivers. But there’s a reason the coach has scheduled me for the game and a reason I keep telling you that I’m the quarterback of Odyssey. In fact, forget Tom Brady; I’m above even him. I’m a dual-threat quarterback on a level unknown to the game before my arrival. Not only am I the fabled team player who was in the dominant Dollhouse, Demo Corps, and Team Llorona, but I’m also the lone warrior who conquered Athena’s Cup and was the most dominant world champion on Odyssey in years! I’ve proven I can do it all alone and on a team! So even when the reports say I’m questionable, I might not even play, everyone knows there truly isn’t any other option but for me to toughen through it and get the work done right. Yes, I don’t have anyone able to catch my legendary throws because Revy and the Banshee have made it clear they’d rather let the fans intercept the greatness that can be, but I can still just run the damn ball myself and get the touchdown for team Odyssey! I’m going to play rough and smart. I’ll pick you two apart with submission holds and heavy blows that shatter your bodies beyond repair! Hate me as much as you want, curse my name for being too successful if it makes you feel better, but my ability to win and elevate the game is why I’m the captain Odyssey needs! And I’m the captain that it will have. You two did well as support, but since you no longer want to play ball, it’s time you get back on the bench and out of my game!

(Jonetta angrily whips her blanket over herself and takes her rest as the camera goes to black.)

The Who once sang - nobody knows what it’s like to be the bad man. Which, in layman's terms means that I take a lot of unwarranted shit for working off of my instincts. I feel like I’m a one man army in the sense that I’m the only true grizzly fuck with a big enough set to go the extra mile, while everyone else ducks under their covers, petrified at the thought of stepping out of their individual comfort zones. I don’t mind spearheading my own crusade. I’m willing to take the essential risks that come as part of the package and what condition that leaves me in is a moot point when at the end of the day I can say I went through hell and highwater instead of curling up in my shell.

You all gotta realize I dig holes for the damned, I dig holes for those who deserve everything that’s coming to them. It’s what I do; it’s part of my job description. Nothing that I do is ever personal unless I get some sort of sick gratification out of it. When I dig these holes that I know I’m going to put the lifeless cadavers of my victims in, it gives me time to think and time to reflect. It’s almost therapeutic in a way but it depends on the physical condition and the mental state of the casualty. Think of it as a see-saw, with some individuals I beat the fucking piss out of them but at the same token, I don’t really have much familiarity with them on a more profound level. I don’t know what makes them tick or how they process different situations. With others, I psychologically torture them to the point where they fall through all the cracks. I get them juiced up on their emotions and I make them think with their hearts and not with their heads which is a recipe for disaster.
 
For Noah Reigner, it’s both.

There’s beauty in balance.

I get the best of both worlds. Do you need evidence? Go back and watch the Thunderdome, I ran through him like he was a pair of saloon doors. Some might play devil’s advocate and try to twist Noah’s tale into a hero’s, they’ll say he came within an eyelash of putting me away. They’ll say ANYTHING to force a fucking tired ass narrative that Noah is unsung, that he’s stronger than hate, that he’s just as tough as Darkane, but wasn’t it Darkane who was pouring a bottle of good fucking vodka might I add, onto Noah’s lacerations as a gift of good will? Wasn’t it Darkane who in the middle of a WAR was so placid in his fucking element that he ate Noah’s best shot and came up asking for seconds? Wasn’t it Darkane who stood tall at night’s end and drained his hair like a fucking mop of blood and sweat onto Noah’s carcass? Isn’t that what the true characterization, the true synopsis of Noah’s work actually is?

What did I say, Noah?

WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY YOU WERE?

The same thing that your many detractors AND your half a dozen basement dwelling supporters with ant farms and Geek Squad memberships have interminably circled the wagon on, that YOU are the pinpoint accurate definition in Webster’s fucking dictionary of THE little engine that couldn’t. The only difference is that your very very MINUTE group of followers; the ones who decorate their rooms with plum colored Noah Reigner posters on their walls right next to the bigger Darkane ones, don’t even believe in half the shit they spew. They only say these things out of empathy and encouragement, because YOU, Noah, are in constant need of a pick-me-up. They are the ones that throw you a fucking bone near your rainy shithole doghouse that you inhabit and you don’t have the common courtesy to pick at what meat is left on it, not for a lack of starvation but for the simple fact that you were birthed in this world as a natural flop. One of those I-want-to-be-a-superman, when I grow up types but ultimately missed the boat and settled for a five-tool wrestler, turned damaged goods under the custody of The GraveWorm. 

That’s exactly what you are, Noah, my child. But I’m not going to treat you like I love you, I’m going to treat you like I own you; like you’re another Amy Smart pet project. I’m gonna put my cigarettes out on your tongue, I’m gonna use your skull to wipe the dogshit off my boot, I’m gonna chain you to a heater and only feed you when it’s absolutely necessary. I’m gonna dangle the threat of a gruesome death in front of you if you EVER think about escaping from my clutches. Why Darkane? WHY WOULD YOU EVER TREAT SOMEONE, NO LESS A CHILD THIS WAY? Because Noah Reigner is an underachieving WEAKLING with the actual spine of a fucking jellyfish whose brightest moment in the sun was standing toe to toe with Darkane for five minutes before I left him prideless like a fallen flag to the Baker buzzards.

