[The following mini scene takes place in Elijah’s agent’s office, who is Agent Andrew. Elijah is on his way to Andrew’s office within the next couple of minutes to talk over some sponsorships. In the meantime, Andrew’s assistant, Liam, gets off the phone with Elijah’s physician, as after his match with Noah, he wanted to check up on a few nagging injuries. Liam knocks on Andrew’s door who gets off the phone.]

Andrew: “Yes?”

Liam: “Yeah, so like, I just got off the phone with Elijah’s doc. And—“

Andrew: “And everything is good. It’s Elijah we are talking about. He’s an iron man.”

Liam: “I wish that was the case. His overall health is — declining. Slowly, but declining.”

Andrew: “Is that bad? That sounds bad. But then again, isn’t all of our health declining as each second passes? As we get older and shit. Like when I rolled out of bed this morning, my back had ouchies all over. And my toes were cracking with each half-asleep step.”

Liam: “Well, the doc said the wear and tear of being a professional wrestler — being a high-level one at that, comes at a price. The stress of it all—“

Andrew: “Okay? I’m stressed too.”

Liam: “Yeah but Elijah has the stress of an entire locker room of larger-than-life human beings coming after him.”

Andrew: “So what? I deal with stressful emails and calls every day. Pretty sure I have Carpal tunnel. Yet, I work through the pain because that’s what athletes like me do. Plus, when you think about it, Elijah only wrestles like a couple of times a month, he’ll be fine.”

Liam: “He also said he has a bit of structural damage to his neck. It doesn’t require surgery — yet. And his Achilles is in bad shape. It’s not torn or ruptured, but the doc said if he doesn’t slow down a bit, it’s a foregone conclusion that something serious like that will happen.” 

Andrew: “Look, I’ve known Elijah for my entire life. I’m his friend. He’s my client and he makes me a ton of money, but he’s my friend first and foremost. I’m Rich Paul. He’s LeBron James. I know him. He’s going to be fine. A sore Achilles? Cool, I’ll have him roll a tennis ball under his foot for thirty minutes before his matches. A sore neck? I’ll hire him a massage therapist. Or one of those massage guns, same thing. And he’ll take like ice baths and shit. He different. He ain’t some Joe Schmo. He’s a tip-top athlete with the best resources at his disposal to get him right. Therefore, this little conversation we had, will stay between us. Okay?”

[Present day]

“I would like to think that when ‘I’m Bad’ blasts throughout the arena, the atmosphere uniquely changes, and everyone in attendance, as well as those watching at home, knows what to expect. From the fans, to my opponents and even myself. All three parties know that business has just picked up. The fans know they are in for a treat. My opponents know they are in for a long night because putting me away is basically beyond the bounds of possibility. Because I know that when my music hits, I am going to do everything in my power to deliver inside those ropes. ‘I’m Bad’ is synonymous with Elijah Hampton at this point. But not too long ago, I had some downtime, imagine that right? And to decompress I played some games I haven’t played in ages. One of them being Tony Hawk Pro Skater. And the soundtrack is just, chef’s kiss. Fitting I of all people would say that, but I digress. And the song that everyone seems to love and gravitate towards is, ‘Superman’ by Goldfinger. And as I shredded away, I sat there and I listened to the lyrics and they resonated with me. It’s as if it described my current situation to a T. ‘So here I am, doing everything I can. Holding on to what I am. Pretending I’m a Superman. I’m trying to keep, the ground on my feet. It seems the world’s falling down around me. The nights are all long.’ ‘So here I am,’ ladies and gentlemen. ‘Doing everything I can’ to put my best foot forward. To put on a show. A show that I’ve gone to war for. A show’s roster I’ve even fought against in one innovative clusterfuck of a match, The Thunderbastard. ‘Holding on to what I am.’ Sometimes, it hasn’t always been the easiest. With me being tugged on in every each way. Not realizing in the moment I spread myself too thin. With members of this roster tugging on my cape and testing my patience. Trying to take my kindness for weakness. Trying to destroy the character and reputation that I’ve built since the day I got here and make me snap, so I ruin it all in one night because of a spur-of-the-moment decision. ‘Pretending I’m a Superman.’ Reminds me of when Senn and Belial went on and on about how I’m this hero months ago. As if it’s wired in my DNA to feel the need to swoop in and save the day. I’ve made my fair share of mistakes, so I’m no hero in my book. The Book of Eli. But hey, if thinking rationally and doing what you think is right makes me a hero, then fine, I’m a hero. But the locker room makes me appear as such since all they think about is themselves rather than what benefits this brand and this company. And they constantly sink to the lowest of lows. Such as kidnapping loved ones. Look no further than Laz and most recently, KD’s son. And the whole murder thing has happened a time or two on OWA soil. So being a hero is quite easy to pass as. The bar is set rather low. ‘It seems the world's falling down around me.’ Which brings me to my current reality. With Tres Comas Club. With the 7th Ward. With Remington stealing my IHC. My reality kinda sucks. I’ve made a lot of enemies. Not through my actions, but through my abundance of success. And it’s only going to get worse. Because at this point I’m just gonna fuck around and pull a Westbrook and pad my stats.”

“But Russ was and still is selfish. And because of that, he’s barely making more than the vet minimum. While I am very much a supermax type of talent. In my prime and in my bag type shit. But contrary to the locker room’s popular belief, I am not selfish. Sure, I hogged the world title. Sure, I hogged the main events. But at the same time, I’m willing to give back because I’m all about being a team player. Just ask Shea. Meaning while I’ve earned my opportunities, in return, I am willing to give some out. Enter, Poet. Getting a shot at my Prestige Championship this week. Which by no means has he earned at this point, seeing as how he only has the one victory under his belt currently. But I laid down an open challenge. First come, first served. And he strutted his way down that ramp, perhaps even broke out into a brisk walk, before anyone else could. And I respect it. He’s not just going to twiddle his thumbs and wait around for his chance. He’s going to take it. But one thing he ISN’T going to take, is this here Prestige Championship. That goes for Nobi too, don’t worry. Didn’t mean to single you out like that, Poet. You can take comfort in knowing that there is another that shares the same fate as you. That you’re not alone in this, okay? So here I am — and no, I’m not going to go on my ‘Superman’ spiel again — here I am, trying to address you. But there isn’t much to go off of since you’re basically brand-spanking new to the OWA audience. You’re the poet guy because get this guys, he does poems. The correlation, it’s spooky. So when you do decide to say my name and spit that supa hot fire, I’ll be sure to snap my fingers and give you my seal of approval. Because you do intrigue me. Because as of right now, you’re just a block of marble. And as time goes on, you will begin to chisel out your path and become more defined. You could very well be the next big thing. I’m not going to write you off. Every great in this industry had a starting point. Noah didn’t simultaneously win the EAW, SSW, and OWA World titles in his first match. I didn’t win my two Immortal Heavyweight titles in my debut. Jordan didn’t get his first ring in his rookie year. Neither did LeBron. Neither did Brady or Mahomes. They put in the work. They went through it. Through failure. Through the trials and tribulations. And they came out on the other side as a world champion. We could very well add Poet to that list at some point. Because while I am very much more familiar with the third man in this match, Nobi — and I know firsthand just how talented he is, I know what to expect. I know what he’s capable of. What he’s willing to do to win. The same can’t be said about you. Therefore I’ll continue to keep a close eye on you and watch your career unfold with great interest.”

“It’s fitting that I defend this championship against Nobi of all people. Because the story of Elijah Hampton couldn’t be told without you. In many ways, you’re a symbol of sorts. To many, you symbolize hope and that there’s still some good in this world. A White Knight. But to me, you symbolize my career’s turning point. Dating all the way back to when this title was called the Hybrid Championship instead of Prestige. Back then, you were regarded as one of the best. That still rings true today, my friend. My enemy, too, but my friend. Friend. Enemy. Frenemy. Just made that word up all by myself on the fly. Never been used before tbh. But during that title match, not many people were expecting me to win, which I don’t take personally. If I was a casual unbiased fan, I would have put my life’s savings on you to retain. Because the Elijah back then was still a secret. They didn’t know about the talent that I possessed, flowing in my veins, as a singles wrestler back then. They just viewed me as a tag team wrestler because that’s what OWA pigeonholed me into. That all changed when I dethroned you for this title. Because some unskilled schmuck isn’t going to beat Nobi. Not even on your worst day. The people’s perceptions of Elijah Hampton changed. And they saw someone who could maybe make it big one day, all on his own. And I did. As did you. Pinning RIP’s shoulders clean to the mat. Something we share in common. And unfortunately, we also share the fact that Tres Comas Club fucked us over when it came to us holding on to that IHC. And for all I know, history will repeat itself this week with this title. For all I know, Poet could have an under-the-table agreement to join them since their group seems to double in size every week. Look, allow me to take off my tinfoil hat and put a rest to my paranoid conspiracy theories. I have my work cut out for me. I know this. I’m against the hot shot, new flavor of the month rook with grand ambitions — and the seasoned crafty vet with revenge on his mind. While different, equally as dangerous. However, there is no greater danger than being in the ring with Elijah Hampton in a championship match.”

(The camera opens to the latest episode of Omega Access, where host Vicki Lane is sitting across from OWA Outlaw Champion, Tyler Kulina, who’s wearing his title proudly over his shoulder.)

Vicki Lane: Hello, welcome to Omega Access! I’m Vicki Lane, and my guest today is OWA Outlaw Champion, Tyler Kulina! Thank you for being here today!

Tyler Kulina: It’s no problem, Vick. Making these appearances are part of the job, but I’m starting to enjoy stuff like this.

Vicki Lane: That’s good to hear! I know when you first arrived in OWA, you were more quiet and soft-spoken, letting your actions speak rather than your words. In some ways, you’re still that same brawler, but I can see that you’re more open around others. What made you come out of your shell?

(Tyler blushes for a moment before answering.)

Tyler Kulina: Honestly? Let’s just say I became close friends with someone in Odyssey who saw through the front I had and sees me for the person I am. Through her, I learned that things aren’t as serious as they’re made out to be…until they are. Then it’s time to show the world what you’re about.

Vicki Lane: Like your match with Nate Cage.

Tyler Kulina: Exactly. He thought he could come at The Kid, but like Raivo during The Clash, he missed. He thought being crazy and threatening my family was going to get to me, but he was wrong. Then he and JD go back to doing what they do best: jumping someone because they can’t get the job done on their own. Then again, besides Kenny Drake and Niki winning the big one, when has anyone repping Wolvesden accomplished something on their own? Maybe, Josie, I guess - because I don’t want any smoke with her. She’s a literal hellcat, bruh. But I digress, JD and Nate can’t beat me by themselves. They’re too bitch made.

Vicki Lane: Good thing Nas and Jeff came out when they did, though. Outlaw rules would’ve put you in a precarious position. 

Tyler Kulina: It probably would’ve. I thanked Nas and Jeff afterward. They’re solid dudes for helping a kid out.

Vicki Lane: Speaking of which, what do you think of the rumors?

(Tyler leans forward, his eyes serious.)

Tyler Kulina: What rumors?

Vicki Lane: That either Jeff X or Nasir Moore is your father. Some even consider Michael Bishop to be a possibility.

(Tyler was silent for a moment before laughing.)

Tyler Kulina: You know what? I’m gonna let the IWC sit on that for a second. I don’t mind keeping them guessing, especially since it’s my business to know when the truth finally comes out. 

Vicki Lane: When you find out who your father is, will you be sharing this information with the world?

(Tyler casually shrugs for a moment.)

Tyler Kulina: Perhaps. I do not care for my secrets anyway. But, I’ll never snitch on anyone, so my word means something I guess.

Vicki Lane: Is that the energy you carried on the streets?

Tyler Kulina: Yeah, you could say that. I made it no secret that my family grew up poor; mom worked multiple jobs to keep us clothed and fed. Pops wasn’t around, but I hold no animosity toward him. All I want to do is meet him in the ring and prove that I’m my own man, that I didn’t need him. I want to show that I was strong enough for my mom and siblings. Listen, I get it. Shit happens, you know. I never delved deeper into my mother’s life with my pops because that was their business. Right now, I’m on mine. For instance, my upcoming match with Jacob Striker. I heard that he wants to meet me in the ring. The dude got guts for calling me out, I’ll give him that much for sure. Then again, he’s won some gold here and there in other places so I’m not going to underestimate him once that bell rings. 

Vicki Lane: What kind of edge do you think you’ll have in this match?

(Tyler thought for a second as he rubbed his chin.)

Tyler Kulina:  Like Jacob, I’ve studied under Stephanie Matsuda. But the Matsuda I’ve trained under is an older, wiser woman now than she was when Jake first walked into her dojo back in Brooklyn. But I get it - he’s her star pupil, the one who not only became a world champion and a Wrestleworld Territorial Champion, but he got with her other star pupil Serenity Scorpio and inherited the famous War Room Dojo! Jacob Striker, the prodigal son who will inherit the Stephanie Matsuda legacy - at least in the West. But yet, despite the success, he’s still humble and hungry. In that respect, Jake is a man after my own heart. He hasn’t forgotten what it’s like to wake but before sunrise just to make sure you make it to the next Indy show on time where there’s a fifty percent chance you’ll even get paid. I may not have journeyed in the Indies,  but I know what the struggle is like. It's as real as it gets, and I’m sure Jake is inclined to agree. I can’t think of a better person to defend this title against. It’s going to be one hell of a fight for real. But, the ending is going to be the same as the last episode - with my theme music playing. On paper, Jake and I are similar. Two upstarts who underwent continued training with the same sensei and we both ended up with someone the Sky Queen holds close to her heart. Jake has Serenity and I have Cassie, Steph’s actual cousin. While Cloud taught him all about lucharesu, she helped me gain control over my domain expansion, allowing me to develop a self-awareness where I can hold my own against any threat, no matter the ability or number. During the Clash I’ve demonstrated what I’m capable of, and during my first defense, I showed the world what happens when you redirect that focus on a single opponent. Jake has the skills to keep me on my toes, but he lacks the killer instinct. I don’t care how many degrees we are away from each other, I’m a stray dog biting his way through the competition. I’ve tried the tag scene, and respect to Sena and Emmy, but it looks like my luck has turned around since going singles. One day I’m willing to give the tag scene another chance with my homie, but for now, I’m going to do whatever I have to do to get the job done on the solo tip. 

Vicki Lane: Speaking of the Dojo Boys, [people are surprised that it wasn’t Emmanuelle and/or Sena who came down there. Care to comment on that?

Tyler Kulina: Of course. Everyone assumes that when we’re back there during showtime we all have our eyes glued to the TV. That’s now the case, especially if you’re not scheduled for a match. SEna and Emm had their stuff going on, so it’s all good. That wasn’t the first time I’ve had the odds against me and it certainly won’t be the last. As long as I’m Outlaw Champion It’s me against the world. This isn’t recent news to me, Vicki. The day my pops walked out - or was put away according to Mom - was the day that would shape me forever. And you know what? I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. Jacob Striker has proven that he belongs on the Kingdom roster, but I’m going to show him who’s got next. I’ve been fighting my whole life - the only difference now is that I get paid to kick ass and take names.

Vicki Lane: That’s some bravado you’ve got there. 

Tyler Kulina: Of course, I’ve got no choice, ma. This Sunday, the Prodigal Son of Clan Matsuda, Jacob is going to “know and understand” what it means to strike out. And that’s not just a promise. That’s…the natural order of things. 
‘
Vicki Lane: Well, you heard The Kid speak ladies and gentlemen! Be sure to check out Kulina vs Striker this Sunday on Kingdom!

 
 


San Diego, CA
Tuesday, 11th July 2023
6:05 am
 
The salt-kissed air of the San Diego shore filled Brody’s lungs with renewed vigor as he approached the end of his morning run. For years, he had watched with reverence as legends etched their names into the annals of OWA infamy. And now it stood before him. With each stride, he carved majestically through the morning mist, the rhythmic beat of his footfall echoing with metronomic precision. His body moved in synchrony while his gaze remained fixed forward, unwavering. It was time to make his indelible mark on history.
 
As he slowed to a stop outside his modest beach house, he looked out upon the water. The sun had barely crept over the horizon. Time seemed to stand still.
 
“Well, I gotta hand it to ya—”
 
“JESUS FUCK!” yelled Brody as he spun around and adopted a fighting stance.
 
“Whoa, are you ok?”
 
“Dad?” he said, relaxing his body. “Fuckin’ hell, you scared the shit out of me, bro.”
 
“Oh, sorry about that.”
 
“Yeah, no problem. Fuck. What’re you doin’ here?”
 
“Well, I was on my way to the office, and I thought I’d just stop by to say you did good the other night.”
 
“Huh? Oh, against El Landerson? Yeah, no sweat, dude.”
 
“No, not that. I mean, if I was nitpicking, I’d actually say you were pretty sloppy. And if you were fighting anyone tall enough to ride a rollercoaster, you’d have been punished. But what I was referring to was how you pushed for a title shot. That took some sand. I’m impressed.”
 
“Thanks, Dad.”
 
“But—”
 
“Seriously?”
 
“Why didn’t you just take up Hampton’s offer? The man came out to the ring and requested a challenger, and you let Poet just walk out and accept?”
 
“Oh, right. Well, uh, it’s like I said. I don’t like the way Allesandro’s been walkin’ ‘round actin’ like a big shot when he’s only where he is because of who his dad is. He couldn’t beat Matsuda the first time and had to kidnap her wife to win their rematch. He needs takin’ down a couple notches, bro.”
 
“Oh yeah? What’s the real reason?”
 
“Fine, I was takin’ a dump. But dude, the smell of that stuff they dumped on Nobi triggered somethin’ in my guts. I was prairie doggin’ for, like, the entire match.”
 
“Hmm, that actually explains a lot. El Landerson sure got the jump on you, alright.”
 
“But all that other stuff I said about Allesandro is still true, though. His hands are soft as shit.”
 
