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Post by The BombTrax on Oct 1, 2016 5:30:30 GMT
One (1) Role Play Max
Final Role Play Deadline: Wednesday October 12th, 2016 @ 10:59 PM CST
Segment/Match Deadline: Wednesday October 12th, 2016 @ 11:59 PM CST
{Main Event}
Singles Match
(NON-TITLE)
Deus versus Press |
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Post by The BombTrax on Oct 11, 2016 6:49:05 GMT
SEAT OF POWER - Chapter 8
The French Quarter
Bourbon Street – New Orleans, Louisiana
10/7/2016 – 6:00 PM
The BombTrax had appeared in The Emporium’s basement a few seconds after disappearing in front of their enemies 15,000 feet over the Gulf of Mexico. Both felt a little disembodied for a moment, but after a stiff drink, and a chance to sit down, the dizziness subsided. It wasn’t everyday one got to take a trans-dimensional stroll through time and space to travel hundreds of miles in an instant. Though they admitted that the experience was pretty clever, neither of them were quick to express a desire to try it again.
They sat around a small table upstairs in Bobby’s apartment, joined by Samedi. In the center or the table was the Locator Stone, a solid piece of Gold that had been shaped and arranged with varying symbols in Babylonian script. They all simply stared at the item for a while without speaking, no one really certain exactly what should be done now.
On that point they couldn’t seem to come to an agreement. Samedi had paid over Ten Grande for the item at a low market in London, a place where paranormal and mystical artifacts were traded amongst the wealthy and the knowledgeable. You couldn’t access the low market without having some innate magical talent, and Samedi more than fit that category as a practicing Voodoo Priest.
He felt that the item should be hidden away, stored in a place that couldn’t be breached by conventional means as it had before. There were interdimensional pockets and denizens who would protect it with their lives if so asked by the Priest, and he maintained that what had happened last time wouldn’t take place a second.
The BombTrax held a different position, one that didn’t satisfy the Priest at all. They deemed that the artifact was to provocative to remain in existence, and should be destroyed. This society wasn’t ready for a confrontation with God’s Seat of Power on this earth, and if it fell into the wrong hands, like The Left Hand, then all would be lost for this world. Matter of fact, it was Youth’s diagnosis, that there was no one that could be considered the ‘Right’ hands for the job.
Now they were here, just staring at the item in the center of the table in silence, mulling over all the facts that had been presented in their previous arguments.
Finally, Samedi looked up, and stated the obvious. “We have to make a decision. The longer we wait, the more time it gives our enemies to plan another extraction, and this time I don’t believe they will be as secretive or as passive as their first strike.”
Press looked up from the object to lock eyes with the Priest. “On that we agree, and the easiest way to ensure that there won’t be a next time is to eliminate their wants.”
“You don’t know that. From everything you’ve told me of these people they don’t seem to be the kind to stop just because their goals have changed. You’ve unsettled them, revealed their position, and now they’ll want to eliminate that challenge.”
“I don’t know,” Press remarked, leaning back in his seat so that he could cross his arms over his chest. “I was pretty convincing.”
“Yeah, and that could just add more fuel to the fire.” Youth chimed in, drawing a glance from both men. “The Left Hand has been at this for a long time, almost as long as the Christian Movement has existed. There are plenty of scriptures in the Old Testament to back up their theories, but it wasn’t until the New Testament was written that it gave them a blue print to follow. They are fanatics, bro. Fanatics don’t do well with threats or challenges to their power base.”
Press shifted irritably in his seat, and shook his head. “Well what was I supposed to say? ‘Sorry for interrupting your plans for Armageddon’. We did what we did, and that’s the only option we had.”
Youth nodded in agreement, then shrugged his shoulders, deciding to keep quiet till something relevant came to mind.
“Bottom line,” Press continued, now shifting his gaze back to Samedi. “This is too much power for anyone on earth to try and harness. It’s more sensitive than man’s best attempt to destroy themselves, and shouldn’t be found without divine intervention.”
Sam was already shaking his head, pointing at the object. “How do you know that this artifact isn’t divine intervention? Perhaps Esther had this commissioned because she was given divine providence. Perhaps the Almighty wants this artifact to be found.”
