<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - Relentless Day 1 RP Boards 2024]]> https://xwf1999.com/ Fri, 05 Jun 2026 13:18:42 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[The Coming Of The Lord -part 1-]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47984 Thu, 19 Sep 2024 23:55:36 -0700 Dolly Waters]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47984
Truth?

- that the established facts of any situation are enough to tell the complete story. Revisiting timelines, then, should be a quest for deeper understanding, not a necessity to unravel the finer details the narrative holds. This belief rings truest for what you are about to witness, as the next chapter of a dark tale unfolds - a tale woven from mysticism, ambition, manipulation, and blood.

We could look back to the mysterious and supernatural birth in a Kentucky delivery room in 2002. We could reflect on the downfall of a decaying wrestling empire from the 1980s, its bourbon-soaked breath and blood-stained coffers driving its heir into a fascistic lust for power. We might even wonder about the child prodigy, a force of nature who, like the untamable tides, defied the hereditary pull toward domination. And yes, we could theorize endlessly about the blood rituals we've witnessed, the demons we've come to know, and the shadowy machinations of The SEERS; a modern-day coven of black alchemy.

But none of that is necessary to grasp the significance of what’s unfolding before us now. We are mere days away from Misty Waters -the spirit who has taken possession of her granddaughter Dolly’s body- taking another step closer to her goal of dominating the XWF.

The sun is sinking beneath the horizon, casting a haunting orange glow across a sprawling open field at the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. Before us stands a makeshift stage, flanked by towering American flags and banners heralding the XWF’s upcoming PPV event: Relentless XXV. The air is thick with tension, an electric charge of anticipation.

As the audience murmurs uneasily, Misty Waters emerges from behind the curtains, her entrance met by the unsettling reverb of a crowd that is no longer merely restless- it's on edge, simmering. The brashness that once defined her is gone, by a more insidious aura, something darker and more calculated. Her face, half-veiled by the setting sun, carries an intensity that draws her to the podium with a slow, deliberate purpose. The night -and her intentions- are only just beginning.

Before her is a crowd far larger than any she’s drawn before. What began as a following of fringe supporters and disillusioned fans has swelled into something far more dangerous, far more volatile than the handful of rioters who stormed the Ocean Center during XWF Anarchy. Now, hundreds of fans, curious onlookers, and die-hard followers have gathered, their faces illuminated by the glow of lit torches clutched in their hands. Some wear MAGA Powers hats, others sport "Stop the Steal" shirts, all of them waiting - eager - for the next incendiary words from the XWF Xtreme Champion.

… and why wouldn’t they be? After everything they’ve witnessed recently- the violence, the chaos, the defiance, and the seeds of deception sown by Misty, now twisted into undeniable fact- their devotion has only deepened. What once were suspicions of betrayal by the XWF have now become gospel, the flames of their loyalty stoked by the very doubts she’s expertly manipulated.

My fellow wrestling fans…

The crowd explodes in a raucous, unsettling display of applause and fervent adulation. For them, this simple phrase has become synonymous with Misty’s reign - an opening note to the symphony of dangerous rhetoric that always follows. The atmosphere crackles with intensity, the kind that sits just on the edge of boiling over.

Misty, with a subtle flick of her wrists, holds her hands out over the crowd, as if pulling on invisible puppet strings. Her presence alone commands them, and their cheers taper into a tense silence, eager for her next move.

I know who you are.

Yer’ the real Americans.

The ones who still care about wrestling.

About tradition.

About truth![/dolly]   

The wind picks up, as if on cue with Misty’s fist slamming into the podium, whipping through the oversized flags behind her and fanning the flames of the torches in the crowd. The flags snap and sway in perfect rhythm with the rising energy of the audience, as though the very elements themselves were bending to her will.

The FIRE! Misty roars, throwing her head back toward the night sky, her fists punching the air with primal force.

the waters…

Misty’s voice now a motif smothering boom, with the fury of a demagogue.

THE FIRE YOU HAVE SHOWN FEEDS THE FURNACES OF OUR ENGINES- she bellows, -IN OUR CAMPAIGN-, hoisting the XTreme Championship high above her head.The crowd roaring in response, their torches blazing brighter, serving as reflections of Misty’s growing intensity.-THAT DRIVES US TO TRUTH AND GREATNESS!

The crowd hangs on her every word, eyes wide with an insane mixture of reverent gaiety and anger. It’s no longer just a wrestling fan base - it’s a movement. One that Misty has manipulated, stoked, and twisted into a dangerous force. And now, with the flicker of the torches reflecting off her ski goggles, Misty Waters knows that this is her moment, her chance to channel their rage into something far more devastating.

Behind the curtains, Paulie watches, gleaming of dark amusement that etches across his face. The longtime confidant and co-collaborator of Misty’s reign of terror, Paulie as we know, is no mere bystander. With deep ties woven into the historical fabric of the XWF, he is a glib and cunning businessman, a puppet master with a knack for exploiting the sport’s most vulnerable moments. His career, marked by unbridled success at every level- from managing champions to orchestrating some of the highest-grossing XWF events -has been but a prelude to this very night.

This is the moment Paulie and his old friend Misty have long envisioned, ever since they began plotting decades ago, using Misty’s granddaughter Dolly as the key to their master plan. A moment to seize control of the wrestling industry's crown jewel, the XWF, and drag it back to the corrupt glory days of confederated wrestling territories- when power was concentrated, brutal, and unchecked. His smile widens as he watches Misty, now the central figure of their vision, poised to cement her grip on the industry through the fire of this insatiable movement. But what makes this moment so stunning to Paulie is that, just hours ago, his faith in their grand scheme had never been shakier.

I believe it’s time we discuss…

Paulie said, breaking the uneasy silence in the private quarters of Misty’s XTreme Campaign tour bus.
They had barely spoken during the two hour-long ride from Louisville. Misty had been uncharacteristically quiet, her focus sharp, her demeanor stoic. Madison Dyson was attending to other matters which kept the two alone with their thoughts. But Paulie’s words broke through the stillness, lifting Misty’s head to meet his gaze just as he continued,

...a contingency plan. he said, his voice low and measured, arms folded tightly across his chest. His fat neck pressed into his shoulders as he broke eye contact with Misty, letting his gaze drift toward the XWF Championship belt resting on the seat next to her. There was a moment of hesitation in his voice, a hint of vulnerability that was rare for the usually sharp-tongued Paulie. His eyes lingered on the title, the symbol of everything they had fought for.

Misty leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studied him- his posture, his tone, the concern lacing his words. She could sense a shift, a deeper fear that ran beneath the surface. With a cold, almost curious edge in her voice, she asked, …why?

Paulie suppressed a small, astounded chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. You’re serious? he asked, his tone incredulous. Misty’s eyebrow arched slightly as she listened, her gaze unwavering.

After everything they’ve thrown at you? he continued, his voice rising with a sense of urgency. The intentional obfuscation of your XTreme defense record? The chaos they unleashed on you at Anarchy?

-His voice caught with barely restrained anger as he ironically referred to the night Misty and Madison incited a deadly riot at the Ocean Center, resulting in the deaths of several innocent fans-

And now this? Double-booked at Relentless on top of the unprecedented circumstances you’ve already faced? Back-to-back death matches, essentially? Those bastards on the booking committee…" his voice hardened, nearly a growl. They’re trying to kill you.

In their warped reality, Paulie wasn’t wrong. For the first time in history, the XWF XTreme Champion was scheduled to defend their title on consecutive nights at Relentless. A simple fact that magnified the stakes and made these moments more perilous than ever before. It wasn’t just about retaining the championship- it was about survival.

What else is new?

For Misty, survival had become a banal reality, a challenge she had faced too many times to count. She leaned back, a smirk curling on her lips.

How many times have they tried to kill me, Paulie? Be it my idiot son, my thankless worm of granddaughter, or those trembling fools running the XWF?
And look where we are

She stood tall, confidently outlining her hands over her body, her voice thick with a mocking sense of triumph.

Who won that battle over Dolly? he sneered, referring to the vessel she so ruthlessly commandeered,

Who the hell even knows what’s happened to that drunk, R.L. Edgar… she added with a bitter chuckle, referencing the bastard son she had waged war against. With a slow, deliberate motion, she reached down and lifted the XTreme Championship.

...and who has the XWF right in the palm of their hand? Her voice dripped with self-satisfaction. Blessings in disguise are what the idiots call it. All we do is take care of that spoiled little prince, Isaiah King, and that pampered princess Sahara, and we’ll be on a direct path to the Universal Championship.

Her tone grew more forceful, her words laced with a fiery tenacity.

Look where we are, Paulie![/dolly] she repeats, her voice rising, Look where we are!

Paulie’s eyes lit up, drawn in by Misty’s infectious confidence. Despite his earlier reservations, forget the backstory, he couldn’t deny the undeniable truth: Misty delivered. When he really took in their surroundings, he saw it clearly- the bus had arrived at the site of Misty’s Appalachian rally, hours before her scheduled address. But unlike the last rally, with its tiny handful of insurrectionists, this crowd was massive. They were there early, waiting, buzzing with anticipation, welcoming the tour bus like war heroes returning from battle.

Misty gazed at the scene with satisfaction.

We don’t need any contingency plan, my friend. She slides over and places a hand on Paulie’s shoulder with a commanding and calm touch, Because I’ve always been the contingency plan.

A slow, malicious grin spread across Paulie’s face, The doubt that had weighed on him moments before evaporated like water under her flame in the face of Misty’s unwavering conviction.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you on that stage later.

Her words serving as a finality, she guides the grinning Paulie out of her private quarters.
Hours later, that same grin still lingers on Paulie’s face as he stands in the shadows, watching Misty deliver this thunderous address to the fervent crowd that had gathered like moths to her flame. They’re hanging on her every word, their devotion palpable. Paulie couldn’t help but revel in the chaos they had crafted together.

Look how far we’ve come!

Misty’s voice booms through the microphone, cutting through the night air as she once again commands her sycophants. The torches flickering in time with her words, and the crowd responding with primal roars.

This is no mere rally, and this is no mere campaign.

We have run the greatest XTreme Campaign in history.

In 54 days, we’ve done what no other XTreme Champion has ever accomplished.

To be on the precipice of the 24/7 Case, already completing half of the required defenses

-and with your help, you TRUE wrestling fans who stood tall at the Ocean Center at Anarchy-

we even survived that disgusting ambush, that disgusting heist the XWF tried to commit. A heist of your dreams to see professional wrestling saved, to see our country saved!

They’re challenging what is rightfully ours. But we are an unshakable force, driven by the destiny of our one true Lord! Let the XWF employ yet another plot in a continuing series of plots, to terminate our campaign. We’re ready for this fight! What appears to be an arbitrary booking of the XTreme Championship on two nights of Relentless isn’t so arbitrary, folks- -

IT’S UNPRECEDENTED.

Forcing your XTreme Champion to defend one night in Houston against a corrupt, tyrannical monarch, Prince… she presses her lips together condescendingly mispronouncing the name ...Padyami- I don’t even like saying his name. It’s so stupid, folks drawing a bloodthirsty ire from the audience

and then forcing me to travel sixteen hours to that godless shithole of a country, South Korea, to defend against the former Sahara Duke.

They want us to lose so badly. They want YOU to lose. BUT I WILL NEVER SURRENDER THIS FIGHT!

Because what the corrupt XWF establishment fails to realize is we’re already a step ahead of them, we’re having their cake and eating it for them too. When the night of September 21st culminates and we’ve defied their odds again, we’ll have 6 of the required 7 defenses of the XTreme Championship.
6 defenses in under 60 days. It’s unheard of. And it all starts in Houston, against the sad little Prince who was promised.

A massive projector screen behind Misty’s stage illuminates with a particular image. It’s Isaiah King standing alongside rebels from his home country in Orun.

The XWF thought it would be fitting to place the hopes of ending our campaign on the shoulders of corruption, something they’re comfortable with.

The Prince of Orun, and his merry band of assassin Rebels.

Can you believe this? A man negotiating with terrorists. People who are capable of doing anything. They’re from a dangerous and impoverished African monarchy. The shithole Orun, who is embroiled in geopolitical scandals all over the world. Murdering dignitaries, influencing elections.

The XWF wants to bring that here! That’s what they want to corrupt your children with. Violent images to turn them into country hating anarchists.

But the Prince of Orun will try to show himself in an anti-establishment light, presenting himself as the man who’s been wronged by the corrupt globalists in the XWF- when he in fact is the corruption!
What will you dare tell us Prince? You’re torn by expectations of your father, the Crown of Orun’s heartless legacy? The man who’s done nothing but boast about his heir status since the day he arrived in the XWF is terrified to take the crown for fear of your own failures? Yet obsessed with nothing but mirroring the image of the horrific failures of Orun’s monarchy in his relentless failure to topple Ned Kaye in the XWF.

Isn’t that when the struggling Adeyemi crown found itself back in your namesake, Isaiah? When you’d proven yer’self a loser against Ned Kaye, once and fer’ all? Leave it to a failed King to produce a failing Prince- trying to spread the seeds of the poisonous apple that didn’t fall far from the tree, and infect our precious American landscape.

And the XWF is cosigning this… the Prince of Orun is no true rebel. We’re the rebels! And we’re fighting back against a corrupt establishment who are selling the XWF down the drain! The Prince of Orun has cozied up and been protected by the deep-statist Mark Flynn, a man right at the heart of the conspiracy to end our campaign, and the establishment's poster child Ned Kaye. Sheltered from defending the tag championship gold because he’s busy coddling the concerns of terrorist organizations in Orun, and busy whining over how he can’t beat Ned Kaye. It’s all a big fraud. A big hoax. A means to constantly negotiate your wrestling failures for geopolitical advantage. You, and your ties to the corruption in the XWF are exactly what's destroying professional wrestling.

Ironic for the man who mocked his greatest rival’s journey as flames to embers, when it’s you, Isaiah Adeyemi, who is becoming a puppet of the Orun Crown. Where’s your fire? Do you even remember how it feels anymore? Does this jog any memories?!


Misty thrusts her arms out over the crowd roars louder still, thrusting their torches into the sky,

In REAL America we don’t bow down to failed kings and conspirators of the deep state.
Petulant, spoiled little princes who stay hidden behind the veil of a trio tag championship. He’s not even being made to defend the championship he boasts, the championship he’s driven into mediocrity with the help of his “greatest rival”. And yet it’s somehow expected that he’s the one to end our Xtreme Championship campaign? He’s the one who even somehow deserves a shot? This reeks of nothing more XWF collusion, and Orunian interference in our campaign!

The violent roars of the crowd grow stronger,

He’s got nothing on me, folks. A man who can’t even bothered to defend his championship, thinks he can carry the TRUE weight of an XTreme Campaign?

60 days. 6 defenses?

Prince hasn’t even had 6 matches this year, because he’s protected by the same men he will claim to loathe.

The very Crucible for which he owes everything. It’s all an elaborate hoax. This is a man who some years ago even lost to my pathetic granddaughter. Can you imagine? A man who couldn’t just clean sweep a weak communist like Dolly Waters?

Back then he claimed that Dolly could do nothing on her own, and he was right, and he claimed that’s why she was weak, and he was right- and yet that weakness made him scream and bleed and submit in the center of the ring.

And it is he himself, who’s done nothing but surround himself with help ever since. Be it the corrupt terrorists on Orun, his failing king father, or The Crucible and their ties to the XWF deep state. Help and protection is all he’s received, and yet It was against his own helpers that he lost the one thing he claimed he needed so much. The Universal Championship.

He’ll never get it by ending our campaign, I can promise you that! The Prince of Orun… A man with such a fragile ego, who would have the audacity to strike like a coward against the very men he owes his entire reputation to, would crash and burn under the weight of our XTreme reign! Flames to embers once again from the prince who was promised.

The promised prince no one ever asked for.

He doesn’t have the fortitude to withstand TRUE struggle. See it in his shithole country. See it in his incessant failures against the very men who’ve built him.
SEE IT IN HIS EYES!

She points back to the photo displayed behind her that’s since been pelted and torn by trash and debris,

I called out the XWF weeks ago, for not booking you against me, Isaiah, because yer’ exactly the type of infestation that needs to be eradicated from the XWF for good. The elitist swine who claims himself the rebel. The man who could have been defending the prestige and honor of the championships he already holds on this show, THE MOST IMPORTANT WRESTLING SHOW OF THE YEAR, but who has already conceded his failure as tag champion. So he’s being booked to try and steal MINE!
Misty’s voice surged with venom, her words electrifying the crowd. Her eyes scanned the faces, all of them enraptured by every syllable.