“Sure, but the American Dream Championship? What in the world of two-bit titles is that?”
 
“I dunno, dude. But it’s a championship, at least. Gotta mean somethin’.”
 
“It’ll definitely mean more money. And prestige.”
 
“Nah, dude. That’s the belt Hampton has.”
 
“I meant prestige as in status, you fucking dunce.”
 
“Oh, right,” Brody laughed. “In all honesty, though, I couldn’t really give a fuck about that belt. Why would I care about some title from a rinky-dink company that no one gave a shit about in the first place? But it means somethin’ to him, and I wanna teach that prick a lesson.”
 
“And what lesson is that?”
 
“Uh, don’t kidnap people, I guess.”
 
“Why do you give a fuck about any of that?”
 
“Listen, Matsuda was nice to me before I made my debut. She gave me some good advice when I teamed up with Ryo. And that’s not all she gave me,” he said, raising his left hand to show a Tissot watch strapped around his wrist. “She gave me this before the Clash. Although, I think she might’ve misunderstood when I told her and Monica I wanna watch.”
 
“I suppose the how and why doesn’t really matter now. You’ve got your shot. You’re gonna have to bring your best to win, though. Even if you’re better than Allesandro, you saw what happened to Tatsuo against Dampshaw. Tres Comas Club will do anything it takes to keep that belt.”
 
“Bruh, please. You put me in the ring with that limey fuck, an’ I’d simply walk through those brass knuckle shots and win irregardlessly. I’m built different, bro.”
 
“I am positive that’s not true.”
 
“Believe it, bro. I’ll show that incest fuck you don’t kidnap a hot piece of ass and get away with it. Not on my watch, dude.”
 
“What the… how the fuck do you know Allesandro is into incest?”
 
“Dude, he has white hair and calls himself a dragon. I’ve seen documentaries about these people.”
 
“Documentaries? Are you talking about Game of Thrones?”
 
“So, you’ve seen them?”
 


San Diego, CA
Wednesday, 12th July 2023
1:15 pm
 
Brody bit his fingernails as he sat patiently waiting for Nat to finish trying on clothes. As he glanced around the boutique, he could not help but notice the curious glances and subtle whispers directed his way. It was a peculiar feeling to be recognized, but one he was becoming increasingly accustomed to.
 
“Oh my God!” shouted a spotty-faced teenager in a Stanford hoodie. “You’re him, aren’t you? The dude from OWA!”
 
“Yep,” he replied with self-satisfaction. “That’s me.”
 
“Dude, I watched you on TV the other night. You were awesome.”
 
“Thanks, bro. Appreciate it.”
 
“What’re you doing in San Diego?”
 
“This is where I’m from, dude.”
 
“Really?” the teenager’s face scrunched up. “I coulda swore my buddy Nate said you were from Chicago?”
 
“Nope.”
 
“Huh. Well, wrestling’s not really my thing, but my buddy Nate freakin’ loves you, dude. Would it be ok if I FaceTime him real quick?”
 
“Sure.”
 
“Awesome, dude! I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he sees me standing next to Noah Krieger!”
 
“Noah Krieger?” Brody’s immediate reaction was one of anger, but he paused for a moment.
 
“Uh, yeah,” the teenager looked puzzled. “Why did you just shout your name?”
 
“Oh, um, it’s a thing I do. Sorta my catchphrase. Noah Krieger!”
 
“Oh, cool.”
 
“So, Stanford, huh? Smart kid. What’re you studying?”
 
“Chemistry.”
 
“Oh, you might know this then, can you take antibiotics if you’re on heroin? I think that last whore gave me the drip, bro. Serves me right for goin’ in without a bag, right? Ha, not the first time, won’t be the last. But I’m not goin’ cold turkey again. Not after last time. Also, heroin’s not the only drug I take. Yeah, I also take various steroids.”
 
“Uhhh… ok?”
 
“You don’t have the number of any good prostitutes around here, do ya? In fact, you know what, they don’t even have to be good. I’m not super picky. Anythin’ I can get my hands on, really. Actually, the ones with mileage on the clock usually do way more stuff. I might be from Chicago, but I love me a Cleveland steamer, y’know? Ha, yeah, you know. You look the type.”
 
“What? No! I don’t know anything about that!”
 
“Oh, right,” Brody winked. “First rule of Fight Club, eh?”
 
The teenager looked horrified.
 
“You know what,” he said, clearing his throat. “Let’s take a rain check on that FaceTime. I don’t have much battery left, and I need to get an Uber.”
 
“Ah, too bad! Maybe next time, dude. And make sure you tell everyone you know all what I just said! Noah Krieger!”
 
Almost immediately, Brody began to regret what he had said. Not because it smeared Krieger’s name, as it was only one person. "How much damage could it possibly do?" he thought, attempting to assuage himself of any guilt. Instead, his remorse was because his behavior resulted from a bruised ego. Never before had he cared what people thought about him. In one moment, he was happy to be recognized, and in the next, he was angry that he had been mistaken for someone else. Vanity is a fickle beast. He resolved to keep a check on his ego while his star was rising within OWA. He also felt he owed Krieger at least one beer.
 
“Who was that?”
 
“What?” Brody snapped his head towards Nat. “Oh, just a fan. Lil scamp. Are you done yet?”
 
“Yeah, sure. You’ve suffered long enough, I think.”
 
“Oh, no, not at all.”
 
“Well, in that case—”
 
“No,” Brody barked. “I mean, I’m pretty hungry. You wanna get somethin’ to eat?”
 
“Sure,” Nat smiled. “I know just the place.”
 
The midday sun was relentless as they strolled along the boardwalk. Despite the heat, they remained undeterred, seeking solace in the refreshing Pacific breeze that swept through the city.
 
“So, I guess you saw what Allesandro said about you?”
 
“Yeah.”
 
“And? Does it bother you?”
 
“I dunno,” Brody shrugged. “I mean, the Mongrels had one of the most gnarly empires ever. And Genghis Khan fucked, bro. But I have no idea why he thinks I’m Mongrolian.”
 
“Uhh, he called you a mongrel, not a Mongol.”
 
“I don’t care, dude. I’m American.”
 
“Ok, but what about that stuff at the end? About hurting the people you care about?”
 
“Aww, is this your way of seein’ if I care about you?”
 
“Brody, no. He’s got goons currently holding a woman hostage. I am genuinely worried he might do something awful.”
 
“Nah, he doesn’t have the balls. I mean, have you seen those tight suits he wears? Not even a trace of dong, bro.”
 
“But all that talk of black wooden skull masks and—”
 
“All talk, dude. Trust me, Monica’s fine. He’s just usin’ her to get Matsuda to retire because he can’t do the job legit. He knows that if anythin’ happens to her, Matsuda would fuckin’ bury him for good.”
 
“You sure about that?”
 
“Positive. That’s why he goes overboard, throwin’ glasses at walls and bulgin’ his eyes at the camera. And callin’ himself a fuckin’ dragon? Man, what zero rizz does to a motherfucker. He knows everyone can see exactly what he is: a scared shitless little brat tryin’ desperately to keep his empire from crumblin’ to pieces. He’s right about one thing, though.”
 
“What’s that?”
 
“Of course I’m usin’ him to make a name for myself. But everyone I fight is someone I’m usin’ to make a name for myself. He’s nothin’ special, it’s just how the fuckin’ industry works, bro. And no, I don’t give a fuck about the glory of bein’ the American Dream Champion. But I’ll use it as a steppin’ stone to somethin’ better. Somethin’ he’ll never be able to achieve, at least not without his goons. And it’s gonna be fuckin’ lit to watch him crease when I let the people he claims want him as their champion – the low-class scum, as he’d put it – to get their hands on the thing he cares about most. Anyone who wants a picture with it can have one. I might even loan it out for parties. For free.”

I never took you for being the world's biggest faggot but in the final minutes of pride month, here we are.

I couldn't believe it when I looked and saw you spoke twice about me, you went out of your way with no response whatsoever and cooked up a little something because of what, Noah? Did fear finally kick in for you? The trauma of being beaten so badly, did it hurt your inflated ego enough for you to do that? I mean, you were right about one thing, I was always behind you when you were at your most successful, but did you think that made me feel sorry for you in the slightest? Did you actually think that I felt some form of sympathy for you?

No, I didn't.

But, if you feel as if your reign was that close to coming to an end even without me speaking a single word about you – then I worry for the next bastard that may come through and try to take it all away from you. You’re not as strong as you might seem, you’re not as talented as some might tell you that you are, you’re not as gifted as you believe in yourself. So, have fun with the Spartan Championship, Noah. I wish you the best of luck.

But, then again– your best could never outweigh me at half the strength.

So, let’s finish this, Noah.

Together.

We’ve been in this situation before, Noah.

I feel as if there’s no need for explanations or anything like that but I’m aware of how little your mind is able to uphold strong information, so I’ll begin to break it down for you as easily as I could. See, when I had died and became a rotting corpse, I thought that would’ve been it for me. I thought from there, I finally found the climatic ending that I needed to see me out of this world finally. Having seen what this world had come to, I thought that was the best thing that could’ve ever happened to me.

The world, however, had opened up whole and came with it as a new lease of life for myself. A new lease of life that I should’ve taken for granted and just moved on from all of this, at least that’s what many were expecting of me to do once word had gotten out that I was alive and well once more. The more that it all came together, everyone demanded me to just move on from this whole sport and never come back, never be seen again, never appear anywhere unless I’m sure I am healthy once again and I am well enough to fight. I could’ve listened to them, I really could’ve, but I didn’t want to because something inside of my head dragged me to here, leading me to here, and now? The only thing that I insist on making sure happens is answers being given to me.

That’s how the return to the Clash happened, that’s how I entered the match and came back into being in the top ten of the match, because even when I’m at my worst? It’s the peak for many that dare to even make that attempt. I outlasted many, eliminated many at the same time, but you happened to show up. You eliminated me, hell, tried to kill me and put me back in the grave for the second time in just a few months. It would be a very simple understatement to say that I’m shocked by the actions that you took in order for me to fall six feet deep. I’m shocked by the manner that you proposed to yourself, believing that maybe you’ve done the right thing, killed the freak that wouldn’t stay dead but I don’t see heroism in you because of that.

No matter how you may look at it, you tried to end a man’s life.

Are you really the good man you portray yourself to be?

The way that I saw it, Noah? I have a hard time ever believing a single word that escapes out of your mouth. After all, I never really wanted this match to happen but someone made the call, someone said that this would become of importance, and the only reason for why this might ever happen is because of you. Had you spent most of your time not consistently reflecting on me, on the damage that I had done to you all of those months ago, and on the impact that I left on your pathetic, miserable career? Well, we wouldn’t be here, would we? Whilst I’m sure you’ve got the excuses that would come out of your mouth are loud, obnoxious, and strongly false? I think you and I both know that it was a destiny to find ourselves here once and for all, am I right? I heard you throughout the whole build up to the Clash and I thought that it was disgusting how much of a meat rider that you have become for me. I thought it was bad simply starting off talking about me, I thought that it was enough just going off on me even though I had done nothing to you in months, but you’re so scared of what came onto you beforehand that you were afraid it’ll happen again.

Dropping me on my head, however, wasn’t going to stop that from ever happening. You made it possible because you spoke about me three different times and had nothing to back yourself up with except for the fact that you were able to drop me on my head. Almost broke my neck. Almost made me become deceased once again. Almost put me back in that grave you must be so desperate to see me enter once again. There’s a lot of almost here, Noah. There’s a lot of possibilities to have been done if you just did it right. Though, we’ve known you to make a fumble of things you cherish dearly. And when you think about it, it’s not the first time you’ve tried to kill someone who wanted to take your title.

How did that go for you last time?

But, there it is. More proof of you not being the man you claim to be. You’re supposed to be Chicago’s Finest and yeah, I mentioned before how you were nothing of a man from Chicago if you couldn’t tell me exactly how those streets “bullied” you truly, but you made sure that you were becoming more of a Chicago Man Punk than ever before. You almost put Jeff behind the wheel of a speeding vehicle, you pushed your limits and wanted me to suffer through severe head trauma and brain damage, what’s next for you? Where’s your limit in all of this? After all, there’s got to be something in your head that’s telling you that you’re going too far, right? I mean, surely there’s something inside of that adolescent brain of yours that’s telling you that you’re doing something wrong — or does that all fall under the heroism act? Just because you thought that you were doing the right thing, does it help the point come across even more? Maybe you need to begin listening to yourself closely more often, take a moment to sit back and realize that you’ve done more damage and danger than saving and heroism. People called me the Homelander of OWA but here you are, getting away with near murder and you get all of the cheers in the world.

Had I ever attempted murder at all? Had I pushed the limits and put many people’s lives on the line? Had I pushed myself too far to the point where I can’t defend myself anymore? Had I ever come close to such a violent act that there’s nothing that I could do to hide it from anyone? There’s nothing you can tell me that’s as dangerous, as sickening, as sadistic as what you secretly are and nobody wants to bat an eye because they want to see what you can do as the hero of the story. And that’s why I became The Real Hero at the end of the day because of people like you, because of what I saw you do, because of what I experienced you do, and it makes me disgusted that people are going to cheer you on when that match happens. It wasn’t just the big names that I was pointing out, no. You, Noah Krieger, were priority number one and the only one who got away with everything because you wanted to do one thing and one thing only: to ensure everyone that this promotion was safe from me.

It has been ten months since those words escaped out of your mouth and STILL there’s not been a single person – including you, of all people – who has made a close attempt on doing so, and the only one who was really close on doing that was a fucking part-timer that shows up whenever he’s stopped fighting in fucking Ukraine. You’ve not been able to do shit about me the whole time that I pushed myself further and further up until I got the one thing that I wanted: The OWA World Championship. No matter what, you will always be known to refer to me as a former OWA World Champion, despite how you might feel about my reign. And remember when people were calling YOU the future of this company? The future that the Kingdom brand needed? The future that this brand can look forward to? I never believed any of that bullshit and to this day, I still fucking don’t because you haven’t done the one thing to earn that right. You haven’t done one thing that gives you that moniker and that’s beating me. No matter how far down the chain I might fall, I am still anyone’s final boss. I am still the one hurdle so many could never get over. Michael Bishop, be damned in retirement, could never get one up on me. That’s a real Chicago’s Finest right there and look where he is right now, back at home taking care of his wife and daughter because he had NOTHING after I beat the fucking shit out of him for that World Championship.

The way that I see this, Noah, is simple. You’re a man who wants nothing more than to push the evil out when he’s already one step out the damn door. You’re a man who wants to end the suffering of so many and become the hero that saves the day. You’re a man who seeks validation from everyone around you, always finding ways to speak behind others backs and ask for their opinions, ask for their thoughts, see if you can share a kind word or two that disrespects your opponents because you, behind closed doors, find a confidence that you can’t share in public. No matter how you might walk into this, Noah? Nobody is supporting you, nobody has your back, nobody can ensure that you walk out of Kingdom as Spartan Champion because they already know there’s an inevitability that comes when Jason Long is challenging for the Spartan Championship. You want to take that bet that there isn’t? I can show you tournament win, defense after defense, return to form at the grandest stage, beating the shit out of you, and now, the summary of how you found yourself choking up another championship reign of yours.

Again, I didn’t ask for this to happen because the way that I see it? I wouldn’t care for the Spartan Championship anymore when there’s a much bigger prize on the horizon for me. I could’ve won it if it weren’t for you at the Clash but that doesn’t stop me entirely. Taking the championship from you is just an extra step on the way for me to be back where I belong. Taking the championship from you is just the reassurement of pure dominance that I’ve gotten over you because you can parade around as if eliminating me from the Clash is something to be proud of, you’ve never been able to beat me when it matters most and that’s where I hope you don’t find yourself at another low when it happens again. I wouldn’t want you to be one foot out the door when I take that belt from you because if you do? I’ll happily push you out and they won’t let you back in anymore.

You’ve got one job to make sure you can do something unthinkable. You’ve got one job on making sure that you can do what’s supposedly right and end everything right there and then. Because it’s very simple if you don’t. The exposure of your existence. The failure of your reign. The death of a career.

And to be frank with you, Noah? I have become numb to this. I will feel nothing from this because I do not share sympathy for an actual sociopath in hiding, and I will feel nothing when taking this championship from you and creating history as the first man to ever win this championship three times in a row.

Whereas you, however, will feel everything that will be inflicted onto you.

And you’ve got to live with that.

The world’s premier streaming service, Chadflix, hits an algorithm determined ad break. Instead of the award-winning original programming, the viewer is obligated to sit through a trailer for the upcoming smash hit made-for-streaming movie. It starts on a black screen, before the voice of Hollywood Narration Guy speaks:


A series of clips showing actors vaguely resembling famous Omega Wrestling Alliance stars, acting out some of the more iconic moments in recent Odyssey history.


We’re shown a familiar blonde with exceptional breasts portraying one of the brand’s declining talents, as she raises the Undisputed Women’s Championship above her head following her victory in the Promethean Chamber.

STARRING CHASTITY ECCLESTONE AS FELIX HARTLEY

The star of the show is shown backstage violently making out with a gruff, grizzled older man.

BILLY BOB THORNTON AS JEFF X

The trailer cuts back to Chastity-as-Felix still holding the Women’s World Championship aloft… until she’s assaulted by a new arrival: the Ascension to the Heaven’s Briefcase Holder, Diantha Rosso.

VIOLA DAVIS AS DIANTHA ROSSO

Backstage after the Clash of the Titans, a dopey-eyed young woman is attempting to comfort Felix after her disappointing performance, when suddenly she snaps, kicking the other woman in the stomach and devastating her with a Canadian Destroyer.

WITH SPECIAL GUEST BILLIE EILISH AS REBECCA FILTH

Felix looks down at her fallen friend, sneering with disgust as the scene begins to fade to black, leaving only the soothing tones of the narrator to close out the advertisement.