Press cast a side long glance at Samedi. “Sam…”
“Oh, Alright!” Sam spat, turning his head to the side in disbelief. “Ten Thousand dollars right down the drain.”
Press and Youth breathed a sigh of relief for the first time Sam had beckoned them to his basement to inform them that the item had been stolen. Sam looked back across the table at the two, and seeing their expressions of alleviation he shrugged. Standing, he took hold of the Locator Stone, and indicated with his other hand the doorway that would lead them back down stairs. The two men got up from their seats, and made to follow.
Sam spoke over his shoulder as they descended to the second level of The Emporium. “This item will not be easily dispelled, so the easiest thing we can do is destroy it. It has a good weight in gold, so once it’s dissolved I should at least get some of my investment back once it’s cooled. We’ll need considerable heat to bring it to a melting point, but I have something that should do the trick.”
The two men followed Sam down another flight of steps that took them to the ground level, and then past a few rooms into his storage room that doubled as his laboratory. Youth cast the table in the center a quick glance, goosebumps running up and down his flesh at remembering what had transpired there. It was where Annabel’s spirt had entered his body to make him hole again after his apparent death. A memory that he would never forget, but didn’t like to conjure up on his own.
Sam sat the item on the work table, and began searching for something in one of the cabinets along the wall. After a moment he pulled forth a cauldron, and what looked very much like the eye of a stove set inside a metal base. He motioned to a piece of fabric behind Press, and the big man folded it up, and sat it on the table.
Sam sat the burner on the fabric, and then set the cauldron onto the burner. Carefully he took the Golden Stone with it’s strange symbols, and placed it inside the cauldron.
Once this was done he looked up under his brow at the other two, and nodded. “It’s going to get hot in here, but it can’t be helped. It would probably be better to do this outside, but as it is, I don’t think going out of the house would be wise, as there are measures of protection here. The cauldron must remain open to allow air to pass through, as that will aide in the process. Once this is done, there won’t be any going back. Are you sure that this is the proper course of action?”
Press and Youth looked to one another, exchanging information with their eyes, and then turned back to Samedi with a nod.
The Priest resolved himself with a ‘hrmph’, and reached out with both hands, placing two fingers on either side of the burner. He closed his eyes, deep in concentration, and began to speak in a spidery language that made both men’s skin crawl.
Much to their surprise the burner began to glow, light orange at first, but then getting redder and redder, until it finally turned white hot. The heat emanating from it was almost more than either could stand, and both of them found themselves moving to the outer edges of the room to escape it. Same continued his chant, seemingly unaffected by the heat, and then removed his hands at the same time his eyes popped open.
By this point the cauldron started to creak and pop from the heat, the black surface starting to turn orange at the bottom. Samedi nodded in satisfaction, and then risked a glance over the rim. He didn’t remain there long, before he too was forced to the outer edge of the room.
Green smoke began pillowing up out of the cauldron, and the distinct sound of something sizzling began to fill the room. Sam said a few more words in the spidery language, and the smoke began to curl its way around the room, and then dipped down to seep beneath the closed door to the outside.
The process took almost an hour, The Cajun periodically checking the interior of the cauldron. When he was satisfied that the job was done, he beckoned The BombTrax to confirm that the destruction was complete.
Both men hesitantly peered into the cauldron, which had color now showing near the top. Inside was liquid gold, boiling and bubbling as if it were alive and breathing. Neither man could stand the close proximity for long, and moved back to the outer edges to escape the intense heat.
“It looks done to me, Bones.” Press remarked, waving his hand in front of his face in a futile attempt to give him some fresh air.
Samedi stepped forward, and with one archaic word, the burner went cold. The cauldron, however, remained hot, and he stepped back over to his cabinet to grab two heavy mitts used in forge casting. He also brought a thick stone bowl with him when he returned to the table, and he sat it close by.
Donning the mits, he grabbed hold of the cauldron, making certain that no surface of the red hot metal came into contact with any part of himself or the table. He then slowly tipped the cauldron on its side, pouring its golden contents into the bowl.