You deserve this championship as much as you deserve yer’ fathers crumbling kingdom, as much as you deserve your crumbling tag championships, and yer’ rotting moral compass that never existed in the first place. The heir who declared his claim from day one, only to cower beneath the weight of the gold around his waist, and the throne of his own blood!

The audience roaring, torches blazing high in the night. Misty’s words turning into a frenzied battle cry.
At Relentless our XTreme Championship campaign carries on! Because no matter what forces of corruption the XWF continues to lob at our destiny- WE WILL NEVER BE DEFEATED![/dolly]

But before she could savor the crowd’s response, a deafening crack split the night.
A single gunshot.

The bullet hits Misty square in the forehead, a perfect shot. Her body jerks, and collapses violently to the ground, blood spraying across the stage in a horrifying instant. The crowd erupts in chaos, screams and shouts filling the air as panic spreads like wildfire.


The scene falls black.



[Image: images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQwLjVdQkP5hcBddT0wQbc...XqVODDrA&s]



News Reporter: It’s been only hours now since the shocking assassination of the XWF XTreme Champion, Misty Waters. At approximately 9:22 PM, Misty Waters was shot at her rally in rural Kentucky, and was pronounced dead on arrival by authorities. The suspect at this time is still at large. Though still under investigation, local and state law enforcement have no new information at this time. But the co-chair of the Misty Waters XTreme Campaign has released a statement:

The broadcast cuts to a dimly lit podium room where a distraught Paulie stands, tears streaming down his face. His usual slick, calculating demeanor is now one of raw emotion and fury.

At this time the Misty Waters XTreme Campaign has been advised by our legal team to not cooperate with local and state authorities. The dangers of assisting the very people who might THEMSELVES be subject to investigation are too great. We will not be silenced! Our campaign has launched its own investigation, and through reputable sources such as Reddit and TikTok, we’ve uncovered the truth: this attack wasn’t random. It was orchestrated by Orunian rebels under the direct orders of the Orun monarchy! The mastermind behind this heinous assassination? None other than Isaiah Adeyemi, the so-called ‘Prince of Orun’! This was an attack not only on Misty Waters but on the entire free wrestling world! We will not rest until justice is served![

September 19th - 3 Days Later




It’s a somber day at Misty’s memorial, and the solemn strains of "Battle Hymn of the Republic" echo through the cathedral. The air is thick with grief, and outside, a mass of enraged fans gathers, mourning their fallen martyr Inside, the atmosphere feels like that of a fallen war hero, with patriotic banners and black-veiled mourners filling every pew.

As the hymn reaches its crescendo, a massive portrait of Misty-her face painted in a divine glow, hands raised as though in benediction- hangs over the altar. Paulie stands at the front of the cathedral, his head bowed in apparent grief, struggling to maintain his composure. His eyes, however, dart to the pulpit where Misty’s XTreme Championship is on display, glimmering in the candlelight.

Suddenly the cathedral plunges into darkness. Gasps echo throughout the room A low, rhythmic hum begins to vibrate through the air, as the sound of distant thunder rolls through the cathedral, shaking the very walls.

Then, a blinding flash of light- piercing and divine- erupts from the altar. The crowd freezes, their gasps turning into stunned silence as the light seems to take form. Emerging from the brilliance is the unmistakable figure of Misty Waters, her body illuminated with an ethereal glow, her face calm and serene, like a messiah risen from the dead.

My faithful… Her voice reverberates through the cathedral, commanding attention, the same familiar power now dripping with a divine resonance. ...Thine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of The Lord!

…hours later in Houston, an army of thousands of rioters have now encircled the NRG Arena for Relentless.

-to be continued-]]>
Truth?

- that the established facts of any situation are enough to tell the complete story. Revisiting timelines, then, should be a quest for deeper understanding, not a necessity to unravel the finer details the narrative holds. This belief rings truest for what you are about to witness, as the next chapter of a dark tale unfolds - a tale woven from mysticism, ambition, manipulation, and blood.

We could look back to the mysterious and supernatural birth in a Kentucky delivery room in 2002. We could reflect on the downfall of a decaying wrestling empire from the 1980s, its bourbon-soaked breath and blood-stained coffers driving its heir into a fascistic lust for power. We might even wonder about the child prodigy, a force of nature who, like the untamable tides, defied the hereditary pull toward domination. And yes, we could theorize endlessly about the blood rituals we've witnessed, the demons we've come to know, and the shadowy machinations of The SEERS; a modern-day coven of black alchemy.

But none of that is necessary to grasp the significance of what’s unfolding before us now. We are mere days away from Misty Waters -the spirit who has taken possession of her granddaughter Dolly’s body- taking another step closer to her goal of dominating the XWF.

The sun is sinking beneath the horizon, casting a haunting orange glow across a sprawling open field at the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. Before us stands a makeshift stage, flanked by towering American flags and banners heralding the XWF’s upcoming PPV event: Relentless XXV. The air is thick with tension, an electric charge of anticipation.

As the audience murmurs uneasily, Misty Waters emerges from behind the curtains, her entrance met by the unsettling reverb of a crowd that is no longer merely restless- it's on edge, simmering. The brashness that once defined her is gone, by a more insidious aura, something darker and more calculated. Her face, half-veiled by the setting sun, carries an intensity that draws her to the podium with a slow, deliberate purpose. The night -and her intentions- are only just beginning.

Before her is a crowd far larger than any she’s drawn before. What began as a following of fringe supporters and disillusioned fans has swelled into something far more dangerous, far more volatile than the handful of rioters who stormed the Ocean Center during XWF Anarchy. Now, hundreds of fans, curious onlookers, and die-hard followers have gathered, their faces illuminated by the glow of lit torches clutched in their hands. Some wear MAGA Powers hats, others sport "Stop the Steal" shirts, all of them waiting - eager - for the next incendiary words from the XWF Xtreme Champion.

… and why wouldn’t they be? After everything they’ve witnessed recently- the violence, the chaos, the defiance, and the seeds of deception sown by Misty, now twisted into undeniable fact- their devotion has only deepened. What once were suspicions of betrayal by the XWF have now become gospel, the flames of their loyalty stoked by the very doubts she’s expertly manipulated.

My fellow wrestling fans…

The crowd explodes in a raucous, unsettling display of applause and fervent adulation. For them, this simple phrase has become synonymous with Misty’s reign - an opening note to the symphony of dangerous rhetoric that always follows. The atmosphere crackles with intensity, the kind that sits just on the edge of boiling over.

Misty, with a subtle flick of her wrists, holds her hands out over the crowd, as if pulling on invisible puppet strings. Her presence alone commands them, and their cheers taper into a tense silence, eager for her next move.

I know who you are.

Yer’ the real Americans.

The ones who still care about wrestling.

About tradition.

About truth![/dolly]   

The wind picks up, as if on cue with Misty’s fist slamming into the podium, whipping through the oversized flags behind her and fanning the flames of the torches in the crowd. The flags snap and sway in perfect rhythm with the rising energy of the audience, as though the very elements themselves were bending to her will.

The FIRE! Misty roars, throwing her head back toward the night sky, her fists punching the air with primal force.

the waters…

Misty’s voice now a motif smothering boom, with the fury of a demagogue.

THE FIRE YOU HAVE SHOWN FEEDS THE FURNACES OF OUR ENGINES- she bellows, -IN OUR CAMPAIGN-, hoisting the XTreme Championship high above her head.The crowd roaring in response, their torches blazing brighter, serving as reflections of Misty’s growing intensity.-THAT DRIVES US TO TRUTH AND GREATNESS!

The crowd hangs on her every word, eyes wide with an insane mixture of reverent gaiety and anger. It’s no longer just a wrestling fan base - it’s a movement. One that Misty has manipulated, stoked, and twisted into a dangerous force. And now, with the flicker of the torches reflecting off her ski goggles, Misty Waters knows that this is her moment, her chance to channel their rage into something far more devastating.

Behind the curtains, Paulie watches, gleaming of dark amusement that etches across his face. The longtime confidant and co-collaborator of Misty’s reign of terror, Paulie as we know, is no mere bystander. With deep ties woven into the historical fabric of the XWF, he is a glib and cunning businessman, a puppet master with a knack for exploiting the sport’s most vulnerable moments. His career, marked by unbridled success at every level- from managing champions to orchestrating some of the highest-grossing XWF events -has been but a prelude to this very night.

This is the moment Paulie and his old friend Misty have long envisioned, ever since they began plotting decades ago, using Misty’s granddaughter Dolly as the key to their master plan. A moment to seize control of the wrestling industry's crown jewel, the XWF, and drag it back to the corrupt glory days of confederated wrestling territories- when power was concentrated, brutal, and unchecked. His smile widens as he watches Misty, now the central figure of their vision, poised to cement her grip on the industry through the fire of this insatiable movement. But what makes this moment so stunning to Paulie is that, just hours ago, his faith in their grand scheme had never been shakier.

I believe it’s time we discuss…

Paulie said, breaking the uneasy silence in the private quarters of Misty’s XTreme Campaign tour bus.
They had barely spoken during the two hour-long ride from Louisville. Misty had been uncharacteristically quiet, her focus sharp, her demeanor stoic. Madison Dyson was attending to other matters which kept the two alone with their thoughts. But Paulie’s words broke through the stillness, lifting Misty’s head to meet his gaze just as he continued,

...a contingency plan. he said, his voice low and measured, arms folded tightly across his chest. His fat neck pressed into his shoulders as he broke eye contact with Misty, letting his gaze drift toward the XWF Championship belt resting on the seat next to her. There was a moment of hesitation in his voice, a hint of vulnerability that was rare for the usually sharp-tongued Paulie. His eyes lingered on the title, the symbol of everything they had fought for.

Misty leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studied him- his posture, his tone, the concern lacing his words. She could sense a shift, a deeper fear that ran beneath the surface. With a cold, almost curious edge in her voice, she asked, …why?

Paulie suppressed a small, astounded chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. You’re serious? he asked, his tone incredulous. Misty’s eyebrow arched slightly as she listened, her gaze unwavering.

After everything they’ve thrown at you? he continued, his voice rising with a sense of urgency. The intentional obfuscation of your XTreme defense record? The chaos they unleashed on you at Anarchy?

-His voice caught with barely restrained anger as he ironically referred to the night Misty and Madison incited a deadly riot at the Ocean Center, resulting in the deaths of several innocent fans-

And now this? Double-booked at Relentless on top of the unprecedented circumstances you’ve already faced? Back-to-back death matches, essentially? Those bastards on the booking committee…" his voice hardened, nearly a growl. They’re trying to kill you.

In their warped reality, Paulie wasn’t wrong. For the first time in history, the XWF XTreme Champion was scheduled to defend their title on consecutive nights at Relentless. A simple fact that magnified the stakes and made these moments more perilous than ever before. It wasn’t just about retaining the championship- it was about survival.

What else is new?

For Misty, survival had become a banal reality, a challenge she had faced too many times to count. She leaned back, a smirk curling on her lips.

How many times have they tried to kill me, Paulie? Be it my idiot son, my thankless worm of granddaughter, or those trembling fools running the XWF?
And look where we are

She stood tall, confidently outlining her hands over her body, her voice thick with a mocking sense of triumph.

Who won that battle over Dolly? he sneered, referring to the vessel she so ruthlessly commandeered,

Who the hell even knows what’s happened to that drunk, R.L. Edgar… she added with a bitter chuckle, referencing the bastard son she had waged war against. With a slow, deliberate motion, she reached down and lifted the XTreme Championship.

...and who has the XWF right in the palm of their hand? Her voice dripped with self-satisfaction. Blessings in disguise are what the idiots call it. All we do is take care of that spoiled little prince, Isaiah King, and that pampered princess Sahara, and we’ll be on a direct path to the Universal Championship.

Her tone grew more forceful, her words laced with a fiery tenacity.

Look where we are, Paulie![/dolly] she repeats, her voice rising, Look where we are!

Paulie’s eyes lit up, drawn in by Misty’s infectious confidence. Despite his earlier reservations, forget the backstory, he couldn’t deny the undeniable truth: Misty delivered. When he really took in their surroundings, he saw it clearly- the bus had arrived at the site of Misty’s Appalachian rally, hours before her scheduled address. But unlike the last rally, with its tiny handful of insurrectionists, this crowd was massive. They were there early, waiting, buzzing with anticipation, welcoming the tour bus like war heroes returning from battle.

Misty gazed at the scene with satisfaction.

We don’t need any contingency plan, my friend. She slides over and places a hand on Paulie’s shoulder with a commanding and calm touch, Because I’ve always been the contingency plan.

A slow, malicious grin spread across Paulie’s face, The doubt that had weighed on him moments before evaporated like water under her flame in the face of Misty’s unwavering conviction.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you on that stage later.

Her words serving as a finality, she guides the grinning Paulie out of her private quarters.
Hours later, that same grin still lingers on Paulie’s face as he stands in the shadows, watching Misty deliver this thunderous address to the fervent crowd that had gathered like moths to her flame. They’re hanging on her every word, their devotion palpable. Paulie couldn’t help but revel in the chaos they had crafted together.

Look how far we’ve come!

Misty’s voice booms through the microphone, cutting through the night air as she once again commands her sycophants. The torches flickering in time with her words, and the crowd responding with primal roars.

This is no mere rally, and this is no mere campaign.

We have run the greatest XTreme Campaign in history.

In 54 days, we’ve done what no other XTreme Champion has ever accomplished.

To be on the precipice of the 24/7 Case, already completing half of the required defenses

-and with your help, you TRUE wrestling fans who stood tall at the Ocean Center at Anarchy-

we even survived that disgusting ambush, that disgusting heist the XWF tried to commit. A heist of your dreams to see professional wrestling saved, to see our country saved!

They’re challenging what is rightfully ours. But we are an unshakable force, driven by the destiny of our one true Lord! Let the XWF employ yet another plot in a continuing series of plots, to terminate our campaign. We’re ready for this fight! What appears to be an arbitrary booking of the XTreme Championship on two nights of Relentless isn’t so arbitrary, folks- -

IT’S UNPRECEDENTED.

Forcing your XTreme Champion to defend one night in Houston against a corrupt, tyrannical monarch, Prince… she presses her lips together condescendingly mispronouncing the name ...Padyami- I don’t even like saying his name. It’s so stupid, folks drawing a bloodthirsty ire from the audience

and then forcing me to travel sixteen hours to that godless shithole of a country, South Korea, to defend against the former Sahara Duke.

They want us to lose so badly. They want YOU to lose. BUT I WILL NEVER SURRENDER THIS FIGHT!

Because what the corrupt XWF establishment fails to realize is we’re already a step ahead of them, we’re having their cake and eating it for them too. When the night of September 21st culminates and we’ve defied their odds again, we’ll have 6 of the required 7 defenses of the XTreme Championship.
6 defenses in under 60 days. It’s unheard of. And it all starts in Houston, against the sad little Prince who was promised.

A massive projector screen behind Misty’s stage illuminates with a particular image. It’s Isaiah King standing alongside rebels from his home country in Orun.

The XWF thought it would be fitting to place the hopes of ending our campaign on the shoulders of corruption, something they’re comfortable with.

The Prince of Orun, and his merry band of assassin Rebels.

Can you believe this? A man negotiating with terrorists. People who are capable of doing anything. They’re from a dangerous and impoverished African monarchy. The shithole Orun, who is embroiled in geopolitical scandals all over the world. Murdering dignitaries, influencing elections.

The XWF wants to bring that here! That’s what they want to corrupt your children with. Violent images to turn them into country hating anarchists.

But the Prince of Orun will try to show himself in an anti-establishment light, presenting himself as the man who’s been wronged by the corrupt globalists in the XWF- when he in fact is the corruption!
What will you dare tell us Prince? You’re torn by expectations of your father, the Crown of Orun’s heartless legacy? The man who’s done nothing but boast about his heir status since the day he arrived in the XWF is terrified to take the crown for fear of your own failures? Yet obsessed with nothing but mirroring the image of the horrific failures of Orun’s monarchy in his relentless failure to topple Ned Kaye in the XWF.