The commercial ends, but instead of returning to the show we are instead shown Chad Ecclestone relaxing in a pristine room, presumably in one of his many homes. Sitting in a white leather chair, his eyes are on a massive television that is showing the ending of the previous advertisement. Once it finishes, he turns to face the camera, as the screen in the background cuts to a series of clips taken from his life: personal moments, professional triumphs, and his selfless charity work, all in equal portions.


He visibly shudders at the thought.


He gets up out of the chair and begins to stroll down an adjoining hallway, in no real hurry as he continues to speak directly to the audience at home.


Chad’s seemingly aimless wandering finally brings us to his intended destination: a large auditorium containing a series of priceless works of art. All featuring himself, of course. On a massive canvas hanging on a nearby wall is an oil painting of him holding his hard-earned Academy Award over his head, as he rests the bottom of a boot on the fallen bodies of John Travolta, Al Pacino, Robert de Niro and Martin Scorsese. There’s a rudimentary, Indigenous-style piece done with ash and dirt on a dried, leathery hide, showing a stick figure of Chad Ecclestone chasing a herd of buffalo across the plain. Countless different works hang here, all commissioned by the man with the biggest ego this side of Tom Cruise. But he walks by all of them without a second glance, eyes remaining fixed on the camera in front of him.


Finally, his long path comes to a stop in front of a large figure covered in a white cloth.


Someone off-screen mumbles something, as Chad breaks eye contact with the viewer for the first time to glance in that direction.


Shaking his head and turning back to the camera, Chad brushes the mistake aside with a pearly white, perfectly straight smile.


Chad grabs one end of the white cloth and pulls it back, revealing a newly-chiseled marble statue of the man himself, naked but for a fig leaf covering his groin as he holds aloft the severed stone head of Rex Maddox.


The public service announcement ends, returning the viewer to whatever show they had previously queued up.

 

(DT The Ruler is spotted in his private room at the Curtiss Hotel in Buffalo, New York. With no music playing, no cigar in hand, not even a wineglass, he stood at the window and looked at the outside, gathering his thoughts as the summer Sun hovered over the area. All that could be heard was the air conditioner at the time, and even then, the noise it made barely disrupted his thinking. The OWA World Championship he held in his hand while looking through that window, with a face more focused than even for Clash of the Titans)
 
I stand here, speaking to you all, though this time in a quieter setting, and I want everyone to clearly understand what I am going to do in the coming championship match, my first defense. YES, I said it: my FIRST defense, meaning that this will not be the only one. While all of you may see that I am placing the OWA World Championship on the line, for those who didn’t hear: this match is my revenge. This match is not just about jocking for position, going hold for hold for who knows the best escapes and can control the other man. This match is not going to be a mere test of skill on the mat or a sheer battle of wits. It will be a battle however, a battle that Mr. Stark will change his mind during. For him to truly experience any aspect of the man he saw many years ago, for him to want to see the fabled “Donovan T” of the past, all that had to happen was for a scenario like this to happen. And it is not even the championship being the main reason, though it does matter.

I’m not a man that takes requests seriously, as all men should move on their own accord and still achieve their goals to survive their environment and be respected. Those who constantly and needlessly oblige to the whims of others do not become anything close to what I am. But you have been wanting to see this mythical creature, this version of me that dominated in ways that ultimately burned into your psyche. I cannot perfectly replicate what I was, nor should I, and you recognize that, Mr. Stark. However, I will do you better and help you improve your understanding of a few things about The Ruler before our match since our past interactions were brief. In the past, Mr. Stark, the moment I know who I am facing, I go to the ring with the sole mission of breaking my opponent to pieces, down to the atom, first by giving them the exact same type of respectful warning I gave to you before celebrating my Championship win with my associates. The people I crossed, such as Austin Lonewolf and Ryan Edwards and Puerto Rican Pitbull and JGT: they didn’t know what they were in for. They did many things to try and stave off The Man The World Revolved Around, but there’s only so much low-vibrational men can do against a Ruler on a mission. Because no matter what games they attempted, I was mentally and physically prepared. And many of those instances had no titles on the line. I would just look from above, as I’m doing now in this hotel, measure how much greater I am than most men in existence, and have every one of my opponents analyzed and read to the T. Combat Style, Physical Ailments, Wins and Losses, Strengths and Weaknesses, and Fears: I went into every match knowing all those things. Are you prepared for that type of wrestler, the type that enters the ring knowing everything about you that matters, because that’s one thing I was and can easily be again.

And I have read up on you, Mr. Stark. I also vividly remember our past contest. I have seen your struggles. I understand your wrestling approach almost as well as you. I remember even the short-lived identity crisis that occurred after Final Destination 4. Those aspects of you are not even difficult to turn into weapons against you, Mr. Stark. But understanding my opponents isn’t the only aspect of The Ruler you should be concerned about. You see the “FTM DT” that you mentioned... still has a lot of the attributes of The Ruler you fantasize about. However, Mr. Stark: one of the reasons I can comfortably align myself with a man many of you look down upon and believe is holding me back, one reason I am able to join forces with a woman who once attempted to marginalize my efforts as a Wrestler is because I am adept at adaptation. Before returning, I understood I am no longer a young adult who feels like Wolverine when it comes to injuries, so I had to change my training regimen. I looked over the OWA environment after a while, and when I saw the chance to make an alliance with my own people, especially when seeing the many other groups, team-ups, stables, and co-ops running amuck, I took the chance. And my group is succeeding because we are doing what is necessary. Yes, WE. But as much as WE are working together against a lot of the garbage we’ve dealt with over time, Mr. Stark: on my own, I am very able to do what I did in the past. This environment unfortunately did not allow for me to do the one thing I was absolutely fine with doing: coming to the ring and outright destroying who was in front of me. But now, the chance to be anything close to that man is here. Are you prepared for that type of wrestler, the type that had to deviate from being what he is at his best... only to go back to that in this instance confidently?


(DT The Ruler took a deep breath and looked out the window again)

As much as I will be representing the members of For The Minorities, as much as I won’t be coming out to the ring to “Pavane” by Gabriel Faure, make no mistake that I am very much the Same Ol’ G. Time changes people in places, whether it taste in music, taste in women, or willingness to explore aspects of life they never would’ve as a stubborn youth. But understand, Mr. Stark: what I communicated to you prior to this... is very much The Monster You Remember. Nostalgia goggles muddle some details, but overall: I am very much the same. However, with more experience, more knowledge, and fully adept to this environment and what being part of it entails: are you prepared for a Ruler that is even stronger than what you remember?

Because despite the various perils I’ve experienced, despite the battles over the past year and how they have taken a toll on my physical being, understand that I am not only still here, but I am still walking as The Man with the belt to prove it. But I know you’re not 100% ready to fight The Ruler at his angriest and most focused because despite knowing how angry I am about what you did to my reputation, Mr. Stark, you still held onto this idea that us meeting again is just going to be normal competition.


No. No. No.



You need to bring two things.

For one, Mr. Stark, I want you to enter the ring as disrespectfully as you can. I want you to muster up any negative vibes about me. I want you to bring any and all hatred you could invoke into your spirit to Kingdom. And even before you make something up, gather reasons from other people to make sure that “power” feels authentic. I don’t care if it’s my actions with my FTM associates. I don’t care if it’s a rumor.  Because if you don’t: I’m going to hurt you even worse than planned. The Ruler of the past didn’t care what your race, your creed, your nationality, or your age was. I beat people as if they were fighting without honor, and I did it repeatedly, because I look at them and remember all those times I was marginalized and insulted before I became my Highest Self. And you are expected to do similar.

The second thing you need to bring is Your Best. You say you feel good, despite what happened at The Clash, and that’s OK because even with that circumstance looming over you: you get a Title Match almost right away. And when I say “Your Best” is what you need to bring, that includes No Fear. Like many wrestlers I’ve faced in the past, they all started that way. They would unfortunately catch moments where I’d be conducting business and wrongfully assume I was doing things to invoke distress. No. The fear I invoke is progressive, it’s slow-developing, and it all happens once the bell rings. Doing so many moves that exert great amounts of energy, doing attacks that have the audience standing in amazement, using weapons that people didn’t even know were ringside... and to see that none of it works. High risk maneuvers, desperation attacks all out of nowhere... and I STILL WILL STAND. If you really want the DT that you remember to emerge like the Loch Ness monster, you better bring the two things I’m telling you to bring, Mr. Stark. Because as you hope that I am the savage that many other know is appearing again, the monster that once dominated over even those who other wrestlers saw as unbeatable, I AM NOT GOING INTO KINGDOM WITH LOW EXPECTATIONS. I don’t want the Stark that made a pattern of watching his opponents in Triple Threat contests decide the outcome without him. I am not interested in “Gaijin” Stark, either! I want Stark at his most... STARK... in the ring...


....so I can crush him.



I don’t take pride in dismantling weaklings, no names, and random rookies who just want to wrestle to impress ring rats! I don’t find it enjoyable to break down opposition that can be read as easily as a story including Spot the Dog. The reason I became what I became is because when it came time to look at the men glorified and praised, the men of Professional Wrestling that stood atop the highest mountains, The Ruler gave not a single damn and readily slapped them back to sea level. But Mr. Stark, one thing I learned about OWA is that merely throwing someone down off their high-horse is not enough. I now how resilient you are. And though I poke fun at them, I know how resilient many others on not just Kingdom but on Olympus and Odyssey are. Combine that with those judgments on me as a businessman and a Professional Wrestler in the present day: our match is not going to be fun.

 
Our match is not going to be all about the fundamentals. Your Master and Ruler is going to ensure that you worry more about your survival than about possibly being champion. Your Master and Ruler will guarantee that you will struggle to recollect your thoughts as I beat your brains in on repeat. And your Master and Ruler will ensure you know The Monster You Remember still exists. And to prove it, I am going to bring you as close to death as possible for your insolence.


 

San Diego, CA
Friday, 23^rd June 2023
10:30 am (PST)
 
The drive to the airport was somber. Brody stared out the window of his brother’s car, trying his best to appear stoic. However, Danny knew him all too well.
 
“You ok, bro?”
 
“Yeah, just bummed to be leavin’ so soon. I think I have a touch of Down Syndrome.”
 
“For the last time, that’s not what that means, dude.”
 
“I just thought Dad would be happier to see me, you know?”
 
“He is,” Danny insisted. “He just wants what’s best for you. Going on a drink and drug-fueled rampage immediately after getting home isn’t really a good look, is it?”
 
“That is what’s best for me, though,” Brody pleaded. “I’ve worked myself to the fuckin’ bone since signin’ my contract, dude. I need to be able to cut loose, drink a couple brewskis, blast a couple rails, ingest a couple opioids. It’s all about balance, bro.”
 
“Jesus fuck, do they not have a wellness policy at OWA?”
 
“I wouldn’t have gone so crazy if I wasn’t being driven crazy while on the road. All I do is train, dude. I barely speak to anyone, either. Olympus is a travelin’ freak show, and I’m not just talkin’ about Poet.”
 
“Hmm, I might be able to help with that,” Danny smirked. “I’ve heard about this app where men can meet other men interested in working out together.”
 
“Yeah? What’s it called?”


 
New York City, NY
Monday, 3^rd June 2023
10:06 am (ET)
 
Brody sat up and looked out the window of his hotel room. He was eager to get back into the gym for his morning session, but he was still wrestling with that feeling of isolation. He thought about touching base with Tatsuo or Ryo, hoping they might want to train together since they partnered at Clash of the Titans. As his fingers hovered over an open message, he remembered the app his brother had told him about. It just seemed easier. He made a quick profile and searched for nearby users. “Wow, lots of fitness freaks in Jackson Heights,” he thought as he clicked on one of the profiles.







Brody put his phone down, utterly confused by what had just transpired. “If he was freaked out because I got beat up by my brothers, imagine how he’d react if I told him about that time I got molested,” he thought. "Oh well, guess I'm working out alone, again."


 
Arthur Ashe Stadium (Queens, NY)
Friday, 30^th June 2023
2:30 pm (ET)
 
A car arrived at the hotel and took Brody to the venue for tomorrow night’s Olympus. He had been summoned to another interview with Cori Simmons. Ostentatious promos were not really his thing. He much preferred speaking from the heart.
 
“Hello, ladies and gentlemen. I’m here once again with one of OWA’s rising stars, Brody. Now, last time out, you teamed with Ryo Sakazaki and Tatsuo Sakaguchi to beat Brandon Hendrix, Reginald Dampshaw III, and Poet at Clash of the Titans. How did it feel to get a win on your pay-per-view debut?”
 
“Pretty fuckin’ sweet, dude. I was there when Aria Jaxon won the first-ever Clash. It’s probably my favorite event on the calendar. So, to not only make my pay-per-view debut there but to win as well? Bruh, I’ll be showin’ the lil Broderinos and Broderinas that tape for years to come.”
 
“Well, it seems the entire OWA universe got to see how much it meant to you last week. Do you have any comments on the videos circulating on social media?”
 
“I plead the fifth.”
 
“Mmhmm. Well, your next opponent on Olympus is El Landerson. How are you feeling ahead of tomorrow’s match?”
 
“I mean,” Brody shrugged. “I like his mask. That’s pretty cool. And his daughter has a sweet Ass—"
 
“Stop. I beg of you.”
 
“What? I was just gonna say she has a sweet Assyrian Mastiff. It’s always runnin’ around backstage, jumpin’ on everybody. Fuckin’ adorable, dude. Ruthless, though. Saw that thing put a dent in a fuckin’ steel door.”
 
“Oh, ok. I thought – never mind. Just, how do you rate El Landerson as a professional?”
 
“Oh, he’s one of the best, for sure. I mean, I used to watch him do all sorts of crazy shit on TV. Some of the things he’s subjected his body to are amazing. But how come he doesn’t skateboard anymore, dude?”
 
“Excuse me?”
 
“Well, when he was on Jackass, he’d always do some skatin’ an’ shit with Bam Margera. Now all he does is get his ass kicked at every OWA show. Kinda sad, really. Maybe he should retire or somethin’. I mean, did you see what Bartholomew Rapekit III did to him at OWA5? Brutal, dude.”
 
“I think you’re thinking about Wee Man.”
 
“Oh, I’m always thinkin’ about weed, man. Why? You wanna burn one down? I didn’t know you were chill, bro.”
 
“What are you talking about?”
 
“Err, what’re you talkin’ about?”
 
“Every fucking time with this guy," Cori exclaimed as she looked at the camera operator.
 
“Listen, Cori,” Brody held his hands up. “Can I call you Cori?”
 
“Well, it’s my name, so—"
 
“I don’t have anythin’ personal against El Landerson. He seems like a nice dude, an’ all. I mean, it’s sweet how his family comes to all his shows. I wish my… uh, I bet many people wish they had somethin’ like that. But I can’t afford to take my eyes off the prize, here. I did that at Clash and never got the pin. And to add in salt to injury, the guy who did get the pin now has a title shot.”
 
“So, you’re not happy Tatsuo Sakaguchi is challenging for the Icarus Championship?”
 
“Nah, I’m stoked for him, bro. Truly. He got the pin, he deserves it. And my boy’s gonna bring it home. We didn’t speak a ton before the Clash, but in the brief time we did spend together, I could tell he looked up to me as a mentor of sorts. And I accept that responsibility, Cori. Young Tatsuo has, what I like to call, a fightin’ spirit. But those drawings he does fuckin’ suck, though.”
 
“Wow, I’m surprised he showed someone like you something so personal. He seems like such a guarded man.”
 
“You haven’t seen them hangin’ up in the dressing room?”
 
“Oh, you mean the shūji?”
 
“Is that what it’s called? Whatever, dude. Looked like stick figures to me. And not very good ones, either. Those ancient bitches in fuckin’ caves sucked at drawing, too, but at least you could tell what they were trying to draw. Fuckin’ dudes in skirts throwin’ spears at antelopes. Shit was gnarly back in the day, dude.”
 
“It’s Kanji, Brody. Not drawings.”
 
“Exactly, dude. It’s fuckin’ Kanji. You get it, bro. Anyway, back to your question. I’m happy for Tatsuo, but I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t care about titles. That’s why we’re here, right? To prove to my - uh, some people - that I’m not just a waste of time, money, and semen. And that’s why I have to just keep on provin’ myself, even if it is against a tiny little dude in a mask. I just hope we can shake hands after. And maybe he can introduce me to Steve-O. I’m a big fan.”
 
“Speaking of shaking hands, what’s the current situation with Poet? Will you two ever see eye to eye?”
 
“That bitch? He’s fuckin’ obsessed with me, bro. Talkin’ about how he’ll always be gunnin’ for me an’ shit? Nah, we’re never gonna be on good terms, dude. As long as I got a winnin’ record over him, which I always will, he’s gonna be Kanji about it. He can’t accept that I’m just better than him. He works so hard on building his physique, but he looks like 10 pounds of shit in a five-pound bag. Cut the fuckin’ carbs, bro, if you want some fuckin' definition.
 
“Gotta say, though, he didn’t get much help from those two bozos from the Tree Climbers Club. And to be honest, I couldn’t give a fuck about that little turf war with World’s Finest. So, for all intensive purposes, we do have a score to settle.
 
“So, if you wanna go again,” Brody said as he looked at the camera. “I’m fuckin’ down, dude. I’ll meet you any time, any place. And it doesn’t have to be in the ring, bitch. I assume you’re already in New York, so we can do this right now. Fuckin’ get your ass down to Queens. I’ll be here all fuckin’ day, dude. Peace.”

Had I planned to go out at the Clash and end up performing at my worst once again?

No.

However, that’s how we’ve ended up in that weird situation and I don’t know how it happened. Alas, I’ll have to admit it’s level upon being stacked at the top. Some of the most powerful names that there are right now were on that level and not many should’ve expected me to be on their level after some time being at the bottom of the food chain, so to speak. I feel as if I could’ve done better than this. I feel as if I’ve done so much better than what you’ve seen before but– something’s not right, something’s not clicking. You spend so long rushing around and becoming your own worst enemy, you begin to wonder what else you need to do in order to break a chain. You begin to ask yourself if you’re stuck in the same loop over and over again as if it can help you out in the most needy of times, and oftentimes, it becomes one singular question as if there’s nobody else to ask around but you.