There was an instant reaction as the gold met the cold stone, and white smoke billowed up into the air, following the same trail that the green smoke had taken. Once all of the golden refuse was in the bowl, Sam sat the cauldron back onto the eye, leaving it to cool. He removed the heavy mits, and wiped his brow of the beads of sweat that had been caused by the close proximity to the heat.
He looked up at the duo on the other side of the room who had watched all of this in interest, and piqued an eyebrow. “It is done.”
“Good.” Was all that Press said, moving closer to the table now that he heat was dissipating. “I’m sorry you lost your trinket, Sam, I really am, but this thing couldn’t be allowed to continue in this world. It was just too dangerous.”
Sam allowed a half smile to follow after his sigh. “It is what it is, Redeemer. I’m just glad that this business is settled. Hopefully this ‘Left Hand’ of yours will now return to the shadows from whence they came.”
Youth nodded. “I hope so too, bones.”
Samedi suddenly grinned his skeletal grin, and eyed the two men with a more positive light. “So what’s next for you two? You’ve adverted this disaster, but there’s much more for you to do I expect. I hear there are big matches in the works for you at your day jobs.”
Press smirked, glad to see the Priest back to his usual self. “Nothing we can’t handle. I think for right now, though, we’re going to call it a night. We haven’t slept much knowing this was out there, and it shows.” He lowered his gaze towards Youth.
The younger of the two noticed, and placed his hands on his hips. “Me? What about you? You got a Main Event coming up on WICKED, and you look like shit!”
Press shrugged with a chuckle, and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Like I said, I think a long shower and an eye full of sleep is far overdue.”
Samedi nodded in understanding, and ushered the two men out of the storage closet, down a long hallway, and to the service exit that dumped out behind The Emporium. The Pontiac was parked in the same spot they had left it before this crazy fiasco began, and Press made a B-Line for the driver’s door. Youth hung back, however, turning to confront the Cajun one last time.
“Hey, uh..Listen.” He said, fidgeting a bit uncomfortably. “I know we had words a few months ago, and I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I know you were only looking out for both us, and Munin. I didn’t mean to put you in that kind of bind.”
Sam held his hand up for no further explanation, and gave Youth a reassuring smile. “I understand, Redeemer. There is no ill fortune between us.”
Youth returned the smile with his usual boyish grin, and he nodded, before turning to trot over to his ride. Once the ‘boy wonder’ was inside, the Pontiac fired up, and the V8 engine roared as Press took it down the alley towards Bourbon Street. Sam watched the car disappear out into the New Orleans night.
PITCH BLACK ROOM
Location Unknown
10/10/2016
“Deus..”
The voice that spoke was cool, calm, and collected yet carried with it the hint of malice. The room from which it emanated was devoid of light.
“You’ve always skulked around the shadows, moving this way and that, like a serpent on the hunt for food. Feeding, plotting, waiting for that perfect time to strike. You held back until PAW made itself a national brand before emerging from your hidey hole, still ruffled by what we did to you way back when. You crawled on your belly through the muck and deceit that is your environment, navigated the seas of treachery and bile to land upon these shores and wage your war against those who didn’t even bat an eye lash at your absence. All because you believe that you somehow had a hand in shaping this brave new world, and now you’re here to collect.”
Laughter fills the darkness.
“The thing that makes that funny, is that no one fucking cares. No one cares who’s behind that mask. No one cares whether you’re male or female. No one cares how many of you there are. No one cares if you can disappear, and then reappear like smoke. No one cares if you have your revenge, close the doors on this fed, or somehow wrest this championship from around my waist. No, no one cares about anything other than their own desires, and their own standing within this company. And when they don’t get it…”
A chuckle.
“They act just like you. Butt hurt because no one sent them a get well card. Ass raped cause no one bothered to chant their name on the right cues. Absolutely castrated when they get their opportunity and ultimately drop the ball.”
A pause.
“Wanting to take this belt off of me is not the same as doing. There are many who have tried, and they have all equally failed in their own unique ways. Stevie Harris failed because he depended on the faith of a people rather than actually having any real faith himself. CJ O’Donnell failed because he thought that he could put forth the bare minimum based off of a shitty reputation built off the back of a shitty stable. Calvin Harris failed because he was a fucking failure from concept to finish. Johnny Raike failed because sometimes people simply can’t live up to their own Legends. Six others will fail at the upcoming PPV, because their hunger will reap their destruction.”
