"Summer, you know you fucked up, right? That match was going my way, and in your bitchy entitled baby rage, you fucking ruined it. You have faced me enough times to know when to NEVER.

EVER.

FUCK WITH ME WHEN I AM ABOUT TO WIN!"

He punched the wall nearest him, putting a good fist sized crater into it, with a small bit of blood trickling from his middle knuckle on his right hand.

"I have touted time and time again, why I've won so many titles; from Stars of the Month to the very championship belts that are part of my many accolades. Do you know how I came by the majority of those Star of the Month awards? 

Because each fucking time, I got angry enough to lay down each and every body in my damned way, and put entire rosters on notice. You think I'm already a menace? Now, you will get to find out that the demons that haunt my mind are telling me that it's time to put out a Star of the Month amount of work. You have forced my hand, you will get to see the rage that consumes me when people put me into that anger that consumes my entire being."

He held out the now slowly bit more bloodied hand and he would lick the line of crimson off from his skin before looking straight at the camera, as the lights turn off just for a second, as the figure of a horned Oni of Japanese folklore revealed itself upon the left side of his life.

"Every May, every five years, someone has to try to me. This time it seems like you're the dumb bitch that decided to aim her sights on me.

At Anarchy, you will see the demon that comes out when it's time to devour the mewling little creature that you are, before I go after the belt. I'm going to make you SUFFER as much as our match rule set allows until you BEG for me to end the match. For you to apologize. 

The destruction of others haunts my mind. Because it means my violent art pieces were so beautiful, I can hear your screams, and they will be yours this time.

I am your God, Summer. It is time for you to fucking realize how far above I truly am, in comparison.

Now pray."

---

In the darkness, the sound of haggard breathing, dry swallowing and the sound of someone seemingly blowing their nose. The void slowly getting light, from a dim circle in the center, then the light quickly filled up the area, showing a bloody and battered Oswald, bleeding from his nose, his mouth, biceps and his clothes torn as scraps hanging on by his belt cinching his high hip area tight enough to keep the bloodied scraps hanging there like trophies from the pants. 

The lights now being used to on the film, and around him are bodies. A mix of ethnicity laying more bloodied than him in some spots, some having well dressed clothes and their eyes open wide and from the sign of their chests not raising or falling, they had been killed. 

His body cut up, his body bleeding internally, more than just the surface level bruising. All of the injuries he's known all too well in all his years of life. As he realizes he's now able to relax, he falls to his knees. A generic phone ringtone playing from one of the corpses which, if he had the energy left to do it he would've rolled his eyes at having to get back to his feet and walk over to the ringing body.

He grunted loudly as he did so, getting to his feet and shuffling over to the body while pulling out his own phone from his left pocket, dialing a number.

"Stay on the line."

He pulled the phone out and looked at the Unknown Caller id on the phone, answering

"I want you people to know. No matter what you send at me, they'll never be able to kill me. Nothing, and I mean fucking nothing, will stop me from erasing you cunts from the board."

He could hear a mixing of voices before he heard a distorted, masculine voice speak out

"We will see, Mister Sephtis. Enjoy your temporary victory. The war still rages on."

The call dropped and he spoke to the person on the other line

"I hope you got something close to the location. Make arrangements to a hotel a few miles away. It's time to handle the family business."

He hung up and broke both his phone and the other's before shuffling away. He then pulled out another phone and called what seemed to be Alysia, as the designation on the phone was 'Wifey', something his daughter put in, in order to show her mother was contacting him, and no one else.

"Hey... I need you to call Dr. Svenaldo, let her know I have several-"

He winced and then the sound of his breathing going back to the raspy nature before he coughed like something was caught in his throat, only for him to force out a thick glob of blood, with him wiping his mouth clean before resuming

"possible broken ribs... multiple lacerations... maybe even a punctured lung. Gonna need help from her and her team, or else I probably, most likely, will bleed out. Thank you. Love you."

He hung up, as he dragged himself, foot by foot, one in front of the other, before collapsing in his courtyard with a wet, meaty thud against the ground, slowly fading into unconsciousness from all the blood loss as the camera fades to black.