The same question that I’ve begun to ask myself time and time again found itself back inside of my head once again– louder than ever before, “what else is there to do?”

For as much as I’d have wished to have a simple answer for that question, I never found one. For as much as I’ve traveled and looked for a place where I can find this answer in a field of unanswered questions already fogged up inside of my head, I couldn’t find the right one to tell you or even myself. And that’s where the disappointment comes in heavily. The more that I continue to reflect on myself, the more these kinds of questions become asked. The more that I look at what the old me had done, I find my reflection to be a lot more of a blur than I remembered it ever being. The problem was never finding out what the old me had done, it was all about what I could do right now.

See, losing to Cassie Wu was a painful task after everything that had happened to me. When I began to have the realization that I needed to fix something, I thought that looking to the past and focusing on the future might’ve been what I needed to help myself more than anything but at the end of the day, it ruined me more than anything. Then, Ellie Quinn had appeared in front of me and I had to dispose of her as quickly as she had come back. Whilst it seemed to have been an easy feat at the time, it wasn’t the challenge that I wanted more than anything. I wanted a task that would challenge me, I got that at the Clash, and I got wiped pretty quickly.

And it seems that I’m on the same level as Aalyah Landerson.

I’m neither sure whether to laugh it off or be crudely offended by the simple-minded jokes made here. Having said that, Landerson is neither much of a threat to me as they are a brush against the wind. They are prominent in becoming champion, champion, champion and they only seem to just call someone out as if it’s already theirs and they make things happen because they said so. Maybe that’s how I’ve ended up in this match, after all. Aalyah must’ve mentioned my name and asked for the match so it was made. I mean, I can’t really see why any other reason there could be for this match to be made, am I right?

Listen, for a moment. We’re on the road to Final Destination here and it’s not looking good for me. If there’s someone out there that wants me to just make a statement of sorts against Landerson, then so be it. However, I need to make sure that my words are heard for the moment because I want to make this very clear to everyone, and to whoever might’ve done this match up. I will beat Aalyah within an inch of her life, I will bruise that woman badly, I will leave her begging for very simple mercy and there’s nothing that anyone can do. Who’s going to be the fucking retard that helps her out? Who’s going to be the fucking autist that feels some pity for her?

Nobody, right?

I know how that feels.

But nobody can save the day for her, nobody can be the hero of the story, so why even bother trying to be someone that you’re not? There’s so many out there that fall guilty of this. I’m just trying to show people why you need to stop pretending as if you are something you’re not. Because, at the very least, you’ll simply become an example made much like how Aaliyah is.

And nobody really wants that, right?

I guess we’ll see.

Robber 1: Check again, you’re certain we’re at the right place? You young niggas taking some dumbass shortcut - you use GPS for the addy? Or that waze bullshit?


Scene opens to 2AM, AKA, up-to-no-good hours, in a little corner of the Dupont circle neighborhood of Washington, DC. Two masked men talk among themselves, as a third, towering at least a foot and pushing a buck fifty more than the other two, impatiently paces as they stand on the entry steps of a brownstone, leading up to a door. 


Robber 2: It ain’t bullshit, this is the spot. On blood,  this is the place - I didn’t follow anyone inside, but could see the moving crew through the window going to this unit. Hella boxes for electronics, and when one of ‘em fell, I SWEAR i saw some crazy shit. Cuban link, infinity link, all that stuff looks like play play compared to what I saw.


Robber 1: That being?


Robber 2: This gold, diamond crusted fist. Like, it’s huge. Feels like some museum dude, or something. Maybe a smuggler.


Robber 1: So we got a rich collector or something with a 2001 Nissan Acura in the assigned parking spot out front? 


Robber 2: Yeah.


Robber 1: Deadass?


Robber 2: Deadass. 


The first man looks around to keep watch for any passing cars or pedestrians, and upon getting seeing no peering eyes, he starts fiddling with the doorknob. A lockpick is pulled from his pocket, but the third burglar brushes past the first, and shoves his hand between the front door and the frame near the hinges. With one swish of the hand, he silently tears the door off the frame like a hot knife slicing through butter, and the three enter the apartment, and are greeted with the pitch black only disturbed by the moonlight, wooden boxes and a board covered with newspaper clippings 


Robber 2: Sorry, we in a rush. This my cuz Demarion, you know, he already on parole and we ain’t trynna’ be on the row. We in, then we out. 


Robber 1: Ok, bet. Maybe it is a collector or something, check this shit out..


Pointing to the newspaper clippings, he scans each, and is left with confusion.


Headline #1:
New York Times: What if Superman was a big black bisexual nigga from the Atlanta?


Headline #2: 
Washington post: Clark Kente Cloth ends gang warfare in PG County by uniting them!


Headline #3: 
NPR: All strip clubs in the Prince George County now declare Mother’s day a paid holiday thanks to their biggest donor!


Headline #4: National outrage as the superhero replaces presidents faced on Mount Rushmore with Missy Elliot, Lil Kim, RICO Nasty and Trina!


With a shrug, the two set the board aside, and start sifting through the boxes, while the larger Demarion opts to lift each box up to feel for anything heavy and worthwhile, before siphoning it away in a duffle bag over his shoulder. Ultimately, the kitchen and living room area are both pretty bare bones, save a safe with a heavy duty lock on the front in the living room next to a pack of black and milds. With a nod from both men, Demarion gets two hands on it for safety, before opting to tear the steel safe directly out of the wall entirely. 


Robber 1: Damn. Gentrification’s a bitch. First the whites, now Thanos? That’s a walkin, talkin, lick. Who we hitting next? The joker?


???: Sorry bruh, no jokers or clowns here, the only thing round’ these parts with a red nose is a pitbull.


Nobody has time to react - before they can even question who the voice belonged to, with a powerful gust of wind, the first of the three robbers is taken by a golden wind. The other two turn just in time to see their comrade, upside down, slammed into the wooden floor hard enough the only part of him they can see are his dangling, unconscious, legs protruding through the floor, next to a brolic powerhouse wearing a velvet durag, basketball shorts, and some nike slides. Immediately, the second robber looks for his backup. 


Robber 2: Demarion!


As large and apelike as he is, in his feral fury towards the man who just accosted them, one jab of a punch to his collarbone is all it takes for Demarion to get launched into his partner, as both get propelled with enough force to put them through the nearest window and ejected back onto the streets. In the wake of that destructive force, we see our big black icon with a proud grin on his face, assuming a dynamic and heroic pose with arms raised to show off how ripped he is. 


???: Talk about bad luck - breakin’ into a superhero’s new apartment? You DMV boys sheisty! I’m putting both of you behind bars. Next time, stick to an ATM machine!


A slick, skinny figure impatiently stamps downstairs. In his dress suit and alligator skin shoes, agent to the stars Flash Davis looks as amazing as ever.


Flash Davis: Cut! God damint Golden Gauntlet!


GG: W-what?


Flash: ATM machine. The m stands for machine. They should stick to breaking into automated teller machine machine’s? Not very heroic, my guy. You need a teleprompter? You understand the camera crew is hourly, right? Can someone please take these three, and put them in the backyard with everyone else? We’ll clean up the room, turns the lights off again, and wait for the next person to try to break in so we can reshoot. Got i-


An old lady peeks through the frame where a door once stood, and looks around with absolute stupor painted on her face.


Old bitch: I-is everything okay? I heard a noise - are these men robbers? Should I call the poli-


GG: UH nah, it’s all good ma’m, trust me.


GG looks to Flash, who sighs, but waves off the camera crew. An entire night of baiting robbers into their trap, but not a single good reel of tape to show for it. Ultimately, a failure, but as Golden Gauntlet’s powerpunch begins to glow as he walks to the two robbers he love tapped through a wall. 


GG: This neighborhood is in safe hands.





So, what the absolute hell am I doing here? Not in the booth, eatin' a plate delivered to me after Sunday service - I ain’t about all that beating around the bush shit, y’all probably read the headlines, you see ya’boy handing out two piece meals with a biscuit on the side to everyone in the 202. If the only thing that drives me was having people worship me or cheer me, I wouldn’t be here. Wake up in the morning, can’t even get through a piss without having a line of people trynna shake my dick for me. First superhero with both a Nike AND an Adidas sponsorship. Y’all cutting promos in boiler rooms lookin’ hard next to pipes and me? Me? I’m speaking to you while I’m sinking my teeth into some beef butter. Y’all know about beef butter out there? Shit, Julia is all about that chef shit. Back in school everyone called her big-booty judy, now she putting meat on everyone’s bones because god damn that lady is about that cheffin’ shit. Umami seasoning or some shit, take some beef, throw it in the smoker at 275, let it rock for a coupla hours, iunno know what kinda spells she’s casting, but I’m already surrounded with that good good. Fighting ain’t about filling some hole, or something that’s missing, because I’m at a community picnic surrounded by people who love and respect me. 


It didn’t have to happen like this, either. Before my pops had me in the weight room, or the center of the best god-damn O-line this side of the Mason-Dixie, before there were big smiling white faces from agents asking me shit like Virginia Tech or UVA, niggas were asking me blood or crip. Crip or YNIC. Where you from? Where yo momma stay? Where yo daddy stay? Where your grandma stay? Everyone always trying to find out which team this big bodied black Broly brolic mf was from, but my old man’s kept my circle so small, it was a period. It felt like I was on cornball, after school special, but he kept me surrounded by good people. I got up outta the mud, and I did this shit off the muscle. 


So why? Why am I here? It definitely aint to be fightin’ with no six-foot three crimson chin Splanglish speaking motherfu-


(Flash Davis, from outside the studio): He’s not spanish! 


Oh word? He English? I like them Cockney accents, I love it when I have a conversation with someone and can tell what they’d sound like with my dick in their jaws. 


(Flash Davis, outside the studio): No! He’s french! Why do you think he’s English or Spanish ? Where do you think Spain and England are?


Norf norf. Anyways, what is a hate bred war machine? You trynna tell me when your Ma and Pa were doing the monster mash, you think your Pappy was just monologuing in his head about this bitch halitosis breath? Or is that some ‘I WAS RAISED ON THEM HARD ASS COBBLESTONE STREETS OF PARIS FRANCE’ type shit? Sorry bro, I see the way you talk and I saw your last match; you ain’t gotta sharingan, it’s probably just pink eye. Try as hard as you like, but as a fan of all of the classic animes, you ain’t Sasuke, you Shadow the Edgehog ass mf. You still kinda new, ain’t you? You still seem wet behind the ears, with a big ass chip on your shoulder, like you got something to prove but haven’t had a chance to do it. Bossin’ up on the biggest boss in Olympus, Rich Gatsby, would really be that moment, right? A real ‘putting my dick on the table by walking into prison and punching the biggest mfer in the face’ type beat, right? So why’d you let Landerson put you on a poster? You really let a nigga wrestling in Sketchers do you dirty?


You have Doc Rivers syndrome, you have Joel Embiiditis; it’s called you expel so much hot air that you forget to breathe, and you choke, and my bruddah, this is a siiiiiiiiicknessssssssssssssssssss, this is a disease. All you’re out here doing is fighting for yourself, and if your goals were water, you wouldn’t fill a kiddy pool. So Marce, know it ain’t nothing personal when you get dragged out into deep water when we face up, because the only beef between us is this beef butter, man. Big Papa’s this big because I put my city on my back, I put PG on the map and because I want to give a lot of other people comin’ from a similar background a positive, hopeful, means tested message that gives me alot of the inspiration. 


Brothas… we ain’t gotta stay in the houses were were born with, fightin’ over blocks to claim symbolic possession of areas where some multinational bank owns all of the property… putting on a helmet and some pads showed me, there’s so much to this big ass blue globe… so we shouldn’t be beefing over the neighborhood, when there’s so much more to this world to conquer.


Everyone else trying to empower the community comes off whack as shit. But by dogwalking someone that looks like a pitbull but fights like a french terrier. and I will say it now - even though I am an ally to the LGBT-alphabet boys community-


(Flash Davis, off camera:) For real? You fuck wit the gays?


Yuh, you ain’t hear that Lil Nas X Jack harlow track? That shit slid like ice. Anyways - I’m an ally of the LGBT alphabet boys community, and I go as hard in the club when I hear dreams and nightmares as I do when I hear Kim Petras, the gays are coo’ with me, but being French? That’s too fucking far. That’s that selfish beat, I swear. Who rocks with you? Parents and kids? No. Ladies? No. I tried hosting a film session/studio session the other day, and your matches? Definition of scaring the hoes. Lariots? Back body drops? French cuisine is so hoity toity, only for this default character creation screen unseasoned chicken mf to  think he’s the main character? Marce ain’t been in pussy since the day he came out one. You have no rizz, no juice, no sauce, no fans, no loved ones, no one to hand your casket off to once I hit you with the GG no Re because all you think about is yourself, and all you do is serve your own self-interests. But that’s alright. Same as I’m cleaning up these streets so all my black Kings and Queens can lift their heads and wear their crowns, I’m the rising tide that raises all ships. First and last time you’re gonna hear this, blood - you are invited to the next Sunday service. I’ll make a plate for you! I’ll mash it up into a fine paste and bring a straw, because no teeth? No problem. 

The opening theme to the famous podcast Wrestling Scandal Roundup plays, before fading out and being replaced by the stuttering, anxious voice of the host, Don Muller.

“Hello, and welcome to another episode of everyone’s favorite niche podcast about everyone’s favorite niche sport, professional wrestling! I’m your host Don Muller and I’ve got a very special guest with me in the studio today. The man whose relentless dedication and natural ability to outthink lesser minds took him to the Final Three in OWA’s Clash of the Titans… I’m speaking, of course, about Chad Ecclestone.”

Some canned applause plays before Chad speaks, sounding as cool, confident, and cocky as ever, despite coming up short in the Clash several days ago.


“Um…”


“Gloat? About what? Coming in third place?”


“Right, right. Sorry.”


“Chad?”


“Wow. Leaving aside your… quite frankly insane comparison there… you talk about your sacrifice, your efforts. But you didn’t really do anything.”


“No.”


“No, you didn’t.”


“Next? You haven’t let me ask you a real question yet!”


“Actually, it’s Allesandro, not Alejandro.”


The host sighs, growing increasingly fed-up with the boorish, combative behavior from his guest. Unfortunately for Don, Chad Ecclestone is right about one thing… namely, that he brings in the ratings. There’s just no way for him to cut this interview short without losing listeners, so he soldiers on.

“Fine. My apologies, Chad.”


“...”


Another sigh is heard, more hopeless and exasperated than the last.

“So, you’re scheduled against newcomer Rex Maddox on the next episode of Kingdom. Now, I’m not implying that you should be scared, but the man did have an awfully impressive showing for a rookie, in the ring with several OWA legends in the Clash of Titans. And not only that, he seems more than a little bit unwell… mentally, I mean. Are you taking any special precautions or undergoing any different traini–”


“But I wa–”


“...good lord. Uhh… okay… well, I think this is a good time for a commercial break.”

“Dude…are you okay? Like seriously, are you alright!? I knew you were a crackpot, but bruh you have more than several screws loose! Maybe this is an intimidation tactic or whatever, or maybe you’re actually jealous of my full body of hair, but there’s hope for you man! Don’t you make enough to get hair implants or something? Maybe we can get you some Rogaine? Keeps? Hims? Speaking of HIM, that’s who I’m trying to be with this Outlaw Championship run. You can have all the crazy in the world, Nate Freaking Cage. I’m still going to beat that ass and move on to the next one. And since this IS the Outlaw Division, the child of the former 24/7 Division, you can keep coming for me anytime, anywhere. I’ll be ready for you and whoever wants to try The Kid.” 

“I feel bad that you want to die so bad, and I’m certainly not going to assist with that, I mean I’m cool with throwing hands, but I’d like to think some amount of civility exists within me. You know what? How about I help you find a way to love yourself again before your match? I’m not gonna hold back, but that’s not going to stop me from helping you find some meaning in your sad little life. After all, you figured out what most haven’t - the identity of my father! Something you’ve accomplished even before he did! Or maybe he has and he’s just avoiding the inevitable. Do you know what else is inevitable? Losing this title. I know one day somebody is going to beat me for it, but I’m doing everything in my power to ensure that it doesn’t happen. Unlike Noah Krieger, I’m not going to suffer the same fate. The secret about you Nate Cage is that you think you’re more dangerous than you actually are. Don’t get me wrong - you’re fucking scary, but dude I’m from the Capital Region of New York State! Have you been to Schenectady!? Bruh, Arbor Hill!? It’s like Escape from New York!”

“What’s funny about this is that you think you’re going to intimidate me by threatening to burn down my home!? Is your rambling ass so consumed by my beautiful boyband hair that instead of solving your own problem you want to make others miserable? It’s funny…when I was training under Matsuda, she mentioned taking psych in college. She said when she used to train her students, she’d help them find their strengths and help them improve their specialties via positive reinforcement. Your strength Nate? You’re so freaking persistent. You just love nipping the heels at those you can’t keep up with, huh? As much as I want to keep talking that good shit, I realize that I’m an OWA Superstar, which means I have to set an example for the youngins who watch our TV MA product. So I did some digging on the internet, and since everything on there is true, I found a list of ways you can start loving yourself again, because Cage, my dude, you’re down bad right now.”  

“First off, let go of all your regrets and past mistakes. In order to truly love yourself, you’re going to have to let go of all the what-ifs that consume your mind. It’s not a healthy habit to dwell on the past since no matter how much you dwell on it or think about it, nothing’s going to change. The only thing you have control over is the present and what decisions you make today. Think back to all the shitty things you’ve done, Cage, and how you came around to regret it. Dwelling on the past is just going to lead you to negative thoughts which focus on your faults and flaws, rather than on the aspects of yourself that are good. Now, do I know any aspects you have that can be considered good? I don’t know fam, that’s between you and God.”