Pause.
“You, Deus, will fail, because I am going to peel that mask from your skull, and reveal to everyone how humanly frail you really are. What happened last episode will be nothing compared to what will befall you on the stage of the Main Event. Cause now, it’s only you and I. No distractions. No interference. No excuses. As I wanted it, and as it should be.”
Something moves in the darkness, and a blinking red light, like on the front of a recording camera, can be seen reflecting in two hollow orbs.
“Because Deus, I am going to prove that god’s do bleed this Friday, and that your relevance to our promotion is but a foot note that isn’t even worth remembering.”
The gleam off of a sneer.
“Deus, who?”
Static. Fade to black.
LOCATION UNKNOWN
Another Dimension
10/11/2016 - 12:30 AM
The world flashed before Samedi’s eyes, and he was suddenly on another plane of existence, somewhere that had neither time, nor space. The entire area was cast in hues of red, and the shadows made the outline of stalactites cropping up out of the ground dance from some unseen light. He pulled his overcoat around his shoulders before trudging towards the mouth of a cave.
He paused right inside it’s opening, and stood tall and resolute before yelling out into its dark depths.
“I have a treasure for you to keep.”
He stood there in silence for a moment, the last of his words echoing around the opening like sounds that are made under water. Something stirred within the darkness, and the ground rumbled lightly beneath him like the tremors felt after an earthquake.
He stood his ground as shapes moved within the darkness, molding into one mass that came before him, not really taking on any identifiable shape, but there non-the-less. Two lanterns flared within the mass, and it took him a moment to adjust his eyes from the sudden flame. When he looked up again, he realized that they weren’t lanterns at all, but were eyes.
“What is it that you have brought me Priest?” a slithering voice whispered from the darkness like sand trickling through an hour glass.
Samedi reached into pocket, and produced a pile of rags. Slowly he peeled back the layers, to reveal the Locator Stone underneath.
A hiss escaped the darkness, and the shifting shadows seemed to take on a more solid shape. The outline of a four fingered claw could be seen moving from out of the opening, and when it entered the red hues it glittered and sparkled as if it were the surface of some metal.
Samedi allowed two of the talon like fingers to snatch the item up, and hold it up to the lanterns for inspection. After a moment, the claw receded into the darkness to take up its previous disjointed appearance, and the two eyes lowered to ground level to look the Cajun in his own.
“You know what this is?”
“I do.” He answered.
“You know what it does?”
“I do.” He retorted.
“Then you know my price.”
Samedi’s face blanched for just a moment, but he gained control of himself quickly. This was not the sort of creature that you wanted to see any of your weaknesses. He steeled himself before the lanterns, and nodded.
Reaching into his other pocket, he produced a bottle with a cork stuck tightly within the top. He reached up, popped the cork, and sat the bottle down at the entity’s feet.
A pillowy blue smoke wafted up out of the bottle, taking shape between the two to become the outline of a male child. The spirit looked about itself, holding its arms out at its sides in surprise, and then turned to cast an innocent look at Samedi, before looking straight ahead into the darkness.
The lanterns blazed, and for just a moment Samedi could see the creature in all of its hideous form. Large bronze scales, serpent like neck, wide head, great gaping maw filled with rows of teeth as large as a man.
The spirit child’s aura turned from blue to yellow, and the fantastic light pulsed rapidly in panic. Before it could make a move, however, the mythic form inside the cave took in a deep inhale of breath, and the spirt lurched forward until it disappeared. There was the sound of a burp soon after it disappeared, and Samedi couldn’t hide his disgust at what had just happened.
The lantern like eyes looked upon the Voodoo Priest with almost the hint of affection as they lowered to take him in once more.
“Your item is safe.”
Samedi inhaled deeply through his nose and let it out through his mouth, and then nodded. His deal was done. He turned away from the mouth of the cave, and made his way back to the spot that he had entered from. With a word, and a swipe of his hand, a portal appeared as if being cut right into the fabric of space. Samedi stepped through it, and he did not dare to look back.