Isn’t that the moral of this story?

Isn’t this how the story ends?

Yet Noah will sit there pouting and blaming others, while simultaneously chastising Graham Baker for his piss poor attitude and crybaby antics while both of those traits are straight out of the Noah Reigner playbook. One of your main calling cards is your woeful demeanor. The very way you THINK that grass is somehow always greener on the other side when in actuality it’s such a far cry from reality is a red flag. Who are you trying to convince? Me? Baker? Olympus? Kingdom? OWA? SSW? The entire fucking planet?

Or yourself?

You lay out the groundwork and make these inane promises that your fortunes will change, yet in the next breath, you remind the world that you FAILED to keep your promise of becoming the Omega Heavyweight Champion. Why do you keep making these fruitless promises? Aren’t promises supposed to be something sacred? Do you even put any weight into anything you say or are you relying just a little bit too much on blind fucking hope? If it’s not a bunch of hollow promises then it’s the fact that you turn into an excuse machine. Peddling out what you think to be direct ‘reasons’ as to why you’ve come up short, instead of looking at the bigger picture and asking yourself how could I have prevented shit from running downhill? You keep creating these free outs for yourself in substitution for your overall incompetence.  

Time’s running out, Noah.

Nobody wants to ride your emotional roller coaster anymore.

People have reached the point where they know what to expect, but here you are trying to rev a dead engine. Why continue to make a mockery of yourself? Why continue to dig for buried treasure when there’s no gold there to begin with? Why do you keep putting so much faith in something not worth saving? Noah Reigner has lost so much of his initial shine that he can’t process the ebbs and flows of this business, instead, he’s misconfigured and programmed into a dead end. Also known as the Noah Reigner Cycle:


Such a maddening torture device you live through all while banging your chest and screaming into deaf ears that you want to be the best. Unbeknownst that you’re walking into a madhouse Noah, against someone who isn’t moved or swayed by your defiance. Your song and dance mean absolutely nothing to me, it’s the same number you’ve played over and over for the past fucking year. The hackneyed good guy paragon of virtue act has led you down a path of dejection and such despondency that I could spit in your eye and you’d just fucking take it. I don’t buy that you’ve changed, just like I don’t buy the workarounds that you use to veil your missteps along the way. The way you harp back on Boiling Point, spinning a web of lies that you were so focused on The Corsairs back then when it wasn’t until AFTER the match Graham Baker picked at your bones tells me all I need to know. Not only are you stuck in the Noah Reigner cycle, but you are a pathological liar.

In what universe did the legitimacy of The Corsairs have any bearing on me dumping a bottle of vodka into your fucking pupils where you couldn’t fight back because you were serving yourself up to me on a silver platter? This was me and you, Noah, mano a mano, everybody else was gone, we had the world to ourselves to destroy. It amazes me how you continuously back yourself into a corner. Admitting the Omega Heavyweight Championship was for validation of The Corsairs is a blatant cop out, don’t try and paint over this with a broad stroke and blame your choke artistry on the validity of The Corsairs. And even if that was hypothetically ‘true’, then I question your purpose in OWA. If you’re not in this to win the top prize in this company FOR YOURSELF and yourself only then why the hell are you even here?

You haven’t changed your tune a bit.

You’re incapable of it.

You can dump a fresh coat of paint on yourself but it still isn’t going to make you run.

The Immortal Heavyweight Championship is MINE and it’s not for validation or some hokey bullshit like that. It’s more of a reminder in case you forgot that Darkane is the most dominant fucking species roaming the plains of OWA today. I’m not going to sugarcoat anything, I’m not going to make excuses, lie, blame, or make promises I can’t keep. I’m going to do what I do best.

Conquer OWA and rule it under my thumb. 

The one thing you need to realize is that THIS is your last chance to put Noah Reigner on the map. This is your one opportunity. To seize everything you ever wanted in one moment. So are you going to capture it?

Or just let it slip?

Because you’ve already lost yourself, not in the music or the moment, but in the darkness. And I know, you’re nervous, even though on the surface you look calm and ready. I see your palms are sweaty, I see your knees are weak, your arms are heavy. Come on Noah you gotta snap back to reality; the whole crowd is going so loud, you open up your mouth but the words won’t come out. There’s a shovel in your mouth already, you better hold it steady while the confetti rains down on Darkane when I am crowned king and THE inaugural Immortal Heavyweight Champion. See I can rhyme too but that doesn’t make me Slim Shady.

Just like you can aim to be the best.

But that still doesn’t make you Darkane.