“Second? Don’t compare yourself to others. To truly know how to love yourself, you need to stop the negative self-talk. The easiest way to do this is by not comparing yourself to others. This is really hard to do in our industry, I know. Especially if you have a sibling that’s more accomplished and rivals who actually earned their Hall of Fame status. Your worth isn’t determined by the success of others and lack of yours. Your time will come. Maybe not on Sunday, but one day…later than sooner. But eventually, we all get what we want. You deserve respect, and there’s a lack of respect that comes from comparison. There’s no need to be a little bitch because your mother loved Natalie more than you.”

“Here we have number three: Do things that make you happy. Spending time doing your passion is one of the fastest ways to find love since your passion is what makes you feel good about yourself. Speaking of which, don’t you have a wife and kid? Did they get Thanos snapped or whatever? I don’t know, it was before my time man. Anyway, when you’re feeling good, you have more room to love yourself. Whether that’s going out for a movie, playing the guitar, or losing to yours truly, doing your hobbies or the things you love will make you generally a happier and more positive version of yourself. It’s so easy to get caught up in our daily lives, especially the rat race of this business. Always remember to love yourself, fam.”

“Number four is ‘Embrace contentment’. In a similar vein of not dwelling on your regrets in the past, it’s also important not to dwell on the things you wish you could change in your present. Possibly you’re thinking that you haven’t reached the career path you aspired for this fifth season, or you haven’t become the version of yourself you expected yourself to be. Hey fam, I get it. I thought the Dojo Bros. was going to be tag champs by now, but it is what it is. Loving yourself comes with embracing who you are in this season of you are, without putting unnecessary pressure on yourself. The more you stress yourself out that you’re not where you intend to be, you’re going to overthink everything in your life which again, would lead to negativity. Like for example - you’re going to overthink in our match and I’ll come out on top. Just like you were overthinking in every other grand opportunity you received but yet you dropped the ball! Hey fam, been there, done that so I understand.”

“Numba five! Increase positive emotions! Your authentic self is a happy person. Pessimism and low self-esteem come from years of bullying, abuse, or toxic people we know. For you Cazge, that’s the majority of people in your life, Wolesden included. You need to know how to love yourself. You can replace negative thoughts with happy thoughts. Speak kindly to yourself when things aren’t going as planned. Do things that make you happy like cut inspirational promos such as this one, give yourself unconditional love, and allow yourself to experience happiness. Maybe even doing good deeds for others may allow you to embrace your authentic self. If you feel disappointed about something, work towards overcoming it so you can lead yourself on a better path towards loving yourself.”

“Six?  Surround yourself with positive people. The people that you choose to surround yourself with are very important in loving yourself. Once you make the change of surrounding yourself with people who give off positive vibes, people who encourage you, and people who are dreamers, they will rub off on you until soon enough, you’ll end up loving yourself even more. In reality, loving yourself comes off from just feeling good about yourself and being confident in your capabilities as a person. This is the reason why the key to self-love is usually just positivity and acceptance of who you are as a person. I can see why you ran back to Wolvesden. That’s probably where you loved yourself as an individual the most because you were surrounded by other deranged psychopaths.” 

“Seven: Practice loving-kindness meditation. Those looking for a quick way to learn how to love yourself can practice self-love through a loving-kindness meditation. During this meditation, you’ll express your love for yourself and for those closest to you. It can create positive emotions while letting out negative ones. Practicing a loving-kindness meditation daily is good for your mental health. You might be able to practice self-forgiveness and self-acceptance. But, don’t do it before our match, though. You’ll be severely disappointed.”

“Eight is Set boundaries. One of the reasons why we lose our self-love is because we forget to set boundaries for ourselves and allow people to walk all over us. This is one of the most important things you can integrate into loving yourself. It’s okay to say no if your feelings say otherwise or if it’s draining all the energy out of you. It’s okay to put yourself first, once in a while. You’re not being selfish, you’re just taking care of yourself. After all, if you don’t love yourself and take care of yourself first, how can you do the same for others? Also, staying the fuck away from my family is a great way to set boundaries.”

“And…at nine is ‘Accept yourself as you are’. Self-love starts with self-acceptance. You’re not perfect, no one is. However, you can’t spend your whole life beating yourself up. Your self-worth isn’t determined by all the mistakes you make. It’s how you move forward from those mistakes and what you do after you learn from them. Positive emotions will flow through you as you begin to practice self-acceptance and self-compassion. If you expect respect from others, start by showing it to yourself. Lead by example. Stop believing the negative thoughts that float in your mind. Don’t get swayed by self-deception that you’re not good enough. Practice self-care, stop making excuses, and focus on your well-being. Take responsibility for your actions but then forgive yourself. If you want to be a better Nate Cage, then you have to be a better human being, fam.”

“Last, but certainly not least is number ten. ‘Travel at least once a year’. Now I’m not talking about traveling with OWA, but actually, go out there, touch the grass, and go somewhere to fucking chill instead of some creepy compound in the hills. This is one of the perfect ways to get out of your comfort zone and check something on your bucket list. Whether it’s traveling alone or with friends, traveling always makes you feel good about yourself. Not only do you get a change of scenery but you also get out of your own head. It’s easy to get consumed with our own internal thoughts and problems, and traveling is the perfect escape. With this, it makes you forget momentarily all the things you were worried about and thus, you’d love yourself even more.”

“So, there we are Cage. Ten ways you can love yourself and make yourself a better person. Unfortunately, it won’t improve your ability in the ring, so just accept this L, stop obsessing over my siblings you creepy fuck, and focus on more realistic goals than attempting to beat me for the Outlaw Championship. Let me know how all of this works out for you.”

(In a private suite of a club that DT The Ruler secretly owns in New York City, DT The Ruler is shown seated in a large chair)
 
I know someone somewhere will wonder why I’m not out there living it up, also. Oh, I will be because I earned that right. And my constituents have earned that right. Becoming a World Champion for the first time in nearly a decade, becoming OWA World Champion in 18 months- with it being the third title to add to my Trophy Room- is no easy feat. Everyone associated with For the Minorities deserves not just that championship win at Clash of the Titans but more. Much more. And we’re not done. We’re still hungry. And I will not fall backwards because of this hard-earned victory at Clash of the Titans. We make history once again and continue en-route to being the best alliance of talent the Omega Wrestling Alliance has ever seen, but as I said: we’re not done.


 
(In a club dress and low heels, Diantha Rosso is shown with a few of her girlfriends, taking pictures with both the OWA World Championship and the OWA Women’s World Championship over her shoulders)


DT The Ruler: (Laughs) I’m starting to believe you like my championship more than I do.


Diantha Rosso: Maybe one day, we’ll go one-on-one for it. (One of Diantha’s friends takes another photo) For now, I think Twitter needs to see our greatness as a unit.


DT The Ruler: Don’t get overconfident now (he laughs again) After all we’ve been through as teammates, we can at least be cordial for a moment. I do need to address something if you don’t mind.


Diantha Rosso: Oh, no prob, Champ. I just wanna make sure the world knows how we operate!


(Diantha Rosso places the OWA World Championship on a table and exits with her friends)


 
Anyways, Mr. Stark, with our coming contest...

There is only one way to initiate my commentary- well warning- towards you.
 
January 21, 2022.
 
Do you remember that day, Mr. Stark? I hope you do. And if you don’t, I hope someone that cares about your well-being assists you in remembering even deeper than I will.

January 21, 2022.


Kingdom.

Stark vs. DT.

One on one. No titles. No special circumstances. No special rules. Not a Main-Event.

Once you start to get an idea of what happened during that episode of Kingdom after Civil War, I want you to remember everything you said prior to January 21, 2022 and understand what you’ll be walking into come the next edition of Kingdom. But let’s take a light jog on Memory Lane. Coming back after being away from the business for many years, I walked into Kingdom with the hopes of bringing change to a populace of athletes lost in degeneracy. Many of you lack self-control. Many of you lack self-awareness. And your audience applauded and cheered for that nonsense, even if it was physically and mentally detrimental to you all. At the same time, I was coming in to reclaim the top spot in Professional Wrestling. And here comes you. Now there are many things my opponents try to do in order to prop themselves up before being put down, but one thing I absolutely will not allow is for any single one of you to tell me who I AM, and you tried it, and you looked like you were succeeding after the fact. Mr. Stark, try and recollect some of the lies you decided to utter for all to hear. And as you know: I do take pride in my reputation both as a businessman and as a Professional. Do you remember attempting to play down my business acumen and status, all because of Remington Ivory Prescott and Graham Baker being present on Olympus, Mr. Stark? Do you remember playing down my financial status in this company because there are others who managed to stumble on riches as well, such as those two and one Arata Asakura? And worst of all: do you remember speaking as if I am of the same ilk as those degenerates, Mr. Stark? Eating Crow is not part of a well-balanced breakfast, Mr. Stark, but you should, because being wrong about The Ruler of Men you already knew before our match was bad for your health.
 
When dealing with the Seventh Ward and the Super Dojo Bros, I mentioned one Mr. Ja Morant and the biggest mistake he was making, amid the stupidity of showing himself with a gun on Social Media, was allowing the media to tell everyone who he is as a man. You see it now with Mr. Zion Williamson, though he was giving aspects of his true self away. But for you to try and compartmentalize me as a watered-down, dollar store carbon copy of those other “rich” “business” "men" in any wa-

(Behind DT The Ruler, there was someone demanding to enter the room but was stopped by both members of his security at the door)

Security Member: You can’t come in right now. You gotta wait.

Excuse me...


 
DT The Ruler: Let The Man in; he’s good. You know this.


Security Member: Apologies, Sir.


(In a designer shirt, black slacks, and sunglasses, Raivo soon happily walks into the room with a red cup in hand. DT The Ruler and Raivo greet each other and laugh for moment)


DT The Ruler: There’s the Man of the Hour. Hope you’re enjoying yourself! You earned this more than most.


Raivo: Yeah, but dawg, you ain’t coming out? Whole squad celebrating, but you sitting in the dark, talking about some White Asian Boy. The bad bitches starting to come out! Maggall already drunk and looking dumb as fuck, thinking he Michael Jackson out here!


DT The Ruler: Ice Spice and her Ho Train isn’t out there, right?


Raivo: Nah, they ain’t here.


DT The Ruler: Good. I’m sure we can find better at the nearest bodega. We are in New York after all.


Raivo: Yeah, man; we good out here. I’m real good out here. We close to The Dream!


DT The Ruler: We are, but give me a few more minutes...



(Raivo then exited the room)


 
The second thing you did that was out of pocket, out of bounds so to say, happened at the same time. January 21, 2022 still hasn’t happened yet, but we were getting there, and not only did you decide it was within your right to question my status as a businessman amongst others, but you then decided to question my abilities in the ring. It’s been almost a decade since I wrestled in front of others, almost a decade since The Ruler was on national television, and before even seeing me in the ring, you thought it right to imply I was a has-been. You told the people who would listen that I was no longer The Ruler that dominated the Alpha Wrestling League, hovering over the landscape like a cloud of thunder and lightning, set to flood the scene at any given moment with no one able to stop what I was back then. And before even facing off against me, you told everyone I was no longer that being. I was no longer that monstrosity that invoked fear into every single wrestler on the roster, according to you, Mr. Stark. Notice so far, I haven’t gone into you utilizing my name disrespectfully after January 21, 2022; I haven’t gone into how you tried to marginalize Mr. Raivo using my name and ultimately disrespected both of us before Final Destination 4. Notice so far, I didn’t mention that you were a perennial choker for months on end when the lights were the brightest. And notice, Mr. Stark: I haven’t gone into you using my name to marginalize the people you faced at #OWA5 after playing the opportunist for this very World Championship I own now, despite you doing exactly what most of them did: go ghost and then suddenly reappear when the coast was clear enough to slither into a Title match. Because what you did before January 21, 2022 makes this second match between me and you personal, and personal is not something you want, Mr. Stark.

What Arata Asakura did to you at Clash of the Titans was nothing short of embarrassing, Mr. Stark. However, what you attempted to do to my reputation over time supersedes that, because you went out of your way to slander my name and piss all over it before we even fought in OWA. So to begin my reign as OWA World Champion, I will do the rare thing and seek revenge over conduct this match as a mere business affair. I’m not going to seek it in ways reminiscent of Looney Tunes characters, Mr. Stark. Nothing I’m going to do to you is going to make the audience laugh; you made this personal, and once again: personal is not something you want. My revenge against you will make you wish that the God you fought under last year at Civil War would come down and save you. My revenge will make you wish you were part of the Great War that occurred this year, and you went to Hell during it and stayed there instead of facing me again. And unlike a lot of the other audacious morons on Kingdom, we both know everything I say I’m going to do: I am VERY capable of. Every single punch I land on you is going to have your life flashing before your eyes. Every time I place my boot to your pathetic ass, I’m going to promise you that something will break. Every slam I hit on you is going to make the Grim Baker have to decide whether or not to come out for you. The destruction I have mapped out for you, Mr. Stark, is not going to be a statement for the rest of the Locker Room, though they can take it that way; it’s going to be a statement you take to your grave. The usually bloodthirsty audience is going to be horrified with how I dismantle you and that impression of Strong Style you bring to the ring.

Since you need a reminder about how I conduct business, I’ll let you experience firsthand how I really do things a little bit. There have been moments where I was forced to take more extreme measures to ensure me and my constituents make a profit. Most of those things I have others to do for me now. But this dispute between me and you is not just about you writing a check your ass can’t cash, Mr. Stark. It’s about the fact that no amount of money can override what you attempted to do to my reputation and what I’m going to do to you physically and spiritually at Kingdom.
 
The positive of it all is: you’ll be close to home, so your broken body can be taken there by the few people that love you, and hopefully after you’ve been beaten to unconsciousness, they let you know that your Master and Ruler was the perpetrator.


I’m going to celebrate with the rest of my allies, allies I’ve been told to distance myself from, allies I was told would turn on me once championships were in front of us. But make no mistake: when Kingdom begins, the celebrating ends. I’m not like the 2008 Boston Celtics, heavily relishing in wins that happened over a decade ago.

 
 
 
 
(DT The Ruler then walked towards the double door of his private suite in the club, holding the OWA World Championship over his shoulders and exits with the rest of his personal security)

Brody sat motionless on the 787, captivated by the rotoscoped dreamscape outside the cabin window. Alabaster clouds rippled beneath the jet stream like liquid silk, contrasting magnificently with the cobalt sky that stretched as far as his eyes could see. Every time he blinked, the colors coalesced before exploding into something ever more vibrant. The borders of reality were blurred.
 
It had been months since he was last in San Diego. Many things had happened during that time; some he expected, and others he did not. Bumps, bruises, cuts, and concussions were inevitable. So, too, was the extensive traveling that came with being contracted to Omega Wrestling Alliance. And yet, he had not anticipated the loneliness of a life lived in perpetual motion.
 
Before Clash of the Titans, Tatsuo shared that he flew back to Japan between shows to seek solace in his homeland. Brody was initially surprised at hearing this, thinking it sounded like too much of an ordeal. Flying exhausted him. However, the more he thought about it, the more the idea grew on him. Living out of a suitcase was wearing him down, so he decided to pursue a dose of home before his next Olympus engagement. Except, home would not be the only thing he was dosing on.
 
People were moving up and down the aisles as if in slow motion, leaving trails of scattered light in their wake. Each time the aircraft banked left, he caught a glimpse of the Laguna Mountains, which appeared to dance like kaleidoscopic flames beckoning him home. With his tether to reality dissolved by lysergic acid, his mind was free to wander the astral plane.
 
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As he did, he journeyed through the labyrinthine expanse of a thousand interwoven dimensions. Divergent threads branched out in many directions, leading to truths that were otherwise imperceptible. Time is a construct. Everything is temporary. A towel is what gets wetter as it dries. But there was only one truth he wanted to uncover. It had been gnawing at his consciousness, tormenting him for years.
 
“If Buzz Lightyear really thought he was a Space Ranger, then why did he freeze like all the other toys when Andy came into the room? It doesn’t make any freakin’ sense!”
 
He was getting closer to an answer. He could feel it. But, for the time being, it continued to elude him.






The glass of the French doors on the pool house nearly shattered due to the velocity at which Wyatt ripped them open.
 
“Get the fuck up, you stupid son of a bitch! What the fuck is all this?”
 
Wyatt kicked the wooden frame of the sofa upon which Brody was fully clothed and still snoring. Brody’s head sprung up from the armrest. He scanned the room through squinted eyes, just barely able to discern his father’s silhouette amid the early-morning sunshine.
 
“Hey, Pops,” he said, returning his head to the armrest and closing his eyes. “What’s going on?”
 
“What’s going on? Did you have a good night last night?"
 
“Yeah, wasn’t bad. Just had a few beers with Stu.”
 
“Oh yeah? Just a few beers, huh? Well, I guess those videos all over social media of some stupid fuckin’ prick and his fat-ass friend making damn fools of themselves are just two other fuckin’ idiots who happen to look exactly like you.”
 
Wyatt threw his phone at Brody, hitting him on the head.
 
“What the fuck?”
 
“Take a look at this shit.”
 
Brody peered through one eye at the phone screen. As he scrolled through Twitter, he saw a chronologically documented plethora of drunken debauchery under the hashtag #BrodyOWA.
 
“It’s fuckin’ embarrassing! You’re a public figure now. You can’t be acting like this, you fuckin’ numbskull!”
 
“Come on, Dad. We’re just kids having fun.”
 
“You’re a fuckin’ 30-year-old man, for fuck’s sake!”
 
“It’s not that big a deal.”

“What you do outside the ring matters almost as much as what you do inside it. Don’t you understand that?”
 
“I was just blowing off some steam. Cut me some slack. I’m 2-0.”
 
“No, you’re fuckin’ 1-0 in my eyes. You didn’t earn that win; Tatsuo pinned Dampshaw.”
 