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Deus
PAW Cub
Posts: 6
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Post by Deus on Oct 11, 2016 20:53:12 GMT
OMEGA
You misunderstand me, you giant fucknugget.
And I’m okay with that.
This was never about a message sent in order for you to understand it. You did exactly what you were supposed to do, in spite of “not giving a shit”, and for that you will be rewarded, once more, with more shit you don’t need to go with that useless belt I don’t want, that has come to define you.
In this generation invariably dumber than its parents there aren’t many who can watch an entire Wicked broadcast, let alone sit through an entire Press promo, and if I understand all that what makes you certain I give a fuck if anyone cares what’s behind this mask, or what I’m on about?
Sure as shit not hoping to be “sold” or “put over” by people who can’t even do that for themselves.
This isn’t miracle on 34th Street, motherfucker. I don’t need to hear a damn bell to score some wings, or actualize my next trick.
What’s gonna happen, is gonna happen whether you like it or not, whether you believe or don’t believe.
And maybe, if Calvin Harris is lucky, I’ll give him something else to bitch about before the week is over.
This is Deus speaking.
--Ω - - Ω--
Pain slipped her in and out of sleep. Her eyes would flutter awake and it was like she could feel her back bending awkwardly across those steel ring steps in slow motion all over again. In spite of the padded standard-issue Deus costume she’d been wearing, protection had been slight, and she’d taken the full brunt of the BombTrax’ wrath, and she’d done so willfully and blissfully.
The sound of the heart monitor beeping resonated in the single bed hospital room. Nurse Cunningham opened the door, the light from the hallway creating a slice of light into the darkened bedroom as she reached for the light switch.
“Okay, Jane, time for—“
“Leave it off,” came the hoarse bark of a whisper.
Nurse Cunnigham shook her head and chuckled thickly as she stepped inside the room and instantly felt a chill. She inhaled sharply and eyed the open window where thick, white gauzy curtains blew in the wind spilling in from outside.
She stepped to the window and peered out into the night as her fingers gripped the sill and readied to close it.
“Leave it open.”
Nurse Cunnigham glared over her shoulder at her patient in the darkness and somber moonlight.
“Girl, you are going to catch your death leaving this window open.”
“I'm waiting for someone.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Nurse Cunningham resignedly let her fingers slip from the windowsill and turned to face her patient.
Severe abdominal strain, several impacted vertebrae, two broken ribs and a fractured wrist laying motionless in the bed. She hadn’t moved so far as Nurse Cunningham could tell for two weeks.
Understandable.
They’d brought her in donning a god-awful metal roman gladiator mask she refused to allow them to remove and a padded zip-up mechanics suit. Stage wear from the local wrestling promotion. She eerily peered out at them without a word as they pressed her for information and began treatment without consent.
Once the unpleasantness was over, the hospital gown taking the place of the get-up and the morphine had set in, they’d found it impossible to identify her and so had become Jane Doe.
“I’d say it’s lights out, honey, but you’re way ahead of me.”
She snickered as she stepped past the bed for the door.
“He’s coming for me, you know?”
Nurse Cunningham smiled unseen at her patient in the darkness. Statements of this nature were common utterance from this one she’d been told from other night nurses on duty.
“I’m sure he is, sweetie. Sleep well.”
She exited, and the chill settled in the room amidst the soft blow of the hinting early winter wind through the window.
“Deus.”
She grinned, and could see her breath as it sifted through the grit of her teeth like grating and plumed into the air and dissipated like vapor.
“Yes,” came the whisper from the curtains.
She smiled, her eyes closing tightly amidst the sudden tingling sensation in her spine forcing a wince.”
“How long have you been there?”
“Long enough.”
She settled into comfort as the figure moved soundlessly into her room and stood next to her bed. In the darkness, only a metal mask reflected light as though it alone hung in mid air over like a guardian. She smiled again and lamely slid her taped arm along the bedspread toward where the hand must be.
“You did well.” the voice soothed out in a ghostly whisper to her.