Isn’t that when the struggling Adeyemi crown found itself back in your namesake, Isaiah? When you’d proven yer’self a loser against Ned Kaye, once and fer’ all? Leave it to a failed King to produce a failing Prince- trying to spread the seeds of the poisonous apple that didn’t fall far from the tree, and infect our precious American landscape.

And the XWF is cosigning this… the Prince of Orun is no true rebel. We’re the rebels! And we’re fighting back against a corrupt establishment who are selling the XWF down the drain! The Prince of Orun has cozied up and been protected by the deep-statist Mark Flynn, a man right at the heart of the conspiracy to end our campaign, and the establishment's poster child Ned Kaye. Sheltered from defending the tag championship gold because he’s busy coddling the concerns of terrorist organizations in Orun, and busy whining over how he can’t beat Ned Kaye. It’s all a big fraud. A big hoax. A means to constantly negotiate your wrestling failures for geopolitical advantage. You, and your ties to the corruption in the XWF are exactly what's destroying professional wrestling.

Ironic for the man who mocked his greatest rival’s journey as flames to embers, when it’s you, Isaiah Adeyemi, who is becoming a puppet of the Orun Crown. Where’s your fire? Do you even remember how it feels anymore? Does this jog any memories?!


Misty thrusts her arms out over the crowd roars louder still, thrusting their torches into the sky,

In REAL America we don’t bow down to failed kings and conspirators of the deep state.
Petulant, spoiled little princes who stay hidden behind the veil of a trio tag championship. He’s not even being made to defend the championship he boasts, the championship he’s driven into mediocrity with the help of his “greatest rival”. And yet it’s somehow expected that he’s the one to end our Xtreme Championship campaign? He’s the one who even somehow deserves a shot? This reeks of nothing more XWF collusion, and Orunian interference in our campaign!

The violent roars of the crowd grow stronger,

He’s got nothing on me, folks. A man who can’t even bothered to defend his championship, thinks he can carry the TRUE weight of an XTreme Campaign?

60 days. 6 defenses?

Prince hasn’t even had 6 matches this year, because he’s protected by the same men he will claim to loathe.

The very Crucible for which he owes everything. It’s all an elaborate hoax. This is a man who some years ago even lost to my pathetic granddaughter. Can you imagine? A man who couldn’t just clean sweep a weak communist like Dolly Waters?

Back then he claimed that Dolly could do nothing on her own, and he was right, and he claimed that’s why she was weak, and he was right- and yet that weakness made him scream and bleed and submit in the center of the ring.

And it is he himself, who’s done nothing but surround himself with help ever since. Be it the corrupt terrorists on Orun, his failing king father, or The Crucible and their ties to the XWF deep state. Help and protection is all he’s received, and yet It was against his own helpers that he lost the one thing he claimed he needed so much. The Universal Championship.

He’ll never get it by ending our campaign, I can promise you that! The Prince of Orun… A man with such a fragile ego, who would have the audacity to strike like a coward against the very men he owes his entire reputation to, would crash and burn under the weight of our XTreme reign! Flames to embers once again from the prince who was promised.

The promised prince no one ever asked for.

He doesn’t have the fortitude to withstand TRUE struggle. See it in his shithole country. See it in his incessant failures against the very men who’ve built him.
SEE IT IN HIS EYES!

She points back to the photo displayed behind her that’s since been pelted and torn by trash and debris,

I called out the XWF weeks ago, for not booking you against me, Isaiah, because yer’ exactly the type of infestation that needs to be eradicated from the XWF for good. The elitist swine who claims himself the rebel. The man who could have been defending the prestige and honor of the championships he already holds on this show, THE MOST IMPORTANT WRESTLING SHOW OF THE YEAR, but who has already conceded his failure as tag champion. So he’s being booked to try and steal MINE!
Misty’s voice surged with venom, her words electrifying the crowd. Her eyes scanned the faces, all of them enraptured by every syllable.

You deserve this championship as much as you deserve yer’ fathers crumbling kingdom, as much as you deserve your crumbling tag championships, and yer’ rotting moral compass that never existed in the first place. The heir who declared his claim from day one, only to cower beneath the weight of the gold around his waist, and the throne of his own blood!

The audience roaring, torches blazing high in the night. Misty’s words turning into a frenzied battle cry.
At Relentless our XTreme Championship campaign carries on! Because no matter what forces of corruption the XWF continues to lob at our destiny- WE WILL NEVER BE DEFEATED![/dolly]

But before she could savor the crowd’s response, a deafening crack split the night.
A single gunshot.

The bullet hits Misty square in the forehead, a perfect shot. Her body jerks, and collapses violently to the ground, blood spraying across the stage in a horrifying instant. The crowd erupts in chaos, screams and shouts filling the air as panic spreads like wildfire.


The scene falls black.



[Image: images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQwLjVdQkP5hcBddT0wQbc...XqVODDrA&s]



News Reporter: It’s been only hours now since the shocking assassination of the XWF XTreme Champion, Misty Waters. At approximately 9:22 PM, Misty Waters was shot at her rally in rural Kentucky, and was pronounced dead on arrival by authorities. The suspect at this time is still at large. Though still under investigation, local and state law enforcement have no new information at this time. But the co-chair of the Misty Waters XTreme Campaign has released a statement:

The broadcast cuts to a dimly lit podium room where a distraught Paulie stands, tears streaming down his face. His usual slick, calculating demeanor is now one of raw emotion and fury.

At this time the Misty Waters XTreme Campaign has been advised by our legal team to not cooperate with local and state authorities. The dangers of assisting the very people who might THEMSELVES be subject to investigation are too great. We will not be silenced! Our campaign has launched its own investigation, and through reputable sources such as Reddit and TikTok, we’ve uncovered the truth: this attack wasn’t random. It was orchestrated by Orunian rebels under the direct orders of the Orun monarchy! The mastermind behind this heinous assassination? None other than Isaiah Adeyemi, the so-called ‘Prince of Orun’! This was an attack not only on Misty Waters but on the entire free wrestling world! We will not rest until justice is served![

September 19th - 3 Days Later




It’s a somber day at Misty’s memorial, and the solemn strains of "Battle Hymn of the Republic" echo through the cathedral. The air is thick with grief, and outside, a mass of enraged fans gathers, mourning their fallen martyr Inside, the atmosphere feels like that of a fallen war hero, with patriotic banners and black-veiled mourners filling every pew.

As the hymn reaches its crescendo, a massive portrait of Misty-her face painted in a divine glow, hands raised as though in benediction- hangs over the altar. Paulie stands at the front of the cathedral, his head bowed in apparent grief, struggling to maintain his composure. His eyes, however, dart to the pulpit where Misty’s XTreme Championship is on display, glimmering in the candlelight.

Suddenly the cathedral plunges into darkness. Gasps echo throughout the room A low, rhythmic hum begins to vibrate through the air, as the sound of distant thunder rolls through the cathedral, shaking the very walls.

Then, a blinding flash of light- piercing and divine- erupts from the altar. The crowd freezes, their gasps turning into stunned silence as the light seems to take form. Emerging from the brilliance is the unmistakable figure of Misty Waters, her body illuminated with an ethereal glow, her face calm and serene, like a messiah risen from the dead.

My faithful… Her voice reverberates through the cathedral, commanding attention, the same familiar power now dripping with a divine resonance. ...Thine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of The Lord!

…hours later in Houston, an army of thousands of rioters have now encircled the NRG Arena for Relentless.

-to be continued-]]> <![CDATA[Embers of (Kin)gship: Bloodied Waters]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47986 Thu, 19 Sep 2024 23:45:36 -0700 Isaiah King]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47986 Bloodied Waters - The Heir has come for his gold.
]]> Bloodied Waters - The Heir has come for his gold.
]]> <![CDATA[Rainier Fog]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47985 Thu, 19 Sep 2024 23:41:07 -0700 Barney Green]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47985 https://barneygreenxwf.angelfire.com/XWF11.html]]> https://barneygreenxwf.angelfire.com/XWF11.html]]> <![CDATA[Hearts on Fire]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47975 Thu, 19 Sep 2024 15:30:05 -0700 Dionysus]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47975
I nearly ran headlong into my apartment building elevator.

I had just received my copy of the TV title contract back from corporate and just needed to file it away. But I needed to make sure that the stipulation was still there and not just for the show.

Of course, my renewed contract was also included, something we were going to discuss more in length after Relentless. Sitting in with Theo wasn't going to be bad, but it would be the first time I'd be across the table from Thad. I wonder how he'll be when we negotiate terms.

...But what if they don't want to agree to what I'm looking for?

As the doors opened to my floor, I shook the thought from my mind. I saw one of my neighbors staring down the hallway. Trouble, I thought; there wasn't much other reason to be hanging around in the halls. "Who is it this time?" I asked.

The elderly neighbor turned to look at me. He was nice enough; stout with a bushy mustache, balding on top, semi-retired architect if I remember the apartment mixer correctly. Couldn't remember his name, though. He just shrugged at me, saying, "No idea; some kinda domestic whatever going on in your neck of the hallway." He glanced an eyebrow at me. "You're not...keepin' anyone secret from me, are ya?"

"No, I-"

And I froze.

Elli was still staying at my apartment.

Jacob would've known by now that she was staying there.

"Sorry, I gotta go," I quickly said. I think he said something in reply, but I didn't hear him.

The shouting got louder as I rounded the corner.

My apartment door was wide open.

I heard a loud argument between the two.

"...come home, and we can-"

"No, I'm not-"

"You're being-"

"Just leave me-"

"You're in his-"

They were talking over each other so much they couldn't even finish their thoughts.

Against my better judgment, I walked right into the apartment. Elli stood on one side of the apartment, dressed in lounge pants and a tank top, looking like she was relaxing after a long day. On the other was Jacob, red in the face, breathing heavy, having loosened his tie and discarded his suit coat somewhere in the apartment. Neither seemed to have noticed me walk in.

I coughed loudly to get their attention. "She's in my what, Jacob?" I asked calmly.

Elli looked over at me, smiling in relief.

Jacob spun around, souring his expression. "She's been staying here with you for weeks now...and you didn't think to tell me?!" he accused.

"Well it didn't seem like my place," I replied nonchalantly, setting my documents on the counter. "For one, Elli needed a place to stay and I needed an apartment-sitter. I've told you my work; you know I'm always traveling. And my mother left me these plants, you see, and I needed someone to be here to take care of them. She would be ever so cross if she found out I didn't take care of her darling plants."

Elli held in a laugh; thankfully Jacob was too focused on me for him to have noticed anything. "Oooh, I get it; you're trying to be a smart guy, huh?"

I just sighed; his insecurity really was starting to get annoying. "Well Jacob, between the two of us, someone has to take that role on. If that isn't going to be your irrational ass, I guess it falls to me, doesn't it?"

Jacob stepped up to me, clenching both fists. "You're really trying my patience with this 'friendship' you've got with her, you know that?" He gestured wildly toward Elli. "Don't think I don't know what you two have been up to here!"

There was a split second where I also almost let out a laugh based on the size difference; me, a six-foot-five wrestler, and him, barely six feet with his shoes on and a fan of crossfit. Then I remembered that I had been bested by people much smaller and let it go right away.

I just shook my head. "I'm not going to convince you out of what you think happened here. You already have it in your head that we did something wrong."

"SO YOU ADMIT IT!" he shouted.

"I'm not admitting to anything," I calmly replied. "Even if I did, would you hear it?"

He remained tense for a few seconds, then relaxed somewhat. "Well...no, but-"

I held up a hand. "Ambushing me like that on the way to the station is one thing, Jacob. Coming into my home, accosting my guest and my friend to boot? That's a whole new level of low." I placed an assured hand on his shoulder, saying, "Listen, man. I get it. Your partner has a male friend and you feel like your position as her partner is being threatened. Its an old story, and it usually winds up being the same; you drive away your partner, she ends up with the rival anyhow, and you end up alone for all your fighting."

He shrugged the hand off of me on that line. "Look, your insecurities aren't helping anyone here. If you truly think that she did something wrong and its irreversible, then maybe you need to consider if this is a relationship worth keep-"

"FUCK! YOU!"

SMACK

I'm pretty sure that was the hardest punch he could possibly throw at me.

It hurt. Not as bad as I've had before, but a real punch feels very different from a staged one. I could feel my eye swelling up. I closed it, wincing in pain, but refused to cover it with anything. I heard Elli let out a gasp when it happened.

I gave up being nice with this guy at that moment.

Elli shouted, "Goddammit, you asshole! You never listen to me or what I need! Just get out of here! Look at what you did to-"

Jacob started shaking, now realizing what he had done. "H-h-hey man, I-"

I turned my head back to face him, imposing my size over him. "See..." I started, breathing heavy and talking through the pain, "I'm gonna forgive you for that one. You felt...you felt it was needed, and I'm not going to take that from you." I slowly pointed at Elli, who was now sitting down crying. "But when you think back to tonight, think about how she looks now. How she has been miserable because of your mistrust." He slowly walked back toward the entry way. I followed after, still looming. "You get the one punch. You get that one kindness from me tonight. But if I catch you hanging around this apartment building...hell, if I even hear you've been bothering Elli at all..."

The ratfink didn't even let me finish my vague threat. He scurried out of there, not wanting to know what I could do, slamming my door in the process.

I sighed, relaxed, and walked back into the kitchen, looking at Elli. I can't imagine what she had gone through if what drove her over was watching me get slugged.
So.

Our paths cross once again, Jason.

The Apollo Creed to my Rocky Balboa.

...You know, without the obvious ramifications of that comparison.

On one side of the ring, we have the reigning champion; a man who has gone five months, defending that prize night after night, and not losing any steam for even a moment. You have to go back three years to find a comparable reign.

On the other, the man who hopes to topple the champion and reclaim what was once mine. A name that, in most recent weeks, has become synonymous with "close, but no cigar."

That's been our tale, Jason. Close. But no cigar.

I'll be frank; there isn't any hatred or animosity between us. Hell, I don't even think there's any kind of rivalry, friendly or otherwise. We ride on mutual respect, despite me coming up short every time we've been on a collision course.

First in Athens.

Then later for a shot at a championship briefcase in Action Wrestling...or Discovery Pro, as it goes by now.

It makes people wonder, "well what chance does Dionysus have against Cashe this time? What makes it different now?"

And to them, I'm gonna say this:

Shut the fuck up.

...

Not quite the response you'd expect, huh?

The truth is, it really doesn't matter what the result was the first, second, sixteenth or any time in the past what has happened. You could have left me unconscious each and every time in the past and it changes nothing about the now.

What does matter, however, is what I did those past matches. And it was the same as I do in every other match.

I push people either to their limits...or force them beyond it.

You did win those two matches, Cashe.

But you know as well as I do you had to work for it.
"You sure this doesn't hurt?" Elli asked as she placed the steak over my eye.

"Nah," I replied, "Just to my wallet." That was going to be my dinner.

There was a bottle of wine on the coffee table, opened with two glasses poured, and I sat on the couch holding a steak to my eye. Not the most ideal way of dealing with the swelling, but I didn't have any ice packs around the apartment. The little shit also managed to bust open my lip; I didn't even know how that happened until I realized he dragged his fist down my face after punching me.

Elli sat down next to me, looking away sheepishly. "I'm sorry, I know I should've-"

"Said something sooner?" I replied. I slowly nodded. "Yeah...you probably should have." I gingerly pulled the steak away and flipped it to the cooler side. "But it was none of my business. You needed a place to stay, and you were a friend in need."

"No, I mean..." Elli rubbed her arm. "I...I really thought I was stronger than that. I should've done something sooner about Jacob."

"Did he hurt you at all?"

My question was cold and calculating, but I didn't feel like being kind to that man anymore.

There wasn't a response. The silence and tears that followed told me everything I needed to know.

"I'm sorry that that happened to you." What else could I say in that moment?

All the same, she took hold of my arm, squeezing it in comfort. "Thanks, but...is it okay if we don't talk about it anymore? I'm not...really ready to right now."

I nodded. "Alright...when you're ready, you know I'm here to listen."

I stood up after that; I could feel the swelling go down enough that I didn't need the steak anymore. I went back to the kitchen and wrapped it back up, sticking it back in the freezer while looking over some mail. "Nothing changes, by the way. You can stay here as long as you like. If you want to find a new place that's up to you too; I'm not gonna try to keep you here-" I stopped talking, seeing her just looking back at me. "...What?" I asked.

"D...Why are you like this?"

"Well that's a bit of an odd question," I replied.