“What are you talking about? There’s no way Tatsuo would’ve pinned that limey fuck all on his own. I helped.”
 
“Well, well fuckin’ done, you helped Tatsuo get a title shot on Olympus while you’ll be fighting El Landerson on the undercard. What did I tell you? Pin Dampshaw, and you’ll make a name for yourself. Tatsuo has eaten your lunch right in front of you.”
 
“Ah, man. El Landerson? I kinda like that dude.”
 
“This is no time for sentimentality. Get the job done, no matter who you’re facing. You might not have pinned Dampshaw, but being on the winning side is better than being on the losing side. Your record is still clean. At least that’s marketable.”
 
“But dude, he’s so tiny. And his family seems so nice. They’re always at his shows and are so supportive when he cuts his little promos in the ring, demanding shots at the World Championship or some shit.”
 
“I don’t care. Get. The job. Done.”




 
Brody felt the wet sand between his toes. It was like a soothing balm as he stood serenely with a freshly waxed board, gazing at the horizon. He had never gone so long without surfing. The months of hard work, and nothing else, had created knots in his muscles like balls of tangled yarn. They unraveled almost instantly as he waded into the water, and the waves enveloped him in their tender embrace.
 
As he caught his first barrel, he was returned to the moment he first stepped out at Olympus. The noise. The lights. The exhilaration that surged through his body. It was like nothing he had ever experienced, at least on dry land.
 
Hours had passed before the rumbling in Brody’s stomach outweighed the sense of freedom on the water. As he trudged towards his truck, he noticed three women sunbathing. Their golden skin glistened as they soaked in the midday sun. He tried his best to keep looking forward but could not resist a glance as he walked by.
 
“Oi!”
 
Brody acted as if he had not heard.
 
“Oi, Brody!”
 
As he turned around, he was greeted by a familiar face.
 
“Hey, it’s you!”
 
“Yep, it’s me!” replied Nat, who propped herself up on her elbows. “How’s it going?”
 
“Pretty good, yeah. Just got back in town.”
 
“Yeah, I saw,” the three women giggled as Nat flashed her phone. “Quite the night last night, huh?”
 
“Oh, err, yeah,” Brody laughed awkwardly.
 
“Congrats on the two wins, by the way.”
 
“Oh, thanks. But it’s really only one win. It was my teammate who got the pin.”
 
“Bullshit! You were a team, right?”
 
“Right,” Brody smiled.
 
“How long are you back in town for?”
 
“I’m flying to New York on Friday.”
 
“So soon?”
 
“Yeah, my dad doesn’t want me to lose focus, y’know. He’s pretty mad about last night.”
 
“That sucks. Well, if you wanna hang out before—”
 
“What’re you doing right now?”




 
The bar was almost empty, allowing Nat to pick out a shady corner of the patio while Brody got the drinks. The coconut smell of her sunscreen hung in the air as he sat down with two bottles of beer and a basket of chips with salsa.
 
“So, why didn’t you message me back?”
 
“Hmm?”
 
“On Instagram. I sent you a message, and you didn’t get back to me.”
 
“Oh, right. I guess I kinda knew it would be hard being away from home. Didn’t need another distraction.”
 
“Charming.”
 
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
 
“You’ve never traveled before?”
 
“Yeah, tons. But never alone. Have you?”
 
“I came here alone.”
 
“Here? Oh, yeah. You’re Austrian.”
 
“Australian.”
 
“Sorry, I don’t pronounce it too good.”
 
Nat laughed as she sipped her beer. Once again, Brody was mesmerized by her smile.
 
“So, you’ve got El Landerson next?”
 
“Yeah, how’d you know that?”
 
“A mate told me.”
 
“Oh yeah?” Brody smirked. “I’m kinda bummed, though. One of my teammates at Clash has been given a title shot. So, fighting El Landerson feels like… I dunno… a step down?”
 
“At least you don’t have to face Poet, though.”
 
“Dude, he’s such a fuckin’ freak. I mean, who gets a fuckin’ gravestone made? I wouldn’t even know who to call. Does he have a fuckin’ gravestone guy or somethin’?”
 
“I can’t believe he recited a poem as you were in the ring.”
 
“So, you watched it, then?”
 
“A little,” she grinned. “I mean, I had to watch something during the commercial break on The Real Housewives.”
 
“Oh, for sure,” Brody returned the smile as he lifted the beer bottle to his lips and took a swig. “Anyway, I’m just glad I don’t have to think about him anymore.”
 
“Why? You don’t think he’s just gonna forget about you, do you?”
 
“What do you mean?”
 
“Well, he doesn’t seem like the kind of person to let things go. You’ve beaten him twice now. You might have different opponents, but I’ll bet he’ll wanna get even with you.”
 
“You sure you haven’t been watching?”
 
“Like I said, just a little. So, have you got a plan for your next fight? Different kinda test, right?”
 
“I suppose so, but I don’t need a plan. I’ll do what I always do. Kick to the gut, then when he’s in the fecal position, boom! Riptide, baby!”
 
“The fecal position?” Nat burst out laughing. “I think you mean the fetal position!”
 
“What? No, I’m pretty sure it’s fecal. You know when you really gotta take a dump, but there are no bathrooms nearby, so you’re bent over, clenching your anus? Well, that’s the perfect position for me to do Riptide, bro.”
 
Nat snorted as she struggled to catch her breath through fits of laughter. It only made her more endearing.

“Oi, oi, oi. I thought I told you not to call me Tatsuo during this visit. I said it clearly: You can only call me Gozu, Mezu, or King Yama. I even gave you the choice of alternating if you don’t like using just one name! I feel like I’m wasting my breath with you by even asking you to play along, a shame. Though...I’ll overlook this transgression. After all, in the end, you’ve responded back despite your lack of following instruction. Your methods are deplorable but you’ve forced yourself to gaze upon calamity and righteousness itself—Me.” 


“Congratulations. Facing an enemy head-on instead of cowardly hiding behind members of your Club is a first time for you, isn’t it? I’ve heard your words. All of them. And well, I find them...interesting. Very interesting. I even remember the last words you said: I am the Time Lizard. Time bends to my will and I control the flow of our battle. Yes, Mr. Time Lizard, your words are truly...amazing.” 




















“...I’m impressed. It’s been awhile since I’ve laughed like that. Though, I will admit that you are right: Those who hold titles like ours are more than humans. We are gods. Our fight is meant to tear down the very fabric of Olympus itself. After all, our situations demand it. I want to take your belt and punish you for the disgrace you performed. You want to cling onto the physical embodiment of your pride for as long as you can. It would be an insult if we did anything less than our full effort. Though...”


“Do you really think that YOU control the flow of our battle? Don’t be so stuck-up. Whoever controls the flow of battle is the strongest one. That’s it. Don’t talk to me in such a backhanded way, you bastard. Or do you want to die faster?” 

“I hate cheaters. I hate people like you. If I have to repeatedly kill you to stomp your sins into nothing, then so be it. I’ll make sure you go through every single realm of Naraka. Repeat. I’ll force you to endure all 18 layers of Diyu. Repeat. You won’t even glance at the sun in reverence when I’m done. Like the cherry blossoms of Spring, you’ll only look at it in fear. You sully the art of fighting with cheating and as long as you do so, I’ll be sure to kill you. I’ll kill you until you’ve exhausted all of your karma, until that belt is out of your grasp, until you are...NOTHING.”


“There's a reason for this, after all.

Fighting is my life’s purpose. As long as I desire to get stronger, I’ll always keep fighting. I desire strong enemies, regardless of which side they are...and as much as I hate you, fighting you excites me as well. Because you’re strong. Because I’m strong. Because I can test myself. Because you can test yourself. Because I can slaughter you. Because you can slaughter me. A fight where both sides have an equal chance of fighting each other...to me, that is righteousness. Art through combat. So...let’s tear apart Olympus. This is our one on one battle. Our battle of ambition. Our duel between divine blood that is incomparable to others. 

That Icarus Championship is simply a physical representation of the pride we’re gambling with. You may bend time to your will but I am the Honored One. I ascend beyond time, beyond the stars, beyond the transient world, beyond the world of the dead. Revere, worship, and fear me...for I am something that exists beyond human intellect. And you...”


“You are a perfect rival because you are the same. I hate you but also, I like you. I hope our title match is fun. I hope you give it your all...because I desire to see all of your emotions as I take that title from your grasp.”

“You lied.” 


April was in her hotel room, sprawled out over the bed. A nearly empty bottle of gin was on the nightstand next to her. Armelina was floating just above her, eyeing her human charge curiously at the accusation being put against her.


“Lied about what?”


“You said that you can’t possess my body. That you can’t force me to do things against my will.” 


The demon smirked a bit as she came a little closer.


“Technically, I didn’t! Well, here’s the thing: my presence can be seen as…something like the alcohol that you humans drink. Without even thinking about it, I can lower inhibitions, bring out truths and feelings that either you didn’t know existed or didn’t think you would ever act upon.” 


April felt herself grow increasingly irritated as she felt the succubus lean in just a little closer to whisper in her ear.


“Oh come on….Deep down…once you realized what happened and bits and pieces of those memories started flooding your mind, you know you enjoyed what happened in that cabin. And…truth be told…you’re itching for a chance to do it again. And again….”


“GO TO HELL!” 


“....Eh, I grew up there. Not much to see, really.” 


The succubus did enjoy seeing April angry. Humans, while also being a source of energy, were also highly entertaining when they were emotional. It just took a little more prodding with her to get her angrier than most. 


“......Hey, Armelina. Before you escaped from Hell during the Great War…was there like a job that you had down there? Or are all the demons soldiers and whatnot?” 


“Well, we all have certain abilities that can make us formidable opponents and such, but no, not all of us are fighters. It’s not too much different than the mortal realm honestly. We all have jobs. There are warriors, blacksmiths, kings and queens of various sins, so on and so forth. I was a courtesan.” 


April couldn’t help but smirk a bit.


“Basically a high-class call girl?” 


“To use human terminology, yes. Think about it, Demons have all of this time in the underworld, tormenting souls, trying to seduce humans with temptations to bring in more souls to torment, blah blah blah. They get bored and need to let off a little steam. That’s where I would come in.” 


“Do you miss it?” 


“Eh. Depends on the client. Some of the demons you would interact with were pretty basic with their desires. Others were into perversions that would make most humans uncomfortable. But, thanks to Havoc trying to take over everything, it gave me a chance to slip away undetected. I’m not sure what else managed to get out of Hell besides me but I’m probably the least dangerous thing you and your pals could hope to come across.” 


“So, wait a second, are you saying that something else is going to happen?” 


“Probably. I don’t know who, I don’t know when. When demons enter the human world, we can tell if other demons are around. There’s plenty of drama still left to unfold and your friends- if they’re still friends to you- are likely going to be at the center of it.” 


“Great…that’s all we need.” 


“So. What are you going to do? Are you going to help them when the time comes? Or do you have your own agenda to sort out?” 


“I don’t know anymore. I haven’t really been feeling it with wrestling lately. Maybe I should just go home and give all this up. My heart doesn’t feel like it’s in it anymore.” 


“I think it still is. When we made our contract, I could tell how much this wrestling means to you. It gave you a career path and outlet that you needed after your time at war. You still dream of opening a wrestling school. Even after everything, you think about how you can help others through wrestling. I think just spending the re-given youth in a drunken haze would be a waste of my magic and a waste of potential. Why don’t you stick around just a little longer, give it some thought, huh?” 


“Are you encouraging me to do good? I thought you demons were supposed to be about hurting, not helping.” 


Armelina grinned. It was one of those predatory grins that made April feel uncomfortable around the succubus at times.


“What’s the old adage? The road to hell is paved with the best intentions.” 





It really feels like everyone just wants me to keep on suffering for decisions that I made. People can be gutter whores, zombies hellbent on destruction, passive aggressive witches, heartless world champions but since I’m the one who did a few bad things all for want of saving someone close to me from their own destruction, it’s fuck me, huh? 


That’s pretty much what it feels like. No matter how many times I apologize. No matter how often I have to try to kowtow and walk on eggshells around people, I’m always painted as the one with the problem, the one who should suffer.


 Fine. I’ll suffer I guess. I suppose now is as good a time as any to indicate that my contract with OWA expires the day after Final Destination V. What do I have left to do? I’ve been Goddess Champion, I’ve been a double champion teaming with Diantha. I’ve beaten Stephanie, lost to Stephanie, won a world title, had a main event match at Final Destination. What else is there to do? I’ve been trying to help the younger generation come along but with some of the names stepping up and with some of the newcomers showing up it’s looking less and less like they need a team mom like me to help them along. 


In other words, despite regaining my youth and having strength and speed and stamina that I didn’t have in my older, banged up form….I feel like I’ve become obsolete. That wrestling can move on without me and in a way, I’m okay with that? Stephanie has found her purpose again with the World’s Finest and got reeled in once the Tres Comas Club started to make things personal. What do I have left to fight for? I’ve done everything that there is to do that I’ve really wanted to and the days of HAVOC threatening lives are finished. Hana is safe, Revy is alive, 


What do I have left? 


There’s a lot more questions for me right now than answers, but one thing I’m certain about is that I’m NOT going to take career advice, criticism and smacktalk from you. You’ve gotten yourself some nice momentum, beating all these lesser wrestlers. Here’s the problem for you, Devi, and this is the God’s honest truth: you’re a fine wrestler, one that’s capable of holding championships from time to time.However, you’re not elite. Never have been, never will be. I’ve wrestled the best that the world has had to offer and beaten most of them. Hall of Famers, living legends, household names. 


I understand what the Sparks Championship means to you. I really do. There were very few moments that I looked on with more fondness than seeing you hoist that championship into the air and honor Brody’s memory with how you defended it. But that part of your career is over now. You should be letting it go and moving on to something else, but you just can’t. So….in your own roundabout way, you’ve made it clear that you want to use me as a stepping stone, as something to propel you towards that title again. 


This is the part of the story where you fall down…and don’t get back up for a while. 


I don’t have anything in particular planned for Final Destination, but to complete my triple crown of singles championships on Odyssey and give that Sparks Championship a better owner before I leave this company for good sounds like a very interesting proposition now that I have given it a little thought. I’ll tell you what, why don’t you let all that anger and frustration and resentment that you apparently feel when we fight. Just bring all that negative energy to me so I can show you how absolutely fucking useless it is against me. You have to be cut from a pretty special cloth to beat me in a wrestling match.


Simply put, you are NOT. 


This is the problem that you face: the things that you do on the ground, all that MMA crap…I do it better. I’m a walking, talking submission wrestling encyclopedia. And you're striking? Well, since you can’t use a discus I don’t feel much too concerned about that. You are outclassed in every single respect and you’re talking to me as if you have some hidden reason to be confident. That you have some reason to believe that you’re a better wrestler than me. Honestly, such a thought is fucking insulting to me. 


I don’t think people understand just how much stress and torture I was under the past year or so. How do you think you would feel when all you want to do is wrestle and be with your friends when everyone around you is trying to kill them and you don’t even get to fight to relieve the tension? You just whittle away in catering, hoping you get a chance to just to fight if only to stop thinking about every fucked up little thing for a while.


You want a path to Final Destination? I’ll give you a path straight to the fucking BOB Games where you can compete on whatever American Gladiators knock off Oasis and his crew comes up with. Your march towards any title isn’t going to be helped by fighting me….no, your chances of touching any gold are only going to go down. Just like you’re going to go down. You said that I was on thin ice with you as if that’s some threat I should be concerned about. 


I’ve had a lot of anger to let out. Anger at myself. At you and your new friends. Anger at Hana and Revy, as irrational as some of my feelings are. Anger with everyone. And you, with your big mouth and your idle threats, have presented me with the perfect punching bag to vent all that frustration upon: yourself.


Thank you.

At first glance you could argue that nothing seemed different.  The oak desk was the same.  The leather bound notebook which sat on the desk was the same.  The hair was up, pulled back in a tight pony tail, like it always is.  The suit, a pin stipe blue, was immaculate.  And the smile on Poet’s face was wide, the white teeth shining as they always did.

However, if you dig a little deeper, you can tell that something is... off.  The look in the eye was different.  Where it has been friendly and confident in the past, today there was a hint of anger within the glint of is eye.  The smile itself seems a little forced.  The pony tail pulled a little tight.  The notebook, in it’s normal spot, is not sitting straight, but is slightly skewed to the left.  Even the fountain pen that sits beside it is further away than normal.  This was a man that sitting on a rage that was moments away from bursting forth, as if the smile that he puts on is enough to keep it at bay.  He takes a few deep breaths to calm himself before beginning.

“There is no getting away from it.  I can try and run from it.  I can try and hide for it.  I could even pretend that it never happened.  I can do all of it, and it won’t change the very fact that since arriving in OWA I am 0-2.  When I first arrived here in OWA I said that I came here to earn respect.  I wanted the wider OWA fan base to not only know just who Poet was, but to soon know and understand that I’m the best in the business.  However, to do that, I need time.  These fans don’t know me and you don’t walk through that curtain and gain respect just by being here.”

“So, I use my first match to get a feel of the place.  I could show my hand from the moment I walk out into those bright lights, but what would be the point in that?  Why show everyone else what I’m capable of from the very beginning?  The answer is simple – you wouldn’t.  It doesn’t make sense.  In the end, OWA pair me with a hippie degenerate who still needs his father to roll his joints for him, and I take the opportunity to see what this company is all about.  Now, let’s be honest here – my old mate Brody, to his credit, showed that he has enough talent to do something here in the coming months.  I might not have given it my best effort, but I can I’m not dumb enough to miss ability when it is staring me right in the face.  It was the perfect time for me to gain a deeper understanding of the talent pool that resides backstage.  This is the beginning of my career here, and a loss right now to gain some knowledge isn’t going to hurt me in the long run.”