“Thank you,” she sighed, unable to feel her feet. “You knew they would attack. You knew they’d come for blood.” Her hand balled onto the bedsheets when she couldn’t find the hand of Deus. She tilted her head sideways to regard the lifeless face of the mask staring down at her
“Yes.” The voice’s deep modulated timbre became a quiet growl. “It could’ve been anyone under that mask. It could’ve been his bartender friend. That could’ve been the Lady Munin hiding beneath. It could’ve even been Calvin Harris, though I doubt he lacks the talent to pull it off quite as well as you have, my dear.”
She cringes, wincing and hiding the momentary jolt of pain surging through her neck. The hiss of Deus appeared to notice, the anger welled up inside of the deep, dark voice.
“The BombTrax lay out a targeted assault on an opponent that was, by their own admission, not their actual target. They were aiming for ME, yet they willingly hit you. They have all the precision of a United States bombing campaign in Syria. So much for a self-described ‘code of honor’. They will pay for every moment you have suffered. Press will taste every tooth I personally knock down his throat on your account.”
“Be careful,” she winced, knowingly.
The mask tilted sideways and leant downward to her face.
“How much pain have they caused you?”
Her head shook without lifting from the pillow, a lovesick grin appearing on her lips.
“None. I did it for you. It was worth it. You don’t need to—“”
A growl set in slow and guttural from the chest of Deus.
“You would supplicate for mercy for a man who would willingly try to cripple you, a person he doesn’t even know?”
Fingers tightened around her jaw as the metallic mask drew closer, eye to eye. She whimpered softly.
“For you, what comes next will be all the sweeter when I knock that tall drink of dirty water right off his high horse. For you comes the sacrifice of a face. For you I will do what none have done. Karma’s a bitch and this one’s due. Three times the charm, dear. For your pain will become his.”
She grinned stupidly up at the mask hovering over her as the fingers let go and let the back of her head slump into the pillow. The room door opened and Nurse Cunningham poked her head inside.
“Are you still awake?”
Jane Doe fidgeted and glanced around as the slivers of light from the hallway pierced into the room, but no mask was there to reflect them. Nurse Cunningham stepped inside carrying a tray, her other hand forcing on the light switch.
“I’m sorry, but I forgot to give you your pain medicine.”
The light illuminated all four corners of the room, and her eyes stole in every direction laying sight on only the plainness of the room. Nurse Cunningham watched with a frown.
“Are you okay?”
“He came.”
She grinned at her nurse. Nurse Cunningham nodded good-naturedly and continued into the room with a shiver.
“Of course he did, dear.” The brightness of her smile betrayed no hint of her genuine, burgeoning concern over the mental state of her charge as she continued about her duty, setting the tray down containing a cup of water and a small cup of two pills. “It’s so cold in here. I don’t know how you can stand it.” She smiled at Jane Doe.
“You can close the window if you want.”
“Isn’t that how your friend comes to see you?”
Her head shook softly as Nurse Cunningham shrugged and strode across the floor to close the window. -- Ω - - Ω --
And so the two made their way down to that ring after that match had finished. Two new additions to a roster who chose to attack the biggest, baddest target they could find.
Me:
Five foot five, weighing in at who the fuck cares. The same person who’d just lately been revealed to be some chick and stood the federation on its head.
The one who’d spent a month instilling fear and eliciting reactions from even the most ephemeral of roster members in a way you BombTrax never could.
You know me, the one everyone else dubbed a monster.
I never chose that moniker, by the way.
It was given to me.
I’d made a name by being better than all of them.
I’d made a name by being the baddest of them.
You made a name for yourselves that night at my expense, because what better way to establish a name and put yourselves over than to detract from another’s greatness?
My fight wasn’t with you two fucks.
But still, without a single…. Fucking… care in the world you said to yourselves: Let’s take our long curly pig-tail haired asses down to the ring and do the bidding of a woman we just met.
And it’s ME you call a coward.
Two. Against. One.
Two at the behest of one tiny, conniving, useless little woman whose hype has continued to overstate her utter lack of a presence.
A woman who’s level of investment in you two hasn’t genuinely garnered the reaction you’ve wanted.