She stood up from the couch, wiping the tears from her eyes. I thought I caught a laugh, but maybe it was just a cough. "No, I mean...I know what we said about each other before and...well...I guess I am technically-"

"Elli..." I interrupted.

"What?"

I walked over to her, her stance awkward, unsure of whether she needed to relax or to stand completely still. I put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, reminding myself that this will go better than the last time this happened. "I remember what I said back then too. And its still true now." I smiled warmly yet sadly at her. "But I don't think-"

She didn't let me finish that sentence as she pulled me in for a kiss.

I felt shock.

Then happiness.

Then...pain?

Lots of pain.

"Ow!" I yelped, pulling back quick.

I saw red on Elli's lips.

I touched my own puffy lip. Apparently I was hurt worse than I thought. She had pulled me in too hard and ended up breaking open my lip on that one.

"Oh no! I'm sorry, I-"

It was such a bizarre moment, I just started laughing.

Elli looked panicked and confused, but also started laughing. I walked into the kitchen to grab hand towels for the two of us, wetting one down for myself to clean away as much blood as I could. I gave the other to Elli to clean herself up as well. "You're fine, Elli," I finally said, dabbing at my cut open lip. "At the very least, that one is going to be...well...memorable?"

"Yeah," she chuckled, wiping her lips and face, "I guess so."

As I became lost in thought, I remembered how those kinds of relationships end with people like me. She was putting on a brave face, but I know what Jacob had done to her. I didn't want to hurt her again, but I also wanted her to understand where I was coming from. "Listen, I...I think we should talk about that, at the very least."

Elli set the towel aside, nodding and saying "Yeah...you're right." She looked me dead in the eye as she continued, "I really didn't know what I was thinking. I just felt...I needed to repay you somehow for all the kindness you've shown me, y'know? And I thought...well, I guess this might be a way..."

"And I appreciate it, Elli," I sincerely responded, "But we talked about this too. I'm not sure if I could balance having you in my life and having my work at the same time."

"Is that what your head is telling you?" She asked.

"Well, yeah," I replied, "But-"

"But is that what you really want?"

"I...well, I-"

"Don't tell me yet," she ordered. "Really think about it. What do you want, Dionysus Berget?"

...

What do I want?

...

I...I guess I hadn't thought of that, huh?

And to have that kind of quick, deep thought in the middle of the night, while standing in a too-humid-for-its-own-good apartment, sharing the room with a woman who is in a very vulnerable position.

She was looking at me expectantly for an answer.

...And for the first time in a long time, I shut my mind off.

"I never really thought about what I wanted," I began. "I just let others dictate what I should do. I got into this business to find my father. I stayed to help my mother. Now both are fine, and what I have left is...nothing. So I want to find a purpose again. Whatever that might be." I took her hand in mine, and said, "And no matter what that looks like, I know I want you to be there with me."

She smiled warmly. "Dio...I-"

"Hey, don't get too chummy yet," I said. "I still want to wait to figure things out. This was a difficult night for both of us, and I want to know we're doing this for the right reasons." I reached into my back pocket and pulled out two plane tickets.

"So lets figure it out in Houston."
Someone really important to me asked me a very pointed question not that long ago.

"What do you want?"

And I kept thinking about this question as I flew here to Houston.

Because my entire career hasn't been about me.

I got into this business to try and find my father. And sure enough, I did that at the Trials.

I got into this business to help pay for my mother's medical needs. And sure enough, I did that when I a world champion in my rookie year.

But that was it.

Those two things were what kept me going.

So why? Why am I still in this business?

What is it that I really want?

At first I thought it was a long-lasting legacy, with multiple world titles around my waist and pissing away in the Twitter feeds talking about how great I am.

But I kept thinking about the opportunities I did have, where I did succeed...especially with the Television championship. And it made me realize something very important.

I value that title just as highly as any world title.

Now, when I issued that challenge on Warfare, what I said then wasn't wrong. The Television Champion, Jason Cashe, only getting fifteen minutes at Relentless? The biggest event XWF holds? And on Night One as well? If we are going to steal the entire event, we have to set the bar high. Hence, the 30-minute match.

Second, just having one pinfall decide the Television Title match...that didn't scream "entertaining" to me. Besides, why have a three-peat of the same match outcome? If you're gonna wind up the victor anyhow, you may as well work for it. Hence, the iron-man match.

And lastly, and the most important reason, relates to how the Television Title is important to me.

Jason, you have been the longest reigning champion under its current ruleset; 15-minute time limit matches, where if time expires, you still retain.

A quick and easy "get out of jail free" card.

I'm not a fan of that, personally.

And being the dutiful performer you are, you approached your reign with the same attitude; go in, do the job, retain, fight another day. A nice way to make a paycheck. A dutiful Apollo ready to take on the plucky Rocky when the time came.

But you see, I've heard some comments from fans of Warfare that didn't like the change to the original title format. They liked it when I put stipulations to a fan vote; what type of match, how long a rope, what kind of wine to put in a vat.

Yes, that was a real stipulation I had fans vote on.

The vote itself didn't matter. The connection did.

I made sure that my reign was synonymous with what the viewing audience wanted to see. That win or lose, they got the best match out of that title, no matter how wacky. It didn't just give people a reason to watch that title match.

It gave people a reason to believe in me as a champion.

That I would always be there to give them that vote. That I would give them hope that, while I held that belt, they got to choose. If I win, they win too.

And when I thought long and hard about it, I realized that maybe a legacy doesn't have to revolve around world titles. It can just as easily revolve around how you change the game.

Rocky would go the full fifteen rounds to find a way to win, in the matches that mattered most, because he had everyone behind him in the end.

That's my revelation.

That's the legacy I want to have.

I'm ready to go the distance and take back my legacy.

You better not throw in the towel at the end, because I sure as hell won't.

Ding.

Ding.]]>
I nearly ran headlong into my apartment building elevator.

I had just received my copy of the TV title contract back from corporate and just needed to file it away. But I needed to make sure that the stipulation was still there and not just for the show.

Of course, my renewed contract was also included, something we were going to discuss more in length after Relentless. Sitting in with Theo wasn't going to be bad, but it would be the first time I'd be across the table from Thad. I wonder how he'll be when we negotiate terms.

...But what if they don't want to agree to what I'm looking for?

As the doors opened to my floor, I shook the thought from my mind. I saw one of my neighbors staring down the hallway. Trouble, I thought; there wasn't much other reason to be hanging around in the halls. "Who is it this time?" I asked.

The elderly neighbor turned to look at me. He was nice enough; stout with a bushy mustache, balding on top, semi-retired architect if I remember the apartment mixer correctly. Couldn't remember his name, though. He just shrugged at me, saying, "No idea; some kinda domestic whatever going on in your neck of the hallway." He glanced an eyebrow at me. "You're not...keepin' anyone secret from me, are ya?"

"No, I-"

And I froze.

Elli was still staying at my apartment.

Jacob would've known by now that she was staying there.

"Sorry, I gotta go," I quickly said. I think he said something in reply, but I didn't hear him.

The shouting got louder as I rounded the corner.

My apartment door was wide open.

I heard a loud argument between the two.

"...come home, and we can-"

"No, I'm not-"

"You're being-"

"Just leave me-"

"You're in his-"

They were talking over each other so much they couldn't even finish their thoughts.

Against my better judgment, I walked right into the apartment. Elli stood on one side of the apartment, dressed in lounge pants and a tank top, looking like she was relaxing after a long day. On the other was Jacob, red in the face, breathing heavy, having loosened his tie and discarded his suit coat somewhere in the apartment. Neither seemed to have noticed me walk in.

I coughed loudly to get their attention. "She's in my what, Jacob?" I asked calmly.

Elli looked over at me, smiling in relief.

Jacob spun around, souring his expression. "She's been staying here with you for weeks now...and you didn't think to tell me?!" he accused.

"Well it didn't seem like my place," I replied nonchalantly, setting my documents on the counter. "For one, Elli needed a place to stay and I needed an apartment-sitter. I've told you my work; you know I'm always traveling. And my mother left me these plants, you see, and I needed someone to be here to take care of them. She would be ever so cross if she found out I didn't take care of her darling plants."

Elli held in a laugh; thankfully Jacob was too focused on me for him to have noticed anything. "Oooh, I get it; you're trying to be a smart guy, huh?"

I just sighed; his insecurity really was starting to get annoying. "Well Jacob, between the two of us, someone has to take that role on. If that isn't going to be your irrational ass, I guess it falls to me, doesn't it?"

Jacob stepped up to me, clenching both fists. "You're really trying my patience with this 'friendship' you've got with her, you know that?" He gestured wildly toward Elli. "Don't think I don't know what you two have been up to here!"

There was a split second where I also almost let out a laugh based on the size difference; me, a six-foot-five wrestler, and him, barely six feet with his shoes on and a fan of crossfit. Then I remembered that I had been bested by people much smaller and let it go right away.

I just shook my head. "I'm not going to convince you out of what you think happened here. You already have it in your head that we did something wrong."

"SO YOU ADMIT IT!" he shouted.

"I'm not admitting to anything," I calmly replied. "Even if I did, would you hear it?"

He remained tense for a few seconds, then relaxed somewhat. "Well...no, but-"

I held up a hand. "Ambushing me like that on the way to the station is one thing, Jacob. Coming into my home, accosting my guest and my friend to boot? That's a whole new level of low." I placed an assured hand on his shoulder, saying, "Listen, man. I get it. Your partner has a male friend and you feel like your position as her partner is being threatened. Its an old story, and it usually winds up being the same; you drive away your partner, she ends up with the rival anyhow, and you end up alone for all your fighting."

He shrugged the hand off of me on that line. "Look, your insecurities aren't helping anyone here. If you truly think that she did something wrong and its irreversible, then maybe you need to consider if this is a relationship worth keep-"

"FUCK! YOU!"

SMACK

I'm pretty sure that was the hardest punch he could possibly throw at me.

It hurt. Not as bad as I've had before, but a real punch feels very different from a staged one. I could feel my eye swelling up. I closed it, wincing in pain, but refused to cover it with anything. I heard Elli let out a gasp when it happened.

I gave up being nice with this guy at that moment.

Elli shouted, "Goddammit, you asshole! You never listen to me or what I need! Just get out of here! Look at what you did to-"

Jacob started shaking, now realizing what he had done. "H-h-hey man, I-"

I turned my head back to face him, imposing my size over him. "See..." I started, breathing heavy and talking through the pain, "I'm gonna forgive you for that one. You felt...you felt it was needed, and I'm not going to take that from you." I slowly pointed at Elli, who was now sitting down crying. "But when you think back to tonight, think about how she looks now. How she has been miserable because of your mistrust." He slowly walked back toward the entry way. I followed after, still looming. "You get the one punch. You get that one kindness from me tonight. But if I catch you hanging around this apartment building...hell, if I even hear you've been bothering Elli at all..."

The ratfink didn't even let me finish my vague threat. He scurried out of there, not wanting to know what I could do, slamming my door in the process.

I sighed, relaxed, and walked back into the kitchen, looking at Elli. I can't imagine what she had gone through if what drove her over was watching me get slugged.
So.

Our paths cross once again, Jason.

The Apollo Creed to my Rocky Balboa.

...You know, without the obvious ramifications of that comparison.

On one side of the ring, we have the reigning champion; a man who has gone five months, defending that prize night after night, and not losing any steam for even a moment. You have to go back three years to find a comparable reign.

On the other, the man who hopes to topple the champion and reclaim what was once mine. A name that, in most recent weeks, has become synonymous with "close, but no cigar."

That's been our tale, Jason. Close. But no cigar.

I'll be frank; there isn't any hatred or animosity between us. Hell, I don't even think there's any kind of rivalry, friendly or otherwise. We ride on mutual respect, despite me coming up short every time we've been on a collision course.

First in Athens.

Then later for a shot at a championship briefcase in Action Wrestling...or Discovery Pro, as it goes by now.

It makes people wonder, "well what chance does Dionysus have against Cashe this time? What makes it different now?"

And to them, I'm gonna say this:

Shut the fuck up.

...

Not quite the response you'd expect, huh?

The truth is, it really doesn't matter what the result was the first, second, sixteenth or any time in the past what has happened. You could have left me unconscious each and every time in the past and it changes nothing about the now.

What does matter, however, is what I did those past matches. And it was the same as I do in every other match.

I push people either to their limits...or force them beyond it.

You did win those two matches, Cashe.

But you know as well as I do you had to work for it.
"You sure this doesn't hurt?" Elli asked as she placed the steak over my eye.

"Nah," I replied, "Just to my wallet." That was going to be my dinner.

There was a bottle of wine on the coffee table, opened with two glasses poured, and I sat on the couch holding a steak to my eye. Not the most ideal way of dealing with the swelling, but I didn't have any ice packs around the apartment. The little shit also managed to bust open my lip; I didn't even know how that happened until I realized he dragged his fist down my face after punching me.

Elli sat down next to me, looking away sheepishly. "I'm sorry, I know I should've-"

"Said something sooner?" I replied. I slowly nodded. "Yeah...you probably should have." I gingerly pulled the steak away and flipped it to the cooler side. "But it was none of my business. You needed a place to stay, and you were a friend in need."

"No, I mean..." Elli rubbed her arm. "I...I really thought I was stronger than that. I should've done something sooner about Jacob."

"Did he hurt you at all?"

My question was cold and calculating, but I didn't feel like being kind to that man anymore.

There wasn't a response. The silence and tears that followed told me everything I needed to know.

"I'm sorry that that happened to you." What else could I say in that moment?

All the same, she took hold of my arm, squeezing it in comfort. "Thanks, but...is it okay if we don't talk about it anymore? I'm not...really ready to right now."

I nodded. "Alright...when you're ready, you know I'm here to listen."

I stood up after that; I could feel the swelling go down enough that I didn't need the steak anymore. I went back to the kitchen and wrapped it back up, sticking it back in the freezer while looking over some mail. "Nothing changes, by the way. You can stay here as long as you like. If you want to find a new place that's up to you too; I'm not gonna try to keep you here-" I stopped talking, seeing her just looking back at me. "...What?" I asked.

"D...Why are you like this?"

"Well that's a bit of an odd question," I replied.

She stood up from the couch, wiping the tears from her eyes. I thought I caught a laugh, but maybe it was just a cough. "No, I mean...I know what we said about each other before and...well...I guess I am technically-"

"Elli..." I interrupted.

"What?"

I walked over to her, her stance awkward, unsure of whether she needed to relax or to stand completely still. I put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, reminding myself that this will go better than the last time this happened. "I remember what I said back then too. And its still true now." I smiled warmly yet sadly at her. "But I don't think-"

She didn't let me finish that sentence as she pulled me in for a kiss.

I felt shock.

Then happiness.

Then...pain?

Lots of pain.

"Ow!" I yelped, pulling back quick.

I saw red on Elli's lips.

I touched my own puffy lip. Apparently I was hurt worse than I thought. She had pulled me in too hard and ended up breaking open my lip on that one.

"Oh no! I'm sorry, I-"

It was such a bizarre moment, I just started laughing.

Elli looked panicked and confused, but also started laughing. I walked into the kitchen to grab hand towels for the two of us, wetting one down for myself to clean away as much blood as I could. I gave the other to Elli to clean herself up as well. "You're fine, Elli," I finally said, dabbing at my cut open lip. "At the very least, that one is going to be...well...memorable?"

"Yeah," she chuckled, wiping her lips and face, "I guess so."

As I became lost in thought, I remembered how those kinds of relationships end with people like me. She was putting on a brave face, but I know what Jacob had done to her. I didn't want to hurt her again, but I also wanted her to understand where I was coming from. "Listen, I...I think we should talk about that, at the very least."

Elli set the towel aside, nodding and saying "Yeah...you're right." She looked me dead in the eye as she continued, "I really didn't know what I was thinking. I just felt...I needed to repay you somehow for all the kindness you've shown me, y'know? And I thought...well, I guess this might be a way..."

"And I appreciate it, Elli," I sincerely responded, "But we talked about this too. I'm not sure if I could balance having you in my life and having my work at the same time."

"Is that what your head is telling you?" She asked.

"Well, yeah," I replied, "But-"

"But is that what you really want?"

"I...well, I-"

"Don't tell me yet," she ordered. "Really think about it. What do you want, Dionysus Berget?"

...

What do I want?

...

I...I guess I hadn't thought of that, huh?