“I’m rewarded for this showing – one that I’m praised for – with the opportunity to partner with a current champion in RD3 and ‘Don’ Hendrix, against an emo, a fence sitter and our resident surfer who is, as Jethro Tull once sang, ‘Thick as a Brick’.  Now this match at Clash had its positives and negatives for me.  On the one hand, getting a match at a major PPV just a few weeks after my debut is a fair indication that the powers that be in OWA see what I bring to the table.  In that regard I have already earned their respect.  Otherwise they don’t back me in for a match at the PPV.  However, on the other hand, I am not in control of my own destiny.  I am putting my destiny in the hands of two men that I have no choice but to trust.  I don’t know them any better than I know most of the people backstage, yet here I am, on PPV, backing these two guys in to help me get it done.  And you know what?  They were no help at all.  Watch the match again.  The commentators said it best when they highlighted how I basically carried both the Don and RD3 right through to the end.  How do we lose the match?  A mis-communication that had absolutely nothing to do with me.  There I am, taking the loss, and it’s down to the fact that I had to trust those who weren’t up to the task on the night.  I walk back down that aisle and go through the curtain and have to front up to my peers with a 0-2 record and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it!”

Poet stops momentarily and closes his eyes.  He takes a few deep breaths to control himself, as if the anger inside is about to boil over.  After a few more moments he opens his eyes, forces a smile to the camera and continues.

“But all of that is going to change this weekend.  I won’t be relying on anyone.  I won’t be testing out the competition.  I’ll be going out there to make an example of someone.  I won’t be taking it easy on them or spending 10 minutes looking for a weakness.  I’ll be heading out to the squared circle to hurt my opponent and to ensure that everyone here in OWA knows exactly who I am.”

Poet then leans forward and opens up his notebook.  He leaf’s through a few of the pages before settling on the one he is looking for.

“Now, it seems to me that I am facing a man by the name of Julius Carmelo Rose.  A man who styles himself as the ‘King of New York’, as if that is something to be proud of.  I read here that the man is so insecure as to his standing in the world that he cut off his own brother’s arm and likes to refer to himself as a dictator.  I mean… really?  REALLY?  He says this as if he is proud of it, that harming his own brother is something that the average person does.  But wait… wait.  It gets even better when you look deeper.  Not content with just cutting his brothers arm off, and apparently not wanting to go to jail for ‘gangbanging’… which, just to clarify, might mean something to do with robbing people and not joining a few of the male members of his gang in an orgy… he has decided that the best space for him is in… strip clubs.”

“What the hell is going on here?  I feel like I’ve been through every type of person imaginable so far in OWA.  Joint smoking surfers, emo dressing demons, men who will give a handjob to anyone who likes him… and now the quintessential, New York gangster.  A man who will hang about in strip clubs looking at breasts while fondling the small handgun he has in his trousers.  A man who, rather than embracing family, will happily hack off body part to make a point.  A man who is the anti-thesis to someone like me, someone who is educated, well read and talented, as opposed to Mr. Rose who is thick, dumb and only talented in the ways of how to act in a misogynistic manner.  I have, in my time, known someone who frequented strip clubs and it did absolutely nothing for them in the long run.  Shit dinners, flappy breasts and more perverts than you could poke stick at.”

“I could be annoyed at this.  Standing in the ring with this absolute filth of a human being is beneath me… but then, what better excuse is there to beat someone to a bloody pulp than this?  I can see the fans now, actually willing me along, encouraging me to take out my anger and frustration from Clash on this disgusting man.  Strip clubs?  Gangbanging with his ‘homies’?  Give me a break.  That will mean absolutely nothing once you step into the ring with me.  You can’t bring your glock into the ring, and you ‘posse’ will have to stay backstage.  You won’t be able to bring a big machete into the ring so you can lop one of my arms off, and there will be no women dancing around the ring posts for you to look at.  When that bell rings you’ll be on your own and you will be able to do nothing but try to keep your head above water as I take you apart, piece by piece.  This will be my night, my opportunity to make a statement, and I will take great joy in the fact that it will be taken out on you.  You might even get 15 minutes of fame out of it – Julius Carmelo Rose, the man who was carried out after Poet announced himself for good in the Omega Wrestling Alliance.”

Poet then leans forward again to place his hand on his notebook, where he turns over to a fresh page that has some writing on it.  He picks up the fountain pen and carefully goes over what he has written before turning his attention back to the camera.

“Now, before I go, I have a small poem for you.  It took me a while to decide on how to do this one.  With you being a gangster, I figured that your IQ is not only lower than Brody’s, but that you probably dropped out before junior high school so you could hang about on street corners looking for old ladies to rob.  Which, in turn, means that your ability to comprehend something and your attention span will be minimal.  I could have gone with a haiku but that would probably go over your head, and anything else will be wasted on you.  Even Brody, with the help of his old man, was able to get the basic understanding of what I was saying.  You, on the other hand, will not, so let’s keep it simple, shall we?  Here we go… see if you can get the link here…
 



 
Poet gently chuckles to himself and shakes his head as he slowly closes the notebook.

“Will that poem win any award?  No.  Was it eloquent and something you are likely to show your grandmother?  No.  But that’s the only way I could possibly get my point across without confusing you.  I’ll see you on the weekend my friend.  Don’t forget to bring a stripper for good luck.”

Poet then simply smiles to the camera as the scene fades to black…

Tyler was happy. Having a match in Buffalo meant he could stop by Albany to visit his mother and younger siblings Wayne and Claire. Life has been interesting for the Kulina family since Tyler signed with OWA. He used some of the contract money to buy a house for his family, a modest 135k for a spot over on 1st Avenue, not far from the redeveloping Arbor Hill. It was a three-bedroom, enough to accommodate Mom, Wayne, and Claire. I felt good for Ty to assume the role of “man of the house”, a role he’s probably fulfilled his entire life. His mother Ashley Kulina wasn’t in the best place all the time, a state that led to three children with different fathers. Fortunately for Claire, her dad was still around and active (despite being married at the time he knocked Ashley up). How his marriage stayed together Tyler would never know, but Joe was a good dad to Claire. As for Wayne unfortunately, his dad overdosed while driving through Schenectady years back. Then there was Ty and his situation. The reality is he kinda knew his father the moment he laid eyes on the man. Being close to him during the Clash was a little exciting, even if Ty got screwed over. As mad as he was at Jeff X, he had to focus. Emmanuelle, and Sena were right. He was the OWA Outlaw Champion, He had to worry less about family shit and more about the target on his back. The Outlaw Division was where all the smoke is so Ty had to make sure nobody was coming at him sideways. 

Easier said than done.

But for now, he got to chill in the living room with the sibs, watching them play a game of OWA 2k23. Wayne selected his brother Tyler while Claire selected his first defense for the Outlaw Championship, Nate Cage. Wayne didn’t hesitate to express his feelings.

Wayne Kulina: (laughs) Nate Cage!? Really!? That bald jobber!?

Claire Kulina: I happen to think Nate Cage looks cool ever since he cut his hair.

Wayne looks back at Tyler, laughing.

Wayne Kulina: Claire, that was no haircut. Homie lost everything from the top! We learned about weak genetics in biology class.

Claire Kulina: Didn’t Nate beat Tyler before?

Wayne Kulina: That was some Wolvesden BS, right Ty?

Tyler let out a long sigh. The majority of his rookie season consisted of tag team shenanigans. The Dojo Bros. almost had one over Wolvesden if it wasn’t for Kenny Drake simping for nostalgia. It didn’t surprise him that JD and Nate were leaning on the only thing that made them relevant. Emmanuelle and Cloud both warned him about getting caught up in the midcard rat race, an endless loop of back-and-forth victories that doesn’t really mean anything. Matsuda once told him that it’s not so much how many people you beat but WHO and WHEN. For instance, when Ty pinned Raivo in The Clash to become Outlaw Champ. He saw an opportunity and took it. Now, Ty was a marked man, mostly by the enemies he’s made so far. First up was OWA’s resident cartoon villain. Speaking of which he cracked a smile when Wayne, playing as him, had Claire/Cage stuck in the corner, nailing him with boots to the face.

Wayne Kulina: WHY YOU BALD!? HUH!? WHY YOU BALD!?

Claire Kulina: MOM! WAYNE IS BEING MEAN!

Ashley Kulina’s Voice: Wayne! Stop being mean to your sister! And Ty? Come into the kitchen for a minute?

Ty ruffled his siblings’ hair just before standing up to head to the kitchen. He walked inside where he saw his mother waiting for him by the sink, drying a plate. He quietly waited for her to finish up. His mother was in her early forties and still maintained a good portion of her youth in her face. She remained hands off with Tyler looking for his dad, but after what transpired at The Clash, a conversation needed to be had.

Ashley Kulina: So…what’s he like these days?

Tyler Kulina: Who?

Ashley Kulina: You know who. I saw the two of you interacting during The Clash. You guys met up backstage?

Tyler shook his head. 

Tyler Kulina: I wasn’t in the mood to talk. If you saw what happened then know why.

Ashley Kulina: Looked like a genuine accident. 

Tyler Kulina: (sigha) That may be but I had his back when FTM tried to come for him and his boys. But yet, DT won it all anyhway. I don’t hate the man, but there’s just some things I can’t forgive easily.

Ashley Kuliuna: I guess. Just don’t get caught up in any unresolved feelings. OWA isn’t just the place you found your dad anymore, it’s your career now.

Tyler nodded, heeding his mother’s words.

Ashley Kulina: You’ll get your time to kick him in the balls. Until then, stay focused on this title reign of yours. Ty…I’m proud of you. Just keep at it and who knows how far you’ll go, got it? And next time bring that girlfriend of yours. I’d love to meet her.

Blushing, Ty turned his head away.

Tyler Kulina: Mom…sure. She might be hurt, but I’ll see how she’s feeling , okay?

Ashley Kulina: (sighs) Alright.

Tyler hugged his mother.

Tyler Kulina: Listen mom, I’m going to sit outside for a moment and address my enemies, okay?

Ashley Kulina: (smiles) Go get ‘em, Tiger.

The camera opens to Tyler Kulina sitting on the steps outside of his house. It was too warm for a hoodie, but he wore a NY Yankees cap on his head, hiding his eyes a little.

“Life is full of unexpected surprises. I did everything I could to prepare for the Clash and if you asked me halfway through that I felt like I really was going to win it all, I would’ve nodded without hesitation. I was in the zone, holding it down the best way I could. Even when Sena was eliminated, I was doing everything in my power to be a pain in the ass to my opps. And just when Raivo’s dumbass least expected it, I nabbed the Outlaw Championship from his grasp. I could’ve walked out of Baltimore as a double champ, but some people can’t control their damn impulses. It’s alright, there. I came through and showed the world that I’m here to stay. It’s my first season and I’ve already secured a title. The goal? To walk into FD with this belt. There are a lot of people who want to get in the way of that and I plan on meeting each and every one of them before this reign ends. Nothing lasts forever, but you can best believe that my reign will be a memorable one. “

Tyler chuckled to himself as he put a chip into his mouth with a smile on his face.


“Know what’s funny? I did a bet with Sena on who my first defense would be, and now my partner owes me five bucks because of course Nate freaking Cage is my first opponent! The ultimate opportunist, the bridesmaid who dreams of being dressed in white beans a crack at The Kid? Aight, so be it then. Actually, Scott Oasis should ask if this is what you really want because you’re the kind of dude to be flip-flopping all over the place. You ran through so many stables I’ve lost count, and somehow you’ve convinced Kenny Drake to reform Wolvesden? Makes sense considering you don’t seem capable of doing anything on your own. Wasn’t you supposed to teach the wrestlers of tomorrow like me? Or were you supposed to run Olympus? No, you want to be taken seriously again! Yes, that’s what it is!  I think you’ve spent more time “looking for acceptance” than forging an actual legacy If there’s anything I like about your sister, at least she did the damn thing. Hell, she even has Cloud’s job now. Meanwhile, you walked away from your Olympus responsibilities the first chance you got, and now look! You’re stuck fighting rookies on the midcard! You should be butting heads with the big wigs, instead you waddle around like a shell of your former self. Let me guess - this time it’ll be different, right? This time you’ll use this Outlaw title as a springboard to jumpstart your career, huh!?”

Tyler laughs and shakes his head.

“Nah, fuck that. I’m not letting you get anywhere near my Outlaw Championship. You’ll lose it as quickly as you obtained it. You don’t want to be an Outlaw to prove yourself Cage, you want this belt so you don’t feel left out like a sad kid at the playground who doesn’t get to play with the others. You’re so desperate to get noticed that you’ll use anybody for any purpose. When I send you on your way, I can only hope that you’ll stay away from my title. The line to be made famous is going to be a long one, and I rather move past you as quickly as possible so I can move on to some real threats.”

A strange smile appears on Tyler’s face as he takes some things into consideration.

“I’ll be real, Cage. I know beating you won’t be easy. I know you’re going to walk into this match with a million back up plans. But, it’s not gonna happen, fam. You’re not the only crafty bastard in this business. And the Ls I’ve taken from you and FTM has wisened me for what to expect. There’s nothing I can survive, as long as I believe in myself. You’ll get impatient and even desperate in this match. You’ll be trying to find a wayto screw me, but I’ll be the one fucking you over. That desperation is going to cost you some dire oversight because you underestimate me. You legit think you’re better than me and for that you won’t expect the unexpected. I’m not a one trick pony, a single season jobber, or a one week rando. I’ve been here, taking both wins and lkosses. I’ve been on the grind, even before getting into this business! If anything, I’m even more motivated to make you and everyone else believe in the Kulina Experience. I could go on and keep conveying about how much of a bald bastard you are, but The Kid got shit to do. I’m not going to spend all day waiting around for your bald-headed hoe ass. I have promises to keep, nothing that you know anything about, Cage. Unlike you, I mean what I say and when I say that I’ll be walking into a smake’s den, I mean it. As for Sena himself, he’s allowed to fight for this belt at any time.  Be it alklky or enemy I’ll show and prove that I’m the Jim Perdue of the chicken wing style. See you next weekend Cage…you bald bastard.”

Tyler winks at the camera before tuning it off.

Swirling.

His emotions were a continuously swirling whirlwind as he retreated backstage. The words others said to him, his responses back, the movement of his feet. Nothing mattered while his emotions rampaged inside of his chest.

His decision to interfere was impulsive. 

He was a newcomer and the war between the Tres Comas Club and World’s Finest was not his concern. His contribution to their squabble began with the six-man match and ended with the victory against the former. As he told Hiyori, either group only became his concern once they got in his way. It should have ended there. 

Yet, he still jumped the barricade during the Immortal Heavyweight Championship match. 

Neither group got in his way but he was the one who stuck his nose into their business first. 

Eventually finding a more secluded area, Tatsuo leaned against the wall as he caught his breath. A dull throbbing pain began to erupt in his head. It’s an excessive pain that doesn’t help in settling down his thoughts; in fact, the longer it persists, the more erratic and chaotic they become until his thoughts are nothing but white noise. 

The comment “How bothersome.” is on the tip of his tongue but he never says it. As bile rises in his throat, he learns that it doesn’t fit the situation. The situation was not bothersome. It was beyond that. It was—


As his vision tunnels, he realizes the truth of the matter. He did not jump the barricade because of pure impulsiveness. He did it out of pure disgust.

He hates cheating. 

He was originally a mere observer but there was nothing that so thoroughly got underneath his skin like cheating. He couldn’t stand it. 

Regardless of the amount of safety measures, fighting always held a chance of death. Yet, even with that risk, people still decided to fight. The accomplishment of being seen as the best triumphed over any fear of death. All cheating did was rob people of the very thing they sought for.

That achievement! That enjoyment! That thrill! 

Why rob someone of that after they’ve thrown their very soul to fate?! It’s disgusting.

His headache worsens. 

They really have gotten on his last nerve. 


It’s awful. They’re awful. 
The ground is hot iron. It’s a frozen plain. 
The air is scalding. It’s freezing. 
Blisters burst. They bubble. 
The body shatters into pieces. It’s crushed into a jelly. 
The cold makes his teeth chatter. 
The heat dries out his throat as he screams. 
The animals tear his flesh to reveal the red of muscle and white of bone. 
The guards impale him with fiery spears to sear him. 

The suffering repeats. Life is restored. Suffering repeats. Reborn. Slain. Over and over, the human goes through suffering. 


The voice sounded infinite and endless, yet nonexistent and finite. It was beautiful. A flurry of voices that combined into One. A divine voice that could command the entire universe. 



“Tatsuo?”

Everything reverted to normal. Gone were the images of suffering, gone was the feeling of bodily torment. Instead, he was once again backstage—now staring at what was the concerned gaze of Hiyori. His heart rate slowly calming down, he then opened his mouth.

“Why are you backstage?” 

“You let me back here, remember?” She then tilted her head to the left. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Did something happen?”

“...Nothing.” He said dryly as he finally straightened his posture. “Sorry but, I don’t think I can play neutral anymore. If I sit on the sidelines any longer, I’ll puke. I don’t care what happens afterward. I refuse to let this feeling go to waste.” 

“Feeling?” 

Tatsuo merely frowned. “This feeling of hatred.” 

-------
Days later, back in Kyoto, he found out that he had a title match. He was still a newcomer but they were already confident enough to grant him a title shot. Normally, he would feel some sort of smug satisfaction about such an early title shot...but there was nothing.

His opponent soured any chance of happiness. There was a strong chance that the Tres Comas Club would interfere. With the results of the PPV, the group was forced to lick their wounds and they needed to hold onto any leverage of power they had. Tatsuo didn’t care if his matches were brutal but he cared that his matches were fair. Interferences were a black stain and he refused to let his fights be tainted by them. 

“Icarus Championship...” He frowned as his nose scrunched up. “Why the hell did they call it that?” 

Icarus, the Greek legend of flying too close to the sun. Hubris clouded the eyes of Icarus and his wings melted, sending him plummeting to the sea to drown. Flying too close to the sun, being too ambitious for one’s good...he’s heard it thrown at him more than once. 