(DT The Ruler is spotted at a private estate in Connecticut, in the middle of a business-related banquet-dinner with several clients of his. After laughing with a few men as Antonio Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” was being played by an orchestra at a stage in the same hall, DT paused for a moment when once of the members of the estate’s roving security team approached him)



DT The Ruler: Excuse me, one second. *turns to the security guard* Yes, is there an emergency?

 

Security Team Member: Sir, I don’t know if you’ve heard but we just got word that your opponent spoke about you in pretty negative light.



DT The Ruler: OK…what did he say? And why are you of all people saying something?



Security Team Member: I just thought it was urgent, sir. I think you should hear what he said.



DT: …OK, go on…


Security Team Member: He called you….a has-been.



DT The Ruler: ………. Excuse me?




Security Team Member: Um, sir- yeah, he said you’re a has-been.



DT: *he stands up and slams his wine glass so hard on the table that it shatters to pieces* WHAT DID HE SAY?



(The whole banquet stopped being active out of fear)



Security Team Member: *in fear* He said yo-y-y-y-y-you’re a has-been.



DT: HOW DARE THAT SONUVA- I’m just messing with you, young man. *he laughs a little and pats the guy on the shoulder lightly* No need to be afraid; it’s alright. I’ve been hurt worse by actual kinfolk. I heard what Mr. Stark had to say, and I will address it eventually. Back to your work. Go on.



Security Team Member: Yes, sir.




(The guard went back to what he was doing prior to speaking; DT waves for a man with a camera to come closer to him)



Random Businessman: Are you gonna talk n-



DT: Yes; yes I am. Now then…..*clears throat and fixes suit before looking at the camera*

 
Mr. Stark, I’m glad you are as disobedient as I thought you’d be. Addressing me by my name in well-executed but predictable fake-humbleness when speaking about what you recollect of me from the past, I would believe that the first thing you’d keep in mind is that while some competitors come and go and return and go and kind of stay and complain and quit and return, not all of them lose their first step as drastically as you’d assume. You see ten years as too much time away, while I saw it as a chance to get adequate rest and retrain my body to be a better weapon. As you get older, the importance of lifting increases, and I will not shy away from the fact that I’m no spring chicken. Weekly matches, street fights, constant title contention, and PPV appearances: since you remember my stint in the Alpha Wrestling League from years ago, you know well how much work I put in, and it’s extremely easy to let the constant adrenaline kicks cloud judgment for the greater good. However, I did what is best for my health and my business affairs and stepped away after doing all that I wanted to do in the business at that time. Imagine that: having autonomy, completing your personal goals, and feeling accomplished after the fact. As hilarious as some of these men are, unlike some of these businessmen of OWA, I never needed to use my acumen beyond my Wrestling technique to be successful in an organization.

AND YOU DON’T WANT ME TO.

(The music picks back up, but he continues to speak over it)

However, Mr. Stark, you should be more enthusiastic that I am here to bring some sophistication back to the Looney Tunes inhabited rabbit hole of OWA! Did it grind your gears that much that I actually sat back and enjoyed seeing the many depraved actions of the main roster in Civil War, that I just sat back and let everything unfold in front of me without going Dave Meltzer all over the event?  We all know losing is not that fun, but if it helps you, you should see the events of Dimensional Warfare like- let’s say, hmmmmmmmm- the Tournament of Power in Dragon Ball Super, as terrible as that show was. Oh, we know a lot of creatures lost…

…but did you die? *laughs a little but then stops*

Anyhow, I’m going to live up to my promise to teach you how to address me, and since you appear like you need an advanced course, I’ll give you a free mental lesson before Kingdom:

A little bit around that description of my past self you created, I noticed something quite amusing. From the parts of Dimensional Warfare that make sense and the reminiscence of your first five years in the business, my Spider Senses kicked in and noticed that you…are very, very salty. Oh, I know the bitter taste of not being able to succeed in the way your training regimen says you should, and as a veteran of this business, you know any weakness that small is equivalent to blood in a shark tank. That bitterness that might still be there can easily get you in a predicament that a man returning after years away can sink his teeth in. And despite it being years since I wrestled regularly, bitter men and women never succeed against those that stay conditioned for combat.

But lighten up, chum. Get a drink, play an idle game with big-breasted anime women. Relax for now. Kingdom is right around the corner, and at Kingdom, you will for sure be reacquainted with that awe-inspired feeling you felt years ago, the same feeling people got when a 39-year-old Michael Jordan did a two-handed block on Ron Mercer. I will not teach you how to be a winner, no-no, no, no. You can, however, start with the basics against Your Master and Ruler and try your very best to avert being the first to learn how to speak to and of me.


(The party then continued on; one servant rushed to the table and cleaned up the broken glass then brought another one with wine, but then DT The Ruler stood again)

 
OH!

 
Before I exit, you ask for a reason why a “has-been” should stand a chance against yourself. And it’s much more elementary than most would believe. *Clears throat* It’s simply because

I AM BETTER THAN YOU

 
 
 
Carry on.


(The scene closes off with the banquet continuing on, as if nothing was interrupted)

Darkane is still a bitch