And to have that kind of quick, deep thought in the middle of the night, while standing in a too-humid-for-its-own-good apartment, sharing the room with a woman who is in a very vulnerable position.

She was looking at me expectantly for an answer.

...And for the first time in a long time, I shut my mind off.

"I never really thought about what I wanted," I began. "I just let others dictate what I should do. I got into this business to find my father. I stayed to help my mother. Now both are fine, and what I have left is...nothing. So I want to find a purpose again. Whatever that might be." I took her hand in mine, and said, "And no matter what that looks like, I know I want you to be there with me."

She smiled warmly. "Dio...I-"

"Hey, don't get too chummy yet," I said. "I still want to wait to figure things out. This was a difficult night for both of us, and I want to know we're doing this for the right reasons." I reached into my back pocket and pulled out two plane tickets.

"So lets figure it out in Houston."
Someone really important to me asked me a very pointed question not that long ago.

"What do you want?"

And I kept thinking about this question as I flew here to Houston.

Because my entire career hasn't been about me.

I got into this business to try and find my father. And sure enough, I did that at the Trials.

I got into this business to help pay for my mother's medical needs. And sure enough, I did that when I a world champion in my rookie year.

But that was it.

Those two things were what kept me going.

So why? Why am I still in this business?

What is it that I really want?

At first I thought it was a long-lasting legacy, with multiple world titles around my waist and pissing away in the Twitter feeds talking about how great I am.

But I kept thinking about the opportunities I did have, where I did succeed...especially with the Television championship. And it made me realize something very important.

I value that title just as highly as any world title.

Now, when I issued that challenge on Warfare, what I said then wasn't wrong. The Television Champion, Jason Cashe, only getting fifteen minutes at Relentless? The biggest event XWF holds? And on Night One as well? If we are going to steal the entire event, we have to set the bar high. Hence, the 30-minute match.

Second, just having one pinfall decide the Television Title match...that didn't scream "entertaining" to me. Besides, why have a three-peat of the same match outcome? If you're gonna wind up the victor anyhow, you may as well work for it. Hence, the iron-man match.

And lastly, and the most important reason, relates to how the Television Title is important to me.

Jason, you have been the longest reigning champion under its current ruleset; 15-minute time limit matches, where if time expires, you still retain.

A quick and easy "get out of jail free" card.

I'm not a fan of that, personally.

And being the dutiful performer you are, you approached your reign with the same attitude; go in, do the job, retain, fight another day. A nice way to make a paycheck. A dutiful Apollo ready to take on the plucky Rocky when the time came.

But you see, I've heard some comments from fans of Warfare that didn't like the change to the original title format. They liked it when I put stipulations to a fan vote; what type of match, how long a rope, what kind of wine to put in a vat.

Yes, that was a real stipulation I had fans vote on.

The vote itself didn't matter. The connection did.

I made sure that my reign was synonymous with what the viewing audience wanted to see. That win or lose, they got the best match out of that title, no matter how wacky. It didn't just give people a reason to watch that title match.

It gave people a reason to believe in me as a champion.

That I would always be there to give them that vote. That I would give them hope that, while I held that belt, they got to choose. If I win, they win too.

And when I thought long and hard about it, I realized that maybe a legacy doesn't have to revolve around world titles. It can just as easily revolve around how you change the game.

Rocky would go the full fifteen rounds to find a way to win, in the matches that mattered most, because he had everyone behind him in the end.

That's my revelation.

That's the legacy I want to have.

I'm ready to go the distance and take back my legacy.

You better not throw in the towel at the end, because I sure as hell won't.

Ding.

Ding.]]> <![CDATA[The Curtain Rises]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47983 Thu, 19 Sep 2024 15:14:58 -0700 Matthias Syn]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47983 September 18th, 2024



I'm not sleeping again and the worst part is I am having side effects that they don't advertise. When I am able to finally shut my eyes, when I can finally stop hearing the sound of my eyelids blinking, I drift somewhere between the waking world and what can only be described as a fever dream. Never truly asleep, never really awake. A haunting reminder of a life lived on the edge. 



I just keep seeing this aged cabin, in the middle of a decaying forest with a weather-worn red door. The once bright and vibrant scarlet hue fading to time and the elements. Scarlet, the color of my sudden malaise. The feeling gripping my spine, shooting a cold chill through to the depths of my very core. I stand, frozen in it.



RUN


My brain tells my legs but I'm curious. I have to know what sordid secret or secrets hide behind that door. I cant shake this feeling that I need to be there and that I need to be there soon. 



The saddest stories are the stories lost to time and I'm sure that this lonesome cabin, in the middle of who knows where, could tell you plenty but there's one particular story, one unfinished, that draws me to this forgotten relic, buried in the foothills of some secluded mountain at the forest's edge. I've got to find it. I'm going to find it. I don't know how but I will. 



I'm only ever able to take a step or two, no more no less. The sound of the sticks breaking beneath me with each foot fall and the red door help me to never lose focus. Always two steps. Then paralysis. A debilitating numbness leaving me powerless in this makeshift maze of the mind. A chipped and cracked cobblestone road that is completely out of place, behind me, that I don't remember taking. I just see it. I know it's there. I cant back up and I cant move forward more than a step or two. All that I can hear is my heart beating. Faint but fast, like footsteps fading into a hushed silence. 



RUN



A deafening scream bellows through the rolling terrain, echoing through the recesses of my brain once I rejoin the waking world. That is all I hear now. A shriek. A sad wail and like my own personal subconscious alarm clock, I wake. Left to wonder. What the fuck is behind that door? Why is it calling to me? 



I'm fully awakened by the vibration of my phone against the nightstand. Fowlston, of course. My head is pounding. The headaches are getting worse. I take a long drawn exhale before sliding my finger across the screen to answer. 



Yeah, I barked.



Matthias, where are you? He asked. 



In bed, sleeping until you bothered me, I snapped through a dry , gravelly voice. 



I need you to be somewhere for me, he urged. 



I have to be in Houston in two days, Doc. I can't be where it is that you need me to be. I insisted. 



You can and you will, he said. After Houston, after this fucking wrestling thing, you're going to call me and I'm going to tell you where you need to go. Fowlston, snapped back.



Why not just tell me now? I asked.



Disconnect tone



He fucking hung up on me? 



Piece of shit.



To Be continued








Here we go again. Two challengers to my Revolution Title that couldn't lace my fucking boots on their best day. Two bimbos who are more Romy and Michelle than Thelma and Louise. Living life selfishly, trying to find happiness in one short-term pleasure after another. 



Two hollow shells, with empty heads having a ten minute dream in the passenger seat of life. Two shadows of their digital selves living in a world full of people wanting to be Instagram models or TikTok stars. Fake lips, fake tits, fake personalities. 



Vilaro, with her recycled ideas. Boasting and bloviating about business acumen and ingenuity and how we should all bow at her feet and praise her because she made it in a man's world. BORING. VilaroFit. That'll be useful in your recovery. You two are so worried about each other when it's the Syn City Saint that you should be worried about. I am going to bash your fucking heads together. I listen to you both drone on and on about each other and your history in some fed that no one gives a shit about. Some fed that probably had to close its doors because it pushed the Summer Pages and Marisol Vilaros of the world up the card. The autistic Spice Girls. The Real Housewives of Who goes a shit. 



What do you see behind closed eyes? What do you see when you're not selling gym memberships to the dregs of society? 




I know what you'll both see at Relentless. You'll see Matthias Syn, sitting on top of the ladder, grabbing my Revolution Title, While I return the setting sun that are your hopes and dreams back to some desperate, lonely ocean. 





I'll see you in Houston. 



STATIC
]]> September 18th, 2024



I'm not sleeping again and the worst part is I am having side effects that they don't advertise. When I am able to finally shut my eyes, when I can finally stop hearing the sound of my eyelids blinking, I drift somewhere between the waking world and what can only be described as a fever dream. Never truly asleep, never really awake. A haunting reminder of a life lived on the edge. 



I just keep seeing this aged cabin, in the middle of a decaying forest with a weather-worn red door. The once bright and vibrant scarlet hue fading to time and the elements. Scarlet, the color of my sudden malaise. The feeling gripping my spine, shooting a cold chill through to the depths of my very core. I stand, frozen in it.



RUN


My brain tells my legs but I'm curious. I have to know what sordid secret or secrets hide behind that door. I cant shake this feeling that I need to be there and that I need to be there soon. 



The saddest stories are the stories lost to time and I'm sure that this lonesome cabin, in the middle of who knows where, could tell you plenty but there's one particular story, one unfinished, that draws me to this forgotten relic, buried in the foothills of some secluded mountain at the forest's edge. I've got to find it. I'm going to find it. I don't know how but I will. 



I'm only ever able to take a step or two, no more no less. The sound of the sticks breaking beneath me with each foot fall and the red door help me to never lose focus. Always two steps. Then paralysis. A debilitating numbness leaving me powerless in this makeshift maze of the mind. A chipped and cracked cobblestone road that is completely out of place, behind me, that I don't remember taking. I just see it. I know it's there. I cant back up and I cant move forward more than a step or two. All that I can hear is my heart beating. Faint but fast, like footsteps fading into a hushed silence. 



RUN



A deafening scream bellows through the rolling terrain, echoing through the recesses of my brain once I rejoin the waking world. That is all I hear now. A shriek. A sad wail and like my own personal subconscious alarm clock, I wake. Left to wonder. What the fuck is behind that door? Why is it calling to me? 



I'm fully awakened by the vibration of my phone against the nightstand. Fowlston, of course. My head is pounding. The headaches are getting worse. I take a long drawn exhale before sliding my finger across the screen to answer. 



Yeah, I barked.



Matthias, where are you? He asked. 



In bed, sleeping until you bothered me, I snapped through a dry , gravelly voice. 



I need you to be somewhere for me, he urged. 



I have to be in Houston in two days, Doc. I can't be where it is that you need me to be. I insisted. 



You can and you will, he said. After Houston, after this fucking wrestling thing, you're going to call me and I'm going to tell you where you need to go. Fowlston, snapped back.



Why not just tell me now? I asked.



Disconnect tone



He fucking hung up on me? 



Piece of shit.



To Be continued








Here we go again. Two challengers to my Revolution Title that couldn't lace my fucking boots on their best day. Two bimbos who are more Romy and Michelle than Thelma and Louise. Living life selfishly, trying to find happiness in one short-term pleasure after another. 



Two hollow shells, with empty heads having a ten minute dream in the passenger seat of life. Two shadows of their digital selves living in a world full of people wanting to be Instagram models or TikTok stars. Fake lips, fake tits, fake personalities. 



Vilaro, with her recycled ideas. Boasting and bloviating about business acumen and ingenuity and how we should all bow at her feet and praise her because she made it in a man's world. BORING. VilaroFit. That'll be useful in your recovery. You two are so worried about each other when it's the Syn City Saint that you should be worried about. I am going to bash your fucking heads together. I listen to you both drone on and on about each other and your history in some fed that no one gives a shit about. Some fed that probably had to close its doors because it pushed the Summer Pages and Marisol Vilaros of the world up the card. The autistic Spice Girls. The Real Housewives of Who goes a shit. 



What do you see behind closed eyes? What do you see when you're not selling gym memberships to the dregs of society? 




I know what you'll both see at Relentless. You'll see Matthias Syn, sitting on top of the ladder, grabbing my Revolution Title, While I return the setting sun that are your hopes and dreams back to some desperate, lonely ocean. 





I'll see you in Houston. 



STATIC
]]> <![CDATA[This is it]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47982 Thu, 19 Sep 2024 14:37:39 -0700 GarciaWrestling]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47982 CLICK HERE!
[Image: intro-1676213812.jpg]
]]> CLICK HERE!
[Image: intro-1676213812.jpg]
]]> <![CDATA[Relentless Revolution]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47981 Thu, 19 Sep 2024 07:22:23 -0700 Marisol Vilaro]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47981 https://tinyurl.com/RelentlessReveloution]]> https://tinyurl.com/RelentlessReveloution]]> <![CDATA[Back to the 50's: Pre-Game w/Frankie]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47980 Thu, 19 Sep 2024 05:46:37 -0700 Thaddeus Duke]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47980 ”Daaaaaaad!?” Frankie called from somewhere in the house.

”My bathroom!” I hollered back as I was fixing my hair.

Today was a big day.  It was the first formal public date for Frankie and Penny, and it was also my first formal public date with Lucy Wylde. Kinda cool that it was sort of a double date.  While I'm certainly not dressed in my absolute best, I am dressed well for the themed occasion.  The XWF charity ball at Radio City Music Hall was something I've been looking forward to for months.  That anticipation only grew once I started dating Lucy.

”I can't get this stupid tie,” Frankie said as he entered my bathroom.

”You look good,” I encouraged him.  He smiled slightly and took a seat on the closed lid of the toilet as I started helping him with his tie.  ”I'm sure Penny will love that she has a hot date.”

”Oh my godddd why do you say those things?” he laughed as he asked.  ”It always makes me cringe!”

”Yeah, that's why I say them,” I laughed.  ”Let's talk about some things, okay?”

For the better part of this year, I've sorta let Frankie run a little wild.  I allowed him to use me for his own vengeance and I have to stop him.  It was a mistake on my part to allow him such freedom.  Letting him claim control over those that hurt him is important, but I failed at also teaching him restraint.

”I dropped the suit against your mom,” I informed him.

”Why the hell would you do that!?” he asked somewhat angrily.

”Because we don't use money and influence to put those less fortunate in a damn stranglehold.”

”This is bullshit,” he said quietly.  ”You said you'd do whatever I wanted and now you're goin’ back on your word.  You said…

”I said a lot of things, Frankie.  But your mom doesn't have that kind of money to give if she were to lose,” I argued.

”That's kind of the point!” he protested.  ”You're not the only one she left.”

”I know and I'm sorry,” I replied.  ”But while I still believe getting revenge on people that betray you is important, it's equally important to show restraint and not do the things, you're fully capable of doing.”

”But why?” he asked as I sat on the edge of the bathtub.

”Mercy,” I told him plainly.  ”Just because we can, doesn't mean we should.”

Frankie sighed as he straightened his tie and leaned back against the toilet tank.

”Like fat girls in yoga pants,” he finally said.

”...what?” I asked with a laugh.

”Just because they could, don't mean they should,” he smiled.

”That's a little mean but, yeah something like that.  I guess that's one way to look at it.”




Barney Green, welcome back to relevance.  No, I don't mean by joining CU:LT wrestling or by winning their New World Championship.  Winning gold in an irrelevant promotion isn't what brought you back to the table.

It was me.

It was the moment I laid out the open challenge.

It was the moment you dragged your big ass from the depths of mediocrity.

It was the moment you stepped beneath the lights of Warfare.

That's what made you relevant again, Barney.  But unfortunately for you, I don't plan on losing on the biggest stage beneath the brightest of lights.

See, Relentless is my show.  I don't just excel on that stage, I go above and beyond the call of duty to make sure every man woman and child gets the value back on every penny they spent on the show.

Why?

Because I can.

I'll go on record though, and thank you.  Not for comin’ home, but for stepping up when I know stairs, at your age and maybe your size, are a problem for you.

We danced before, you and I.  It seems like a decade ago but once upon a time Barney, you were a dream opponent.  Not because of your technical skills, because you have none.  It wasn't because you aren't a submission specialist because I'm not even sure if you know a submission hold.

You were a dream opponent then, and I welcome the chance to relive that dream today, because of your brutality.  Make no mistake that whatever you lack in actual in ring ability and in the win column of your record, you more than make up for with toughness, viciousness, and brutality.  I've always admired that about you.

See, the problem is, I have this idea in my head that I want to get back in the ring more often and I fear that since I stay out of the ring, people might forget just what I'm capable of.  They forget my toughness.  They forget just how vicious I can be.

Barney, they look at you and they know what you're about when that bell rings.  They look at me, and they forget what I’m capable of because I stay pretty. They forget because I'm ruggedly handsome with a billion dollar smile.  They don't look at me and see toughness.

That's always been an asset.  See, they look at me and on the surface, I'm just a family man rich boy from New York.

Then the bell rings.

And they see the competitor in me.

And they feel that toughness first hand.

And they feel the aches and pains that I no doubt give them by the end of it all.

I may live a posh life, but that doesn't mean I can't get down and dirty with the most downtrodden and dirtiest of us all.

Barney, you know what I'm capable of.

So now I will thank you for coming home and reminding everyone just what it means to face the Lionheart.




”Dad?” he called out again, causing me to look at him.  ”Can we talk some more?”

”Absolutely,” I replied as my heart grew.

”There's more things I wanna talk about,” he informed me.

”You know the drill, kid,” I reminded him.  ”I'm always down to talk about whatever you wanna talk about.”

”Even sex?”

”’Cept that,” I laughed.

”Well tough,” Frankie insisted.  ”That's what I wanna talk about.”

”But whhhhyyy?” I asked.

”Me ‘n’ Penny been together like a year and I'm curious,” he answered truthfully.

Emitting a sigh, I almost remembered too late where I was sitting and attempted to lean back.  Frankie snorted as he laughed while I nearly fell into the bathtub.

”You're not even 14,” I said once I gathered myself.  ”You're not ready yet.”

”How do you know that?” he asked.

I've had many adult conversations with this boy over the years.  This one, I'm not remotely ready for.  I understand growing up and hormones and changes to bodies and more specifically, changes to body parts, and other things of that nature, but I find it difficult to look at him and not still see the innocent and adorable 9 year old boy that I met four years ago.

”Because you're not mature enough to make that decision yet and neither is Penny,” I argued calmly.  ”Besides that, if you did do something with Penny, Kat would kill me.  And after she was done with me she'd kill you next.

“You didn't yet… right?”

Frankie sat quietly and cocked a half smile at me.

”Francis Robert!?”

”I'm kidding!” he revealed as he busted up laughing.

”Frankie,” I said as I dramatically clutched my chest.  ”This is exactly how I know you're not mature enough yet to handle that responsibility.”

”What do you mean?” he asked.  ”It was just a joke.”

”That's my point,” I insisted.  ”It's all fun and games in here when we're just talking about it.  But it's a huge responsibility.  It's a serious subject and isn't something to laugh about.”

”It's fun though right?” he asked.

God dammit.

”I just mean if it wasn't, then people wouldn't do it, right?”

”Frankie, imma level with you, I really don't know how to answer that question.”

”Honestly,” he replied way too quickly.

I really hate when he's right.

”It's only fun because we're aware of the risks, because two consenting adults who truly care about each other want to share themselves with each other.  It's only that way between two people who are fully aware of what their bodies are telling them,” I paused, praying like hell to a God that I don't even believe in, that he was understanding what I was saying.

”My body tells me every day,” he argued.

”Uggghhhhhh, god.” I might regret this.  ”What do you mean?”

”When I wake up,” he began.  ”Randomly in school, randomly at home, all hours of every day. When a slight breeze picks up.

“It's literally all the freakin’ time.”

”Frankie, I hate to break it to you,” I couldn't help but smile.  ”That won't ever stop.  And that doesn't mean what you think it means.”

”Then what does it mean?”

”Most of the time it doesn't mean anything at all,” I informed my aspiring protege.

”What about the other times?”

”Well for now, I know you know how to take care of that yourself,” I joked but only sort of.

”Daaaad,” he pleaded as his face turned red.

”Look at me,” I said as I leaned forward.  Placing my hands on his knees, I waited until he looked me in the eyes.  ”Buddy it's not what's in your pants that tells you when it's time okay?

“It's what's in here,” I paused as I placed my palm on his chest.  ”That's what tells you when it's time.

“Please tell me you understand that.”

”I do,” he replied.  ”It also makes sense that you were a big slut.”

You little shit.  Leaning away from him, I feigned taking offense.

”Your weiner had a louder voice than your heart,” Frankie concluded.

”Can we not talk about my weiner?” I joked.

”But I'm right, right?”

”It's considerably more complicated than that,” I admitted willingly.  ”At least that's what my shrink tells me.  But, in a nutshell, yeah.

“You're right.

“Please.  Frankie, I beg you to use me as your cautionary tale.  What I was doing was wrong.  I don't want that for you.  You don't want that for you.”

”I will,” he replied.

”Promise me something,” I began in conclusion.  ”When your heart starts talkin’ and tellin’ you it's time, that we'll have this conversation again.”

”Okay,” he answered quickly.

”Give me your word, Francis,” I insisted.

Saying nothing, he extended his right hand toward me.  I extended mine back, but stopped short.

”Wait, you didn't just…”

”Dad!” he laughed.

”I'm glad we have these talks,” I said as I shook his hand then ripped him into a tight hug.  Normally, he'd fight me on it.  Today, he just hugged me back.

”As uncomfortable as they are sometimes, I always want you to be able to come to me about anything.”

”Dad,” he said with a muffled voice as his face was squeezed into my chest.  ”You're messing up my hair.”




So why did you leave?  You said for years that the XWF was home, but I question whether or not that's actually true.

See, I don't normally like to condemn other promotions, but how in the hell did you, Barney Green, ascend to such great heights in CU:LT if they weren't the irrelevant promotion that I claimed they were?

Barney Green.

World Champion.

And I don't mean to criticize your talent, but I can't help myself.  Here you are doing the world of professional wrestling a massive favor by helping me remind them all just what the fuck I'm capable of and I repay you by calling out your in ring prowess.

See, that's why it's inside Hell in a Cell.  I hate to bang the drum and remind you or anyone else just how good I am between those ropes but you and I know, and so does the rest of the world, that if this match at Relentless were a traditional wrestling match, I'd wipe the mat with you.

I'm not saying that there's anything wrong with your style.  What I'm saying is, if this were traditional, then you just couldn't keep up.  So, consider me putting this match inside a cell as a big sign of respect.  Throwing out traditional professional wrestling rules gives you the chance to do something you couldn't do otherwise.

Beat me.

I mean, he won't, but at least I was a gracious enough host to CU:LT's World Champion that I gave him a fighting chance to somehow do what he's never done in the history of his long career… beat a legitimate main event talent.




”Fine,” I relented and let him go.  He leaned away as he fixed his hair.  ”You gonna fix your unibrow, too?”

Frankie sat motionless and I watched with a silent and stoic pleasure as the color drained from his face.

”I don’t have a unibrow,” he said quietly and with much more than just a hint of denial.

”Come here,” I said as I stood up and faced the vanity mirror.  ”It’s faint, but it’s there.”

”Nooo,” he said quietly as he leaned in closer and closer to look at the light but darkening hair over his nose connecting one eyebrow to the other.  ”No, no, no, this can’t BE!!”

And people say I’m dramatic.

I mean, I am but still.

”What the hell am I gonna do!?” he asked in a panic as he turned to face me, then started panicking.

”Relax,” I laughed.  Maybe I shouldn’t admit this, but I kind of enjoyed sending him into a cosmetic crisis.

”What the hell do you mean relax!?” he asked as he got in my face.  ”I have one eyebrow and nobody even told me!”

”Well, with only one eyebrow, far fewer girls are gonna wanna…”

”You’re not helpinnnng!”

”Good.  You’re far too young for me to be your wingman anyway,” I joked but only sorta while I pulled an electric trimmer from the drawer.  ”Calm down and come here.”

Frankie looked at me, then at the trimmer as I turned it on, then at me before stepping forward.

”Please don’t make them crooked,” he pleaded.

”Oh, is it them already?”

”Dad,” he sighed.  ”I hate you so much right now.”

With one quick little pass, his one brow became two again.

”Maybe, but Penny will have the best looking guy at the ball,” he smiled.

He was out of the bathroom as soon as he could be.  I finished fixing my hair and intended to follow him shortly, but…

”Hey dad?” he called from my room.

”Yeah?” I answered, my voice garbled by floss.

”Did you see this?” he asked.

”See what?” I asked in response as I poked my head through the doorway.

Frankie didn't answer, but he sat on the edge of my bed with the nightstand drawer almost all the way out and reading what appeared to be a letter.  He has a watch inside that table that his mom always kept for him.

”What’s that?” I asked as I left the bathroom and joined him on the edge of my bed.

”Wait,” he said under his breath.  ”Did you know about this?” he asked and handed me what he was reading.

Looking it over, scanning rather than reading it completely, I was a bit confused.

”I never saw this before,” I replied as I finished.

”It was taped under my watch,” Frankie said quietly.

”It doesn't change anything,” I tried to reassure him.

”How not?” he asked.  ”It proves that the letter she put out in public was bullshit.”

When Lauren left, she left a scathing letter behind.  No one and nothing was safe from her wrath.  Not even my kids.

”Because she still left,” I answered honestly.  ”She broke the rules we set when we got married.  Frankie, I love your mom.  But it'd take a hell of a lot more than a nice letter to put things back.”

”Good,” he replied coldly.

In my haste to let him down easy, I kind of forgot just how hurt he really was when she left him.  Her making that letter public was just icing on the cake.  She could've said anything she wanted about me.  But Frankie?  An orphaned boy that chose her to be his mother?  A couple of 3 year old kids that only ever knew her as mom and loved her as such?

And it's not just simply hurt.  It's anger.  It's a feeling of betrayal.  That doesn't just go away with a few nice words.

”Lucy will be here soon,” he said as he stood and started to walk away.

”Frankie,” I said as I grabbed his wrist and pulled him back onto the bed. He stumbled and landed back first across my thighs and just… remained there. ”What do you think of her?”

”Mom?”

”Lucy,” I corrected.

”Ummmmmm,” he paused and stalled to gather his thoughts.  ”I wanted to hate her at first.”

I do admire this kids honesty.

”How come?” I asked as he leaned off of me.

”Because I looked at her like a reminder that mom left,” he admitted.

”And now?”

”I like her,” he began.  ”She's really nice and she really likes you.”

”You think so?” I smiled.

”She makes you laugh, smile, other things I don't wanna think about,” he laughed.  ”Lucy makes you happy again, Dad.  It's hard to hate that.”

”I'm proud of you,” I admitted to the boy.  ”That's a very grown up answer.”

”Grown up, huh?”

I just knew I was gonna regret that word choice.

”She'll be here soon,” he says, figuratively dropping one foot before the other.  ”Think I could pull the Buick out of the garage?”

”Sure, why not?”

I barely started my answer and he was already bolting for the door.  It's a 1958 Buick Special, to be precise.  He's loved that car since he first put eyes on it a few months ago.  He's claimed it for prom, claimed it for inheritance.

He likes to remind me of our miniscule Age difference.  He likes to tell me that when I'm 70, he'll already be pushing 60.  What he's doing is hinting that he wants his inheritance early.  I haven't told him, but I'm happy to oblige.  When he graduates college, he can have the car.  I'd give the entire world to this kid if I could.  It's already his.

I'm just living in it.




It should be studied, really.  The amount of promotions that rise and ultimately fall in quick succession.  I remember places like Project: Honor and Level Up and yes, even CU:LT.  They'd rise seemingly from nowhere and in six months, a year, maybe two if they're lucky… they're gone and fading from memory.

25 years.

For 25 years the XWF has defied the odds and beat expectations.  In no small part, thanks to the blood that runs through my veins.

I remember CU:LT specifically.  I remember them coming up.  I remember them having legitimate main event worthy names like Johnny Bacchus. A man that once held that title you now possess, Barney Green.  Names like Serenity Holmes and Driftwood.

And again, you, Barney Green.

That can only mean one thing and that's just how close they are to succumbing to their own demise.  I mean you no ill will, Barney.  I don't mean to belittle that company but when you are their world champion, what choice do I really have?

I mean, I guess congratulations are in order, huh?  The promotion may be breathing its final breaths, but at least you climbed to the top of their mountain.  At least you added a world championship to your resume before they close and you ultimately slink on back home, right?

I mean, I get it. This ocean here in the XWF it's far too deep.  It's way over your head.  But I'll do you and them a favor when I beat you.  I will hold the New World Championship high.  I will display it for the world to see on the XWF's biggest stage.  I will give it the rub from actual greatness that a title of its standing truly deserves.

Before it's all said and done, I thank you Barney.  It didn't have to be you, but I'm glad it is.  And not for tick marks on a stat sheet, but because our first dance in the playground was an instant classic.

I have no doubts that this one will be too.

My thanks are genuine, Mr. Green.  I haven't had a lot of return guests over the course of my career.  Not for any other reason than been there, done that, what's next?  You are in elite company.  You get to dance with me in the very match of the next 25 years of the XWF.

So, I cordially and genuinely welcome you… to your sequel… of the Thaddeus Duke Show.]]> ”Daaaaaaad!?” Frankie called from somewhere in the house.

”My bathroom!” I hollered back as I was fixing my hair.

Today was a big day.  It was the first formal public date for Frankie and Penny, and it was also my first formal public date with Lucy Wylde. Kinda cool that it was sort of a double date.  While I'm certainly not dressed in my absolute best, I am dressed well for the themed occasion.  The XWF charity ball at Radio City Music Hall was something I've been looking forward to for months.  That anticipation only grew once I started dating Lucy.

”I can't get this stupid tie,” Frankie said as he entered my bathroom.

”You look good,” I encouraged him.  He smiled slightly and took a seat on the closed lid of the toilet as I started helping him with his tie.  ”I'm sure Penny will love that she has a hot date.”

”Oh my godddd why do you say those things?” he laughed as he asked.  ”It always makes me cringe!”

”Yeah, that's why I say them,” I laughed.  ”Let's talk about some things, okay?”

For the better part of this year, I've sorta let Frankie run a little wild.  I allowed him to use me for his own vengeance and I have to stop him.  It was a mistake on my part to allow him such freedom.  Letting him claim control over those that hurt him is important, but I failed at also teaching him restraint.

”I dropped the suit against your mom,” I informed him.

”Why the hell would you do that!?” he asked somewhat angrily.

”Because we don't use money and influence to put those less fortunate in a damn stranglehold.”

”This is bullshit,” he said quietly.  ”You said you'd do whatever I wanted and now you're goin’ back on your word.  You said…

”I said a lot of things, Frankie.  But your mom doesn't have that kind of money to give if she were to lose,” I argued.

”That's kind of the point!” he protested.  ”You're not the only one she left.”

”I know and I'm sorry,” I replied.  ”But while I still believe getting revenge on people that betray you is important, it's equally important to show restraint and not do the things, you're fully capable of doing.”

”But why?” he asked as I sat on the edge of the bathtub.

”Mercy,” I told him plainly.  ”Just because we can, doesn't mean we should.”

Frankie sighed as he straightened his tie and leaned back against the toilet tank.

”Like fat girls in yoga pants,” he finally said.

”...what?” I asked with a laugh.

”Just because they could, don't mean they should,” he smiled.

”That's a little mean but, yeah something like that.  I guess that's one way to look at it.”




Barney Green, welcome back to relevance.  No, I don't mean by joining CU:LT wrestling or by winning their New World Championship.  Winning gold in an irrelevant promotion isn't what brought you back to the table.

It was me.

It was the moment I laid out the open challenge.

It was the moment you dragged your big ass from the depths of mediocrity.

It was the moment you stepped beneath the lights of Warfare.

That's what made you relevant again, Barney.  But unfortunately for you, I don't plan on losing on the biggest stage beneath the brightest of lights.

See, Relentless is my show.  I don't just excel on that stage, I go above and beyond the call of duty to make sure every man woman and child gets the value back on every penny they spent on the show.

Why?

Because I can.

I'll go on record though, and thank you.  Not for comin’ home, but for stepping up when I know stairs, at your age and maybe your size, are a problem for you.

We danced before, you and I.  It seems like a decade ago but once upon a time Barney, you were a dream opponent.  Not because of your technical skills, because you have none.  It wasn't because you aren't a submission specialist because I'm not even sure if you know a submission hold.

You were a dream opponent then, and I welcome the chance to relive that dream today, because of your brutality.  Make no mistake that whatever you lack in actual in ring ability and in the win column of your record, you more than make up for with toughness, viciousness, and brutality.  I've always admired that about you.

See, the problem is, I have this idea in my head that I want to get back in the ring more often and I fear that since I stay out of the ring, people might forget just what I'm capable of.  They forget my toughness.  They forget just how vicious I can be.

Barney, they look at you and they know what you're about when that bell rings.  They look at me, and they forget what I’m capable of because I stay pretty. They forget because I'm ruggedly handsome with a billion dollar smile.  They don't look at me and see toughness.

That's always been an asset.  See, they look at me and on the surface, I'm just a family man rich boy from New York.

Then the bell rings.

And they see the competitor in me.

And they feel that toughness first hand.

And they feel the aches and pains that I no doubt give them by the end of it all.

I may live a posh life, but that doesn't mean I can't get down and dirty with the most downtrodden and dirtiest of us all.

Barney, you know what I'm capable of.

So now I will thank you for coming home and reminding everyone just what it means to face the Lionheart.




”Dad?” he called out again, causing me to look at him.  ”Can we talk some more?”

”Absolutely,” I replied as my heart grew.

”There's more things I wanna talk about,” he informed me.

”You know the drill, kid,” I reminded him.  ”I'm always down to talk about whatever you wanna talk about.”

”Even sex?”

”’Cept that,” I laughed.

”Well tough,” Frankie insisted.  ”That's what I wanna talk about.”

”But whhhhyyy?” I asked.

”Me ‘n’ Penny been together like a year and I'm curious,” he answered truthfully.

Emitting a sigh, I almost remembered too late where I was sitting and attempted to lean back.  Frankie snorted as he laughed while I nearly fell into the bathtub.

”You're not even 14,” I said once I gathered myself.  ”You're not ready yet.”

”How do you know that?” he asked.

I've had many adult conversations with this boy over the years.  This one, I'm not remotely ready for.  I understand growing up and hormones and changes to bodies and more specifically, changes to body parts, and other things of that nature, but I find it difficult to look at him and not still see the innocent and adorable 9 year old boy that I met four years ago.

”Because you're not mature enough to make that decision yet and neither is Penny,” I argued calmly.  ”Besides that, if you did do something with Penny, Kat would kill me.  And after she was done with me she'd kill you next.

“You didn't yet… right?”

Frankie sat quietly and cocked a half smile at me.

”Francis Robert!?”

”I'm kidding!” he revealed as he busted up laughing.

”Frankie,” I said as I dramatically clutched my chest.  ”This is exactly how I know you're not mature enough yet to handle that responsibility.”

”What do you mean?” he asked.  ”It was just a joke.”

”That's my point,” I insisted.  ”It's all fun and games in here when we're just talking about it.  But it's a huge responsibility.  It's a serious subject and isn't something to laugh about.”

”It's fun though right?” he asked.

God dammit.

”I just mean if it wasn't, then people wouldn't do it, right?”

”Frankie, imma level with you, I really don't know how to answer that question.”

”Honestly,” he replied way too quickly.

I really hate when he's right.

”It's only fun because we're aware of the risks, because two consenting adults who truly care about each other want to share themselves with each other.  It's only that way between two people who are fully aware of what their bodies are telling them,” I paused, praying like hell to a God that I don't even believe in, that he was understanding what I was saying.

”My body tells me every day,” he argued.

”Uggghhhhhh, god.” I might regret this.  ”What do you mean?”

”When I wake up,” he began.  ”Randomly in school, randomly at home, all hours of every day. When a slight breeze picks up.

“It's literally all the freakin’ time.”

”Frankie, I hate to break it to you,” I couldn't help but smile.  ”That won't ever stop.  And that doesn't mean what you think it means.”

”Then what does it mean?”

”Most of the time it doesn't mean anything at all,” I informed my aspiring protege.

”What about the other times?”

”Well for now, I know you know how to take care of that yourself,” I joked but only sort of.

”Daaaad,” he pleaded as his face turned red.

”Look at me,” I said as I leaned forward.  Placing my hands on his knees, I waited until he looked me in the eyes.  ”Buddy it's not what's in your pants that tells you when it's time okay?

“It's what's in here,” I paused as I placed my palm on his chest.  ”That's what tells you when it's time.

“Please tell me you understand that.”

”I do,” he replied.  ”It also makes sense that you were a big slut.”

You little shit.  Leaning away from him, I feigned taking offense.

”Your weiner had a louder voice than your heart,” Frankie concluded.

”Can we not talk about my weiner?” I joked.

”But I'm right, right?”

”It's considerably more complicated than that,” I admitted willingly.  ”At least that's what my shrink tells me.  But, in a nutshell, yeah.

“You're right.

“Please.  Frankie, I beg you to use me as your cautionary tale.  What I was doing was wrong.  I don't want that for you.  You don't want that for you.”

”I will,” he replied.

”Promise me something,” I began in conclusion.  ”When your heart starts talkin’ and tellin’ you it's time, that we'll have this conversation again.”

”Okay,” he answered quickly.

”Give me your word, Francis,” I insisted.

Saying nothing, he extended his right hand toward me.  I extended mine back, but stopped short.

”Wait, you didn't just…”

”Dad!” he laughed.

”I'm glad we have these talks,” I said as I shook his hand then ripped him into a tight hug.  Normally, he'd fight me on it.  Today, he just hugged me back.

”As uncomfortable as they are sometimes, I always want you to be able to come to me about anything.”

”Dad,” he said with a muffled voice as his face was squeezed into my chest.  ”You're messing up my hair.”




So why did you leave?  You said for years that the XWF was home, but I question whether or not that's actually true.

See, I don't normally like to condemn other promotions, but how in the hell did you, Barney Green, ascend to such great heights in CU:LT if they weren't the irrelevant promotion that I claimed they were?

Barney Green.

World Champion.

And I don't mean to criticize your talent, but I can't help myself.  Here you are doing the world of professional wrestling a massive favor by helping me remind them all just what the fuck I'm capable of and I repay you by calling out your in ring prowess.

See, that's why it's inside Hell in a Cell.  I hate to bang the drum and remind you or anyone else just how good I am between those ropes but you and I know, and so does the rest of the world, that if this match at Relentless were a traditional wrestling match, I'd wipe the mat with you.

I'm not saying that there's anything wrong with your style.  What I'm saying is, if this were traditional, then you just couldn't keep up.  So, consider me putting this match inside a cell as a big sign of respect.  Throwing out traditional professional wrestling rules gives you the chance to do something you couldn't do otherwise.

Beat me.

I mean, he won't, but at least I was a gracious enough host to CU:LT's World Champion that I gave him a fighting chance to somehow do what he's never done in the history of his long career… beat a legitimate main event talent.




”Fine,” I relented and let him go.  He leaned away as he fixed his hair.  ”You gonna fix your unibrow, too?”

Frankie sat motionless and I watched with a silent and stoic pleasure as the color drained from his face.

”I don’t have a unibrow,” he said quietly and with much more than just a hint of denial.

”Come here,” I said as I stood up and faced the vanity mirror.  ”It’s faint, but it’s there.”

”Nooo,” he said quietly as he leaned in closer and closer to look at the light but darkening hair over his nose connecting one eyebrow to the other.  ”No, no, no, this can’t BE!!”

And people say I’m dramatic.

I mean, I am but still.

”What the hell am I gonna do!?” he asked in a panic as he turned to face me, then started panicking.

”Relax,” I laughed.  Maybe I shouldn’t admit this, but I kind of enjoyed sending him into a cosmetic crisis.

”What the hell do you mean relax!?” he asked as he got in my face.  ”I have one eyebrow and nobody even told me!”

”Well, with only one eyebrow, far fewer girls are gonna wanna…”

”You’re not helpinnnng!”

”Good.  You’re far too young for me to be your wingman anyway,” I joked but only sorta while I pulled an electric trimmer from the drawer.  ”Calm down and come here.”

Frankie looked at me, then at the trimmer as I turned it on, then at me before stepping forward.

”Please don’t make them crooked,” he pleaded.

”Oh, is it them already?”

”Dad,” he sighed.  ”I hate you so much right now.”

With one quick little pass, his one brow became two again.

”Maybe, but Penny will have the best looking guy at the ball,” he smiled.

He was out of the bathroom as soon as he could be.  I finished fixing my hair and intended to follow him shortly, but…

”Hey dad?” he called from my room.

”Yeah?” I answered, my voice garbled by floss.

”Did you see this?” he asked.

”See what?” I asked in response as I poked my head through the doorway.

Frankie didn't answer, but he sat on the edge of my bed with the nightstand drawer almost all the way out and reading what appeared to be a letter.  He has a watch inside that table that his mom always kept for him.

”What’s that?” I asked as I left the bathroom and joined him on the edge of my bed.

”Wait,” he said under his breath.  ”Did you know about this?” he asked and handed me what he was reading.

Looking it over, scanning rather than reading it completely, I was a bit confused.

”I never saw this before,” I replied as I finished.

”It was taped under my watch,” Frankie said quietly.

”It doesn't change anything,” I tried to reassure him.

”How not?” he asked.  ”It proves that the letter she put out in public was bullshit.”

When Lauren left, she left a scathing letter behind.  No one and nothing was safe from her wrath.  Not even my kids.

”Because she still left,” I answered honestly.  ”She broke the rules we set when we got married.  Frankie, I love your mom.  But it'd take a hell of a lot more than a nice letter to put things back.”

”Good,” he replied coldly.

In my haste to let him down easy, I kind of forgot just how hurt he really was when she left him.  Her making that letter public was just icing on the cake.  She could've said anything she wanted about me.  But Frankie?  An orphaned boy that chose her to be his mother?  A couple of 3 year old kids that only ever knew her as mom and loved her as such?

And it's not just simply hurt.  It's anger.  It's a feeling of betrayal.  That doesn't just go away with a few nice words.

”Lucy will be here soon,” he said as he stood and started to walk away.

”Frankie,” I said as I grabbed his wrist and pulled him back onto the bed. He stumbled and landed back first across my thighs and just… remained there. ”What do you think of her?”

”Mom?”

”Lucy,” I corrected.

”Ummmmmm,” he paused and stalled to gather his thoughts.  ”I wanted to hate her at first.”

I do admire this kids honesty.

”How come?” I asked as he leaned off of me.

”Because I looked at her like a reminder that mom left,” he admitted.

”And now?”

”I like her,” he began.  ”She's really nice and she really likes you.”

”You think so?” I smiled.

”She makes you laugh, smile, other things I don't wanna think about,” he laughed.  ”Lucy makes you happy again, Dad.  It's hard to hate that.”

”I'm proud of you,” I admitted to the boy.  ”That's a very grown up answer.”

”Grown up, huh?”

I just knew I was gonna regret that word choice.

”She'll be here soon,” he says, figuratively dropping one foot before the other.  ”Think I could pull the Buick out of the garage?”

”Sure, why not?”

I barely started my answer and he was already bolting for the door.  It's a 1958 Buick Special, to be precise.  He's loved that car since he first put eyes on it a few months ago.  He's claimed it for prom, claimed it for inheritance.

He likes to remind me of our miniscule Age difference.  He likes to tell me that when I'm 70, he'll already be pushing 60.  What he's doing is hinting that he wants his inheritance early.  I haven't told him, but I'm happy to oblige.  When he graduates college, he can have the car.  I'd give the entire world to this kid if I could.  It's already his.

I'm just living in it.




It should be studied, really.  The amount of promotions that rise and ultimately fall in quick succession.  I remember places like Project: Honor and Level Up and yes, even CU:LT.  They'd rise seemingly from nowhere and in six months, a year, maybe two if they're lucky… they're gone and fading from memory.

25 years.

For 25 years the XWF has defied the odds and beat expectations.  In no small part, thanks to the blood that runs through my veins.

I remember CU:LT specifically.  I remember them coming up.  I remember them having legitimate main event worthy names like Johnny Bacchus. A man that once held that title you now possess, Barney Green.  Names like Serenity Holmes and Driftwood.

And again, you, Barney Green.

That can only mean one thing and that's just how close they are to succumbing to their own demise.  I mean you no ill will, Barney.  I don't mean to belittle that company but when you are their world champion, what choice do I really have?

I mean, I guess congratulations are in order, huh?  The promotion may be breathing its final breaths, but at least you climbed to the top of their mountain.  At least you added a world championship to your resume before they close and you ultimately slink on back home, right?

I mean, I get it. This ocean here in the XWF it's far too deep.  It's way over your head.  But I'll do you and them a favor when I beat you.  I will hold the New World Championship high.  I will display it for the world to see on the XWF's biggest stage.  I will give it the rub from actual greatness that a title of its standing truly deserves.

Before it's all said and done, I thank you Barney.  It didn't have to be you, but I'm glad it is.  And not for tick marks on a stat sheet, but because our first dance in the playground was an instant classic.

I have no doubts that this one will be too.

My thanks are genuine, Mr. Green.  I haven't had a lot of return guests over the course of my career.  Not for any other reason than been there, done that, what's next?  You are in elite company.  You get to dance with me in the very match of the next 25 years of the XWF.

So, I cordially and genuinely welcome you… to your sequel… of the Thaddeus Duke Show.]]> <![CDATA[Gulag Dreams]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47974 Wed, 18 Sep 2024 11:34:19 -0700 Dmitri "Baba Yaga" Drako]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47974   Ten years ago
 
In the heart of the desolate Siberian landscape, where the sun's feeble light barely touched the frost-rimed earth, the Russian gulag stood as a grim testament to human suffering. The gulag was an unsympathetic realm where the piercing cold seemed to have its own heartbeat, an uncompromising and brutish rhythm that governed every moment of every single day. Envision a vast expanse of sub-zero wasteland, where the horizon is a distant, gray line, and the sky is perpetually shrouded in a godforsaken overcast sky. The landscape is marked by snowdrifts that ascend like specters from the Earth, whispering secrets of heartache to those who traverse their inhospitable stretches.
 
Guard: Move along…
 
The sound of prisoners' chains as they approach the gates of the gulag is a haunting symphony of despondency and resignation. Each step they take is accompanied by the relentless clinking and clanking of frigid metal, a discordant rhythm that reverberates through the bone-chilling, stark silence of the Siberian topography. As they shuffle forward, the chains around their ankles and wrists jingle with a mournful clatter. The noise is an oppressive, metallic din, a grim reminder of their inescapable fate. The chains are not merely physical restraints; they are symbolic shackles of their lost freedom and shattered dreams. Each link in the chain seems to echo the heavy burden of their confinement, its sound like a constant, cruel reminder of their captivity.
 
Guard: MOVE…
 
The clinking of the chains is punctuated by the occasional harsh rattle as the prisoner’s stumble over uneven ground or are pulled sharply by a guard’s command. This interruption adds a jagged, dissonant edge to the melody of their torment. The sound carries through the frigid air, cutting through the heavy silence that hangs over the camp like a suffocating shroud. With each step, the chains seem to grow heavier, their clamor more insistent, as if mocking the prisoners’ futile attempts to escape their grim reality. The rhythmic clangor resonates against the cold, iron gates of the gulag, amplifying the feeling of impending doom that lies just beyond them. The gates themselves, towering and forbidding, stand as an unyielding barrier between the prisoners and any semblance of freedom or hope.
 
The harsh, metallic noise of the chains serves as a grim symphony to their arrival, a relentless reminder of their diminished status and the unyielding nature of their punishment. It is a sound that lingers long after they have passed, an echo of their suffering that reverberates through the barren expanse of the gulag, marking their passage with an indelible, sorrowful note. When Dmitri first stepped inside the gulag, the experience was a sensory onslaught, a jarring collision of reality and his deepest fears. The moment his boots crossed the threshold, he felt an overwhelming weight settle over him, as if the very air was thick with the collective anguish of those who had come before.
 
Dmitri’s eyes began darting about, frequently shifting his gaze from one spot to another. His posture was tense, hands clenched with a rigid stance, as he occasionally glanced over their shoulder on alert. Finally, his eyes adjusted to the dim, dreary light, as he took in the desolate camp. The sight was a bloodthirsty hellscape of rusting metal and decaying wood. The barracks, squat and sullen, loomed like ghosts in the frozen empire, their walls blemished with age and filled with disfiguring scars. The barbed wire fences, glistening with a malevolent sheen, encircled the camp with an unspoken threat. The bleak, gunmetal gray sky hung low, casting a gloomy shadow over everything, while the snow-covered ground seemed to stretch endlessly, swallowing any hint of sympathy or hope.
 
Dmitri tilted his head slightly while abruptly closing his eyes as his ears perked up to catch every nuance of the soundscape that now enveloped him. The tranquility was sinister, punctuated only by the distant clanking of chains and the occasional, sharp command from the guards. The sounds of other prisoners muffled conversations, the shuffle of footsteps, and the creaking of old, weary structures were isolated and haunting. Each sound was a constant reminder of his new, forbidding reality, a cruel soundtrack to his entry into this frozen hell.
 
Dmitri took a deep breath in allowing the heavy air with a mix of staleness and the acrid tang of burning coal to move through his lungs. The pervasive scent of dampness and deterioration adhered to everything, a grim testament to the harsh conditions that governed over the gulag. Every breath felt coagulated, laden with the stench of desperation and neglect.
 
Guard: Are you the man they call, "Baba Yaga?"
 
Dmitri doesn’t respond as the guard grows agitated.
 
Guard: Are you “Baba Yaga?”
 
“Da.”
 
Dmitri’s gravelly voice carried a deep, textured resonance that feels almost tactile, like a rough-hewn stone. When he speaks, each word seems to emerge from a rich, resonant depth, with a husky timbre that conveys both weariness and strength. The guard lowers his AK-47 as a warm sound emerges, resonant rumble that bubbles up from deep within. It begins as a low, benevolent murmur, gradually gaining strength as it escapes through his slightly parted lips. The guard’s shoulders shake subtly with the rhythm of laughter, creating a soft, infectious tremor in the air. His eyes crinkled at the corners, sparkling with mirth, and a relaxed smile spreads across their face, revealing just a hint of crooked teeth. The chuckle was more than just a sound; it’s an expressive, heartfelt release that carries a sense of genuine amusement and warmth, leaving a lingering, pleasant echo of joy. As the guard wipes away a tear away from the corner of his eyes the smile fades.
 
Guard: Is that so…
 
Dmitri knew what was coming next. The sudden, jolting force of a powerful blow from the end of the AK-47 abruptly knocked the wind from Dmitri’s sails. The impact was a visceral shot to the gut, immediately causing a deep, constricting pain that stole his breath away. His chest felt like it was compressed by an invisible weight, leaving him gasping to inhale. But no matter how hard Dmitri tried, his lungs refused to cooperate, as if they’d been temporarily paralyzed. The sharp, acute pain radiated from his abdomen, creating a sensation of being hollowed out.
 
Guard: “Baba Yaga?” Ha.
 
The guard spit next to Dmitri who was doubled over, hands clutching his stomach as if to shield himself from the shock. Each attempt to breathe is met with a futile, panicked feeling of trying to inhale through a closed valve. There’s a mix of pain and disorientation, as his vision blurred slightly, and a cold sweat formed on his forehead. The initial shock gave way to a lingering ache, a deep, throbbing sensation that persists in his core. Dmitri felt a wave of nausea accompanying the breathlessness, as his body struggled to regain its rhythm. The surrounding noise seemed distant, muffled, as his focus narrowed to the struggle of recovering his breath. Dmitri grabbed a hand full of snow and clenched his fist white knuckle tight. The cold was immediate and penetrating, a biting, relentless force that seemed to seep through every layer of his body and into his very bones. His hands, though gloved, felt the cruel bite of the wind, and the cold, rough texture of the chains that now bound him was a constant, jarring reminder of his captivity.
 
Guard: Now get up! “Baba Yaga.”
 
The guard mocked Dmitri as he absorbed the full impact of his new environment, a wave of emotions washed over him. First was the sharp sting of disbelief, a sudden realization that his life had been irrevocably altered. He felt a profound sense of despair as he grappled with the cold reality of his situation. The enormity of the camp and the severity of its conditions pressed down on him, making him feel small and insignificant in the face of such overwhelming desolation. Yet beneath the despair, there was a flicker of defiance. Dmitri’s mind raced with thoughts of survival, a determination to endure despite the harshness that surrounded him. He resolved to face whatever came next with the same strength and resolve that had carried him through his past trials. The sight of the bleak, oppressive landscape and the sense of isolation stirred something deep within him a fierce resolve to resist, to adapt, and to find a way to maintain his dignity amidst the crushing weight of his new reality. Dmitri smiled as he made his way back to his feet cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders.
 
The gulag was not merely a place of physical confinement; it was a prison of the soul, a place where the harsh elements mirrored the relentless cruelty of those who governed it. It was a place where the human spirit was tested to its limits, where every day was a struggle to retain a semblance of dignity and humanity. In the end, the gulag was a monument to the depths of human suffering, a place where the indomitable will of the human spirit was both challenged and, in rare moments, illuminated. It was a place where hope was buried beneath layers of ice and despair, where men were stripped of their humanity and left to become shadows of their former selves. In this frozen purgatory, Dmitri Drako would emerge as an enigma a man transformed into a living legend by the brutal conditions that sought to fracture him.


 
To be continued…
 
 
 
 
 









Today.
 
In the umbrageous shadowed alleys of Eastern Russia, the nebulous veil of twilight bestowed an otherworldly incandescence on the uninhabited streets. Here, folklore and reality intertwined together into a dark tapestry, creating a place where the mundane and the mystical dwelled side by side. The constricted alleys meandered like serpents through a labyrinthine neighborhood, lined with ancient buildings that seemed to lean inwards, their dilapidated facades covered in a creeping shroud of ivy and moss. Their windows were dark, uninviting, and often shattered, revealing only the empty, hollow eyes of abandoned rooms.
 
Off in the distance the rhythmic sound of footsteps reverberates through the compressed alley, each step embrittled and clear against the weathered cobblestones. The echoes danced around, lingering momentarily before scurrying off into the shadows. There’s a steady cadence, perhaps a hint of urgency, as the soles strike the stones with a soft thud, the sound galvanized with the faint rustle of fabric and the whisper of the evening breeze. Each footfall creates a melody of sequestration, the cobbles telling stories of countless passersby, now just a backdrop to this solitary approach. The air feels charged, as if the very stones are anticipating the figure that draws near, the echoes entwining an instrumental symphony of sound that hints at both quandary and commitment.
 
The cobblestones beneath the character's exhausted black boots were slick with a layer of wet grime, shimmering underneath the ashen light of a waning moon discharges gingerly across the archaic buildings, manufacturing a blanched, silvery glow that feels almost ethereal bathing everything in a muted hue, transforming familiar shapes into ghostly silhouettes as the shadows stretch and shift, their edges blurred, as if the world is caught in a dream. The air was thick with an oppressive fog that rolled in from the nearby forest, curling around the alleyways and swallowing the street in a phantasmic haze. The scent of decomposing and damp earth permeated the atmosphere, mixing with the faint, lingering odor of wood smoke from inconspicuous fireplaces. Dmitri’s voice was low and gravelly, echoing with menacing tone.
 
“Ladies and gentlemen, the moment has finally arrived. It happens at one of the grandest spectacles that the XWF has to offer.  I’ll get the opportunity to cut my teeth in this business live on pay-per-view at Relentless. What a fitting name for my first ever professional wrestling encounter. Most people walking around on this planet just can’t seem to grasp a simplistic concept and that being average is unacceptable. I learned a long time ago when I was locked away for simply believing in something different, choosing to think for myself and go against the grain and speaking my mind. I learned I was built differently than most of the sheep in society and choose to take a stand. My prize? Locked away in a gulag…  In that moment I decided that I was going to be the one in control. So, I held the line. In this time, I realized that I wanted to be much more than average. I am the man who wants everything that this company that this company has to offer, and I have no issue stacking bodies to get there and if anyone to stands in my way. You’ll be steamrolled like a dog in the streets. I’m hungry and about to conquer the entire company for every single scrap on the table.  What you are about to witness is something truly unforgettable. My name is Dmitri ‘Baba Yaga’ Drako, and at Relentless, I will step into the squared circle for the first time, ready to deliver a performance that will sear itself into your memories forever.”
 
He pauses, as his words linger on the air which feels like the cage, he had become accustomed to.
 
 “You see, while most of you have been living your lives in comfort and ease, I have been enduring the harshest of trials. For years, I was imprisoned in the cold, unforgiving confines of a Russian gulag. They thought they could break me. They thought they could shatter my spirit and turn me into nothing more than a forgotten ghost of the past. Burring me in the fridge ground. No! Instead, I chose otherwise and was forged into something far greater, something they never anticipated. A king, a conqueror, a legend and I’ll do the same in XWF. There is always someone out there working harder than you and I’m that man. Willing to forgo sleep, precious desires and comforts just to be superior and that name and face is mine. I will get into the heads of the wrestlers of this federation and own space I will do the haunting and hunting.”
 
Amid this eerie setting stood Dmitri Drako, known in hushed tones as “Baba Yaga”. His presence was a palpable force in the oppressive gloom, a shadow among shadows. Dmitri, clad in a long, tattered cloak that fluttered around him like dark wings, moved with a grace that belied his menacing reputation. His face, gaunt and angular, was partially obscured by the deep hood of his cloak, but his piercing eyes gleamed with a cold, malevolent light. He paced the alley, the intensity of his presence growing with each step. His voice, though steady, carries an undercurrent of raw power.
 
“In that hellhole, I became a phenomenon. They whispered my name in trepidation, spoke of my prowess with trembling voices. They called me “Baba Yaga”, the embodiment of their darkest nightmares. While others lay down and surrendered, I rose from the ashes of my suffering. I turned every beat of agony into a weapon, every moment of pain into a badge of honor. I fought not just to survive, but to dominate. And now, I bring that same ferocity to the XWF.”
 
Tonight, Dmitri was engaged in a ritual that spoke of ancient and forbidden practices. At the center of the alley, he had created a makeshift circle using salt and dried herbs, arranged meticulously on the ground. The circle was adorned with intricate runes and symbols etched into the cobblestones, glowing faintly with a sickly green light that pulsed in rhythm with the low hum of Dmitri’s incantations. The symbols seemed to writhe and shift as though they were alive, reacting to the dark energies being summoned. In one hand, Dmitri held an ancient, gnarled staff topped with a crystal that glowed with an unsettling, pulsating light. The staff was as old as the legends that surrounded him, its surface engraved with cryptic inscriptions and symbols of forgotten power. With a fluid motion, he brought the staff down, striking the ground with a resonant thud that sent ripples of dark energy through the circle.
 
As Dmitri chanted in an archaic language, his voice was a low, resonant murmur, almost drowned by the fog that swirled around him. The incantations were accompanied by the occasional flare of violet flame that erupted from the circle, casting eerie shadows on the surrounding walls. The flames danced and twisted, illuminating the alley with an unnatural light that flickered like the heartbeat of some malevolent entity. Around the edges of the circle, strange, otherworldly figures began to materialize, their forms shifting and contorting as if struggling to maintain their shape in the material world. These specters were not fully visible but were discernible through the distortion they caused in the air, as if reality itself was bending around their presence. Their eyes glowed with a haunting luminescence, and their mouths moved in silent screams, echoing the terror that was about to unfold.
 
Dmitri’s expression was one of intense concentration mixed with a hint of malevolent satisfaction. His eyes, reflecting the greenish glow of the symbols and the violet flames, were fixed on the emerging figures with a look of cold authority. He raised his free hand, and with a sweeping motion, directed the dark energies toward the figures. The spectral entities recoiled and twisted, their forms becoming increasingly unstable and chaotic under his control. With another chant, Dmitri directed the energy towards a specific point in the air, and with a burst of ethereal light, a portal began to form. The portal was a swirling vortex of darkness and light, churning with the raw power of the ritual. It seemed to suck in the surrounding fog and distort the space around it, creating an oppressive gravitational pull that drew the attention of anyone who dared to venture close.
 
The air grew colder, and a chilling wind began to howl through the alley, carrying with it a sense of dread and impending doom. Dmitri’s figure was now fully engulfed in the aura of the ritual, his silhouette cast against the shimmering portal. His voice rose to a crescendo, the incantations becoming more frantic and intense as he sought to solidify the portal and the dark entities within. The alleyway was silent except for the ominous hum of the ritual and the occasional crackle of the violet flames. Shadows seemed to stretch and writhe along the walls, as if reacting to the dark energies being conjured. The fog thickened, almost as if trying to shield the alley from the malevolent force that Dmitri was unleashing.
 
During this dark spectacle, Dmitri stood as both conductor and creator, a figure of profound and unsettling power. His actions, though menacing and fraught with danger, were carried out with an almost ritualistic precision, a testament to his mastery over the forbidden arts. The alleyway, with its eerie ambiance and creeping shadows, was a fitting stage for his dark endeavors, a place where fear and folklore converged in a dance as old as time itself. As the portal stabilized, the otherworldly figures began to coalesce into more defined forms, their presence casting an even darker pall over the alley. Dmitri’s expression remained focused, his eyes reflecting the swirling chaos of the portal as he prepared to harness and control the dark forces he had summoned. The alleyway, once a mundane stretch of forgotten streets, had become a conduit for ancient powers, all under the watchful eye of the feared and revered “Baba Yaga”.
 
 “On night one of Relentless, my debut match is not just any match. No, it’s a showdown with Adam Garcia where I will plant my flag dead center of the ring. Garcia, you may think you know what it means to be relentless. You think you can comprehend the meaning of struggle and perseverance? Let me make one thing crystal clear. You don’t have the faintest idea of what it takes to endure true suffering and emerge victorious. They’ve told me that you were a certified killer, imagine my disappointment after I overwhelm, overpower, and subjugate you in front of the entire world. Annihilation is the only way, once the bell tolls you will find out I am not like any other man that you have ever faced, I’m candy-coated poison and I’ll butcher you before you even understand what happened.”
 
Dmitri’s eyes narrow, his gaze penetrating the darkness as if searching for Adam.
 
“You see, Adam, while you’ve been flaunting your so-called skills in the limelight, I’ve been battling through the murkiest corners of existence. You’ve been basking in your comfort zone, while I’ve been training in the crucible of pain. You may have won your share of matches, but I’m a force of reckoning. You’ve never encountered a man who has been tempered by the fires of unrelenting torment. You are not on my level, or the level below me.”
 
Dmitri raises his fists, his voice growing more intense.
 
“You’re not just stepping into a wrestling ring. You’re stepping on to the battlefield of a warrior forged in despair. I will tear through you with a ferocity that will leave you questioning your very will to fight. You think you can match my intensity? You think you can stand toe-to-toe with the embodiment of torment? Think again. I am the man who will ignite the new flame of professionally wrestling and carry the torch to the top of the mountain all by myself. The new era begins with me.”
 
He takes a step closer to the camera, his presence commanding attention.
 
“I am going to show you a level of brutality you’ve never experienced. They tell me that this will be the most predominant match of my career. No, no. Bearing a false witness is a sin. This match is going to be the greatest match of your career because everything that you stand for is on the line. You, my friend, have become a casualty of circumstance. Every strike, every slam, every blow will be delivered with the unwavering intensity of a man who knows no limits. You will feel the weight of my suffering and the strength of my resolve. You will feel every ounce of pain and fury that I have stored up, waiting in the cold confinement of a cell for this moment. And by the end of this match, you will be left battered, broken, and utterly defeated.”
 
Dmitri’s energy reaches a fever pitch, their excitement almost tangible.
 
“You think this is just another match? You think you’re just going to walk in and walk out with a victory? No, Adam, Relentless is a day of reckoning. The legend of “Baba Yaga” will be born anew in the XWF. I will dominate this ring, and you will be nothing more than a footnote in the history of my rise. I will make an example of you, proving that no matter how relentless you think you are, there is always a force greater, more terrifying, and more unstoppable.”
 
He raises his arm.
 
“So, brace yourself, Adam Garcia. Prepare for a clash that will echo through the annals of wrestling history. You face not just a man, but the embodiment of relentless fury and unyielding strength. I am Dmitri “Baba Yaga” Drako, and I will not be denied. I will not stop. And when this night is over, you will understand what it means to be truly relentless.”
 
With a final, piercing glare into the camera, Dmitri turns, his cloak swirling dramatically as he strides off the stage. The crowd’s roar crescendos, a blend of awe and anticipation as they await the impending clash.]]>   Ten years ago
 
In the heart of the desolate Siberian landscape, where the sun's feeble light barely touched the frost-rimed earth, the Russian gulag stood as a grim testament to human suffering. The gulag was an unsympathetic realm where the piercing cold seemed to have its own heartbeat, an uncompromising and brutish rhythm that governed every moment of every single day. Envision a vast expanse of sub-zero wasteland, where the horizon is a distant, gray line, and the sky is perpetually shrouded in a godforsaken overcast sky. The landscape is marked by snowdrifts that ascend like specters from the Earth, whispering secrets of heartache to those who traverse their inhospitable stretches.
 
Guard: Move along…
 
The sound of prisoners' chains as they approach the gates of the gulag is a haunting symphony of despondency and resignation. Each step they take is accompanied by the relentless clinking and clanking of frigid metal, a discordant rhythm that reverberates through the bone-chilling, stark silence of the Siberian topography. As they shuffle forward, the chains around their ankles and wrists jingle with a mournful clatter. The noise is