They all claim to be the reason for Pure Amusement’s success if you care to listen. You just walk out and beat up on the problems when they get out of control. Backstage assaults that act on surprise.
The same shit you fault me for.
Harris is right, isn’t he? Munin coddles you two. She has from the beginning when she showed you into that first rag-tag carnival you joined and pointed you to me because I was a problem she couldn’t deal with on her own.
And I’m the coward?
Johnny Raike couldn’t cut it on his own, so he drew out the moo cow and let her take his lumps for him while he was learning a brand new lesson.
Then you two came out.
Again:
Two. Against. One.
See this time it’s different, big man.
This time I’ve chosen to make this a two against one in my favor.
There’s the mask… and the body that it sits atop of, and the mind it shrouds, and the face you could care less about.
I’m an army, Preston.
Legion.
I am purpose incarnate.
You?
You don’t give a fuck.
Me?
As you say, I’ve spent a year almost to the day waiting for the moment when I could stand across from you and do to you exactly what you did to me.
I have spent days, weeks, and months watching every single match this pathetic federation has pumped out. While you were giving it all on those nights, I was preparing to give it all on this night, Press.
And I have still so much more to show you.
--Ω - - Ω--
There in Nova Wonder’s living room with the lights turned off and presumably no one home,with the volume from the television blaring loud enough to reverberate through the house sat Deus basking in the glow of the screen playing back a rebroadcast of PAW’s last edition of Wicked. Its mud-encrusted boots up on the couch, diving a gloved hand into a bag of popcorn and coming up with some buttered popped kernels, spilling still more of the popcorn all over the floor, then attempting to jam the popcorn in through the mask.
“*Muffled, garbled failed attempt at feeding itself*”
The mangled popcorn spills onto the couch.
“Son of a bitch how the fuck do I eat?!”
Deus rises in an outrage and spills the remains of the popcorn in the process.
“See what you made me do?”
After an angry kick into the coffee table that topples it onto it’s side, the mask turns to face a stationary camera focused on it.
“This is all your fucking fault, Calvin. If you’d sold this shit like you NEVER FUCKING DO I wouldn’t have to go and make a damn mess in your girlfriend’s house.”
Deus angrily strides past the mess of popcorn and plucks the camera off it’s perch and brings the device along with it as it pounds up the steps, keeping the camera turned and facing the mask.
“I’ve been leaving floaters in your toilet, Calvin. What’s interesting if not entirely unsurprising is you and your girlfriend have been flushing my shit for me, and cleaning up my messes without a single complaint...
These tests for echo aren’t meaningless.
They prove a point.
The air you breathe is self-absorbed bullshit caught in a feedback loop going nowhere unless you do something about it.
And I’ve proven this in the span of a week, Press.
Nobody cares, sure.
But that’s the point, isn’t it?
Some shady fucking business going on for sure when some asshat talks all the shit and backs none of it up.
This is the same person you feuded with for a month, the gnat you have to keep swatting in spite of the fact that there’s no conceivable reason this person should deem himself talented other than demanding only sycophants praise him, and dissent be disavowed.
I’ve proven the uselessness of this individual without ever setting foot in a ring with the man.
What the fuck have you done other than win a belt and keep it, Press?
Do these people feel your absence, when you’re gone?
When you defeat them do they stay defeated?
Do these people mourn a show when Press or the other guy don’t come out?
I never claimed to be anything much, big guy.
But there you sit with a title belt you’ve held for many months, with all the rights and privileges conferred upon you that belt implies, and the most you can say you’ve done is beaten Calvin Harris.
Coba fucking Sunday beat Calvin Harris, Press.
Don’t ask. Harris will no-sell it, because that’s what true workers in this business do nowadays.”
The steps of Deus find their way to the top of the stairs and immediately, the masked enigma strides into the little girl’s bedroom where Deus settles down onto the bed and sets its muddy feet onto the bedsheets.
“Let the others fight for validation. This match isn’t about titles so much as it is about righting wrongs, Preston Jones. This match is retribution. A surprise. And the straw that broke the camel’s back all rolled into one.
It doesn’t fucking matter if no one cares.
I care.
I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, sonny.
It’s time to pay the debt you've earned.”
Fade to Black.
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