Perhaps he was flying too close now, having stuck his nose in business that was not his own while he was a newcomer. But—


He wasn’t going to be a newcomer forever. Eventually, he had to stop playing neutral and climb to new heights. Even if it was the sun. Admonish him for climbing higher but he could not be in the deceptively safe area that was above the sea. Not while his hatred surged in a way that it never has before. 

“So that’s what it is.” 

...A test of ambition. That’s what the belt was.
-------



“How many times have you visited me? One, two, maybe three?”


“Regardless of the amount, it doesn’t matter. I am a benevolent person. No matter how many times you visit me, I’ll greet you each and every time. You have faith in me to answer and faith is at the heart of my ambition.” 


“Though, for this visit, you cannot call me Tatsuo. Instead, you will call me Gozu. If that doesn’t work, you can call me Mezu instead. Or King Yama. You can even alternate between them if you like! Anyway...OWA seems out to spoil me. My next match is a title match against the current Icarus champion. That’s impressive, isn’t it? A newcomer pinning the champion in their first PPV match, then getting a title shot right after. I wish I could be happy. But...”


“It’s tainted. Even the thought of standing in the same ring as the current champion fills me with disgust. I said it before: I desired to rip the belt from the champion’s hands. But, as much as I said it was my job to punish demons, there was a more important reason why I wanted to defeat you in our match at Clash: Because it would be fun. I love fighting. There’s nothing that brings me more joy than facing others in combat.”

“I want to get stronger. I want to test myself. I want to have fun. I want to get even stronger. But most importantly, I want to learn about my opponent. That’s the beauty of kill or be killed. Through each blow you land and take, you learn about who your opponent is. It’s the greatest thrill, to see how you compare to that person. That’s why I absolutely hate cheaters.”

“What can you learn about a cheater? What thrill can you get from fighting someone so disgusting? NOTHING. I stand above and below the heavens and earth. Why would I waste my time with someone who doesn’t fight me with their true will?”

“That’s why the Icarus title match is tainted: Because I’m fighting a cheater. Cheating during your own match marks you as a spineless coward but cheating during someone else’s match? Robbing them of that pure thrill of defeating an opponent?”


“You bastard, why were you even born? You should end your life so I don’t have to sully my hands with your blood.”


“Ah, I apologize. That doesn’t suit me. I am a benevolent person and in the end, I simply strive for a simple thing: Righteousness.” 

“So, Dampshaw-san, I’ve decided. As a benevolent person, I will show you no mercy during our title match. If you claim to stand atop the mountaintops as an unyielding warrior, then you’ll do everything in your power to fight me alone. You against me.” 

“The Icarus Championship is a symbol of ambition. Icarus flew towards the sun, his ambition exceeding his strength, and suffered for it. However, as Icarus, I refuse to fly so close to the sea that my ambition is devoured by stagnation. Our title match is a test of our ambitions and unless you come at me with every ounce of your own will, I WILL beat you.”


“Ah, I was waiting for this to be done. I’ve been waiting to eat this all day. The finest dish in all of Diyu...”


“My hatred towards cheaters surges endlessly. Isn’t it degrading? To be thrilled that you reached that title by merely filling in a blank position and then to never solidify your strength with a legitimate victory? If it upsets you so badly, fight with everything. If you don’t have the decency to do that, then I’ll kill you and any of your Tres Comas friends who try to interfere. Your karma has marked you for punishment anyway.”

“So then, with so much karma, I wonder how your spirit will taste through the eyes of an ox or a horse. Perhaps you’ll reach enlightenment through dwelling in their bodies. Hey, still listening? I’ll just give you the summary: I’m the King who will purge the belt of your spirit and send you straight to hell. So long as my hatred surges, I’ll make it true.”

Quote :

(Credit to Darkane for the graphic.)

The room was dark and surrounded by a defining silence. A microscopic, singular light bulb was set up in the middle of the room, but it only illuminated a small portion. In the immediate distance, we could see a man parading back and forth in his seat. With only the left side of his face lit up, we could see the barbarous grin exposed to the camera setup. It was a matter of minutes before he chose his moment to interact.

 

[Shadowed Man] - You thought you heard the last of me. You thought when the clash was done, I would whimper away, suffering my defeat. I know what happened that night was devastating. I knew what happened wasn't going to happen again. I made my bed and deteriorated from my own mistakes. I thought it was going to be a cakewalk. An easy-night boy was sadly mistaken. I learned a lot about myself that night. I also learned that my violent tendencies would never be diminished. 

 

Taking a deep breath. He exhaled as the lightbulb flickered, and we got a glimpse of his face. It was Maddox who was coming off a warpath of a debut match. Speaking with such conviction, he continued on with the conversations.

 

[Maddox] -  I have always been the type of individual who admires adversity. I may be an outcast and have social anxiety, but that's what makes me a unique person. I am not going to sit here and dwell on my past but look towards the future. I still have a lot of conflict and carnage left inside my mind and soul. I still have a lot of resentment that has been building over the short time that has passed. 

 

His nostrils flared up as he spoke, and his eyes intensified. He had chaotic hair, like he hadn't slept in a few days, but he continued to speak.

 

[Maddox] - I must have opened the eyes of the viewership. I have been given a new motive, a new mission, and a new priority. I need to shift my focus to someone I loathe. You see, matching me up against Chad Eccelstone is a mistake. 

 

Tapping his fingers on his knees, you could see the cuts and scars that had been left. The amount of suffering a match like the clash puts on the body is like no other. 

 

[Maddox] - As far as I can tell, everyone likes the man named Chad. To be honest, I fucking hate you. I want you to understand that I will make you suffer and enjoy doing so. This time we come face-to-face, there won't be twenty-nine other guys to worry about. Just the two of us are scheduled to square off in my ring. I have seen guys like you come and go. Entitled and privileged, expecting the world to envy you. I would rather be referred to as the misfit of professional wrestling than be labelled a prick like yourself. 

 

Chuckling manically before he stood up from his seat. You could hear the sound of metal gliding against the concrete. Flashing a memorable commodity into the camera, we can see the same bat wrapped with barbed wire. This bat was the exact one he used in the clash.

 

[Maddox] - You have a date of inevitability at Kingdom. I have been itching and waiting for a moment to swing this bat once again. Don't make me do it Chad.

 

Still standing tall, he shouted into the camera.

 

SHATTERING YOUR RIBS WOULD BE ENTERTAINING.

 

He closed his eyes for a moment of silence, remembering that night. The overwhelming emotions he had when he walked down the ramp with a shopping cart full of weapons.

 

[Maddox] - No one was prepared or expected me to bring the violence instantly. I tried to warn them in advance, but no one wanted to listen. Do you hear me now? Everyone thought I was going to walk down the ramp and get tossed out. They thought I would be one and done—come and go. Let me ask you something. How many hearts stopped beating when I launched Aria Jaxton out of that ring? The only thing I regret is giving her even a slim chance to come back in. If I had it my way, I would have made sure she couldn't stand or walk. I don't give a shit if her husband or kid was right there watching. 

 

An arrogant smirk broke out in his facial expression. Thinking about his irregular mind brought a smile to his face.

 

[Maddox] -  It should be very apparent by now that I lack apathy for others. No one is considered safe when I am around or involved. No one is able to sleep or turn the corner knowing I am hanging around. I bring apprehension to each and every single person I come into contact with. 

 

The camera had shifted around to see enough light to distinguish a cage sitting in the middle of the room on a table. Upon closer inspection with the little light source we had, we could see something running around inside it. Using his right hand, he pointed in the direction of the cage before he angrily spoke.

 

[Maddox] - Just like this rodent we have here pissing and shitting inside his own home. Running around frantically and scared, with nowhere to hide. You see, Chad, the two of you have similarities in that sense. Kingdom, there will be nowhere for you to camouflage yourself other than face-to-face with the madman himself. 

 

STAND WITH ME AND SUFFER.

 

Reaching his hand out, he started banging against the side of the cage, agonizing the rodent inside. Watching it intently as he roamed around in fear, he had a large smirk on his face as he flashed his teeth.

 

[Maddox] - Movements are a little unpredictable and erratic. It's very fascinating. The clash may be over, but the scar will always remain. I walked back up that ramp with my head down, knowing my chances were over that night. It was not out of disappointment, it was not out of defeat; it was out of frustration. I already knew I had the chance to walk away a champion, but I let my appetite for brutality get in my way. I took my eyes off the nightmare ending I wanted, and it allowed DT to gain his fairytale ending. I wasn’t shocked by the outcome; I was more or less pissed off with it. That night propelled DT into a quest for stardom. That night also propelled me into a world of greed and animosity. I will do anything to get back into the championship picture in OWA and regain glory.

 

Walking around the cage, he made his way back to his seating arrangement from earlier. Snapping his head forward towards the camera, he raised his eyebrows in anger and spoke in a raspy voice.

 

[Maddox] - Let’s talk a little bit more about Chad. You thought this year would be your year, didn’t you? You thought this would be the time Chad would be crowned the winner of the clash and move on to bigger and better things. I hate to break it to you, but you are standing in the same shithouse as the rest of us. 

 

With his face still in front of the camera, he begins to punch himself a few times in the face until he is busted open. With blood trickling down the side of his face and dripping to the floor beneath him, he continues to speak.

 

[Maddox] - The pain and violence don’t bother me. The adrenaline that courses through my veins is an admirable feeling. No matter how many times I bleed, how many times I hurt, I will always get back up. I won’t make this personal. I have decided to keep business as usual. Let me walk to the wrestling ring and cause bloodshed. Walk away with the victory and commute back to my shadowed room. You see, you are not the big fish in the pond. Chad is a minnow, to be exact. I am chasing the bigger and better superstars who reside here in OWA, and you are just the warm-up. There is no real threat coming from you.

 

Putting his hand to his head, he wiped the blood all over his palm and knuckles. Bringing his hand down, he stared at the metallic substance with a look in his eyes like no other. His smile grew into a more established expression.

 

[Maddox] - I want you to remember this blood, Chad. The only difference is that next time it won’t be my blood soaked on these hands. It will be yours. I want you to understand that for me to succeed, you need to fail. This may only be my second match in OWA, but the proving grounds start at this explicit moment. 

 

Standing up from his seat one last time, he walks to the camera, which shows nothing but his blood covered face. With his eyebrows still raised and a smirk on his face, he states.

 

[Maddox] - This match isn’t going to be your typical, conventional singles competition. On this night, Chad will walk away from the kingdom as a distinctive individual. Broken and sore, he will finally understand why he was warned not to get on my dreadful side. Just like the way you beg for the attention of social media. I also know you plan to expose the unsafe dangers of head trauma. Once I hit you over the head with my bat, maybe you could find out. It doesn’t take a jackass like you, who, may I add, has zero doctoral degree, to know any blunt force trauma to the head isn’t beneficial. If you want to expose the real truth and stories, look within yourself. A clout chasing media whore who thinks he has credibility inside this industry can be considered a douchebag, but it’s douchebags like yourself who give it a bad name. Why anyone would want to shake this man's hand or collect an autograph is beyond me. You have done nothing but try to expose the sport that has accepted you and try to burn it to the ground. Guys like you don’t exist in this industry, guys like you get tortured for the things you do. 

 

He closed his eyes for a moment as he was still up close and in front of the camera. After taking a deep breath, he continues on.

 

[Maddox] - I repudiate you for everything you stand for. If you want to hang back, break the locker room code, and snitch on the superstars around you, You must be willing to suffer the consequences and repercussions of it. I will gladly be the superstar who cracks your skull for the bullshit you speak. 

 

With an echoing laugh, he winks into the camera. Moving back a few feet from the camera, he holds his thumbs down into the camera, clearly visible for Chad and the rest of the world to see. After a few moments of silence, the scene fades to nothing but black and static.

 

TBC.

Her phone went off again, a muffled buzzing coming from between the cushion of her couch and her ass. But like the last fifteen times it buzzed, she was going to ignore it. She didn’t want to talk to that woman right now. Not this early in the morning. She just woke up from her… She looked over at the clock, and realized she only got maybe two hours of sleep after finishing the drawing she had been working on since yesterday morning.

“Not answering you Rin til you either apologize or you compliment me.”

Ruri said, as she leaned forward onto her fight stick and continued to stomp a wifi warrior in Guilty Gear.

Kazuya Kuzunoha apparated in front the door to the restroom and floated over to the kitchen, haggard as if he spent the past night drinking. He reaches up and brushes the hair from his face as he floats over behind his daughter.

“Do you know what time it is young lady?”

“Nope.”

“Did you even get any sleep?”

He asks shaking the sleep from his face and yawning.

“Nope. Spent it drawing…. My question is why does a ghost need to sleep?”

“Don’t questions the ways of the metaphysical world… first thing they teach you when you die…”

He looks around the room, looking around noticing all of the framed prints along the walls, all labelled “RURIRURI~!”

“Drawing huh?” he asks. “I didn’t take you for an artist.”

“Funny, neither did Rin, and now after I prove her wrong, she won’t apologize. Instead she ranted about me coming over this morning to prepare for the Clash of the Titans.”

“She is right though; you probably should do more to prepare for a big match like that than doodle.”

“I didn’t get through art school, drop out and pick it back up for you, or anyone else for that matter to say that I just doodle… asshole. And yeah, no shit I should be training for the Clash, but I’m just not feeling it at the moment. I spent half the night last night drawing the women I’m facing in the damned match. If that’s not enough mental preparation for at least another three hours before I have to listen to Rin give me strategies that won’t work, because I’ve seen her try them on a lot of the women in the match, and fall… only for her tits to propel her back to her feet.”

“That just means she paid for the highest of quality.”

“I ain’t saying this to be down on myself, but I don’t have the best chances of winning the thing anyway, so fuck on me if I’d rather not spend as much time practicing, predicting every move… or try to like Rin wants me to… and reduce that chance when I can go into the match with boots and a dream and wing it like I normally prefer. And anyway me and her would just inevitably piss each other off and call off whatever we were planning on doing anyway.”

The phone buzzes again. Ruri glances down to read “50 new messa—51 new mssages from RIN ASAKURA”. Ruri leans back placing her arms behind her head.

“Case in point.”

“Alright fine, I get it. Forgive me for getting in the way of you guys’ tag team dynamic.”

Kazuya says holding his hands up. After a moment he walks over to a printer, where Ruri has printed off an uncolored copy of her drawing.

“This what you were working on?”

“Yeah, I got a painted copy on my computer, but I aint risking you frying it. That one is so I can practice watercolors later.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

“I don’t give a shit dude.”

“Dad.”

“Still not sure I’m comfortable calling you that yet.”

Kazuya ignores her and looks at the drawing as he floated closer to her. Sitting down on the arm of the couch he crosses his elgs and continues.

“So I know the ex-possessed one… and that’s you… this is good by the way, super proud of you.”

“Yeah sure.”

“Who’s the bitch?”

“Gonna have to be a loooooot more specific than that.”

“I mean, no… the one who looks like a BITCH. You know, the one with the face that says “Soo Mee mah sin, Do y’alll have forks in Japan? I don’t know how to use chopsticks go men naah sigh’.”

“Oh the one who has the eyes of a woman who is constantly shitting, but unable to?”

“Yeah her.”

“That’s Bethany Hastings… she’s a psychologist… psychiatrist… one of the two, maybe both. She’s the kind of woman who got into that field because she couldn’t figure out what is wrong with her like what about her makes her husband come home late, why do I have this constant urge to be correct, and why do I find myself looking longingly at large dogs. She’s a conservative nutjob who’s gotten lucky the past few months she’s been here because of her wallet and giantess of a bodyguard. I’ve not really had a proper match with her, just a battle royale that I should have fucking won. Eh, whatever. My therapist thinks she’s a quack, who relies on archaic ideas and puts her politics before her patients… either way no matter what you think about her, she’s one of those holier than though rich white conservatives, and is trying to use our business to propel herself and spread her toxic ideas that she herself probably doesn’t believe in unless you pay her.”

“I see…” He cocks his head. “Who’s this next to your friend, the one looking at her with sad, motherly eyes?”

“That’s April Song. She’s a living legend that took Hana under her wing a long time ago. She’s basically supposed to be the team mom, but nobody in the locker room wants to admit that. Fuck, pretty sure she’s tried to retire like ten times now, but something keeps drawing her back in.”

“So things haven’t changed in the business that much.”

“Not really, old guards are the hardest ones to get rid of, and trust me half the women in the match have tried to get rid of April, but she keeps finding a way to keep going. She nearly went off the deep end before the war trying to protect and save Hana… and she’s still going strong. Hell, probably better than a lot of the others in that war. I’ve always wanted to face her, but as much as a gatekeeper she is it seems only a certain few get to have that kind of match with her, but once you do and if you can beat her? Everyone knows you’ve got it… you’re made.”

“It’s always nice to have a journeyman or journey woman in the locker room for that…”

“Is that woman throwing a CD?”

“It’s a discus… her name’s Devi and she’s deadly with those things, trust me I had a welt on my head that can prove it. I… don’t know what to think about her. I got cocky in a match with her, and ended up getting beat. For some reason, that gave the rest of the locker carte blacnche to rip into me as some sort of joke. I don’t blame Devi at all, but it’s still been a sour subject… and I want nothing more than to get back in the ring with her and get that win back… best I can do is at least eliminate her next week…”

“I see… who’s the idiot with the boobs clinging onto the other one with the boobs… nad why is she screaming?”

“Bea Havertz. She’s a bit of a bimbo. I think she’s got talent, but not the brains to make it worth anything… not yet anyway. After a while, I’m sure she will have something… the one she’s clinging to her bestie Angelina proved that to the world after a year… so who knows.


A knock is heard on the door, as Ruri’s phone starts buzzing. Ruri looks at it, the newest message reads “I’m here. Open the fucking door.”

“Shit, it’s Rin. Hide.”

“Whatever.”

Kazuya says as he fades out as Ruri stumbles to the door.

“Hey Rin… I was just about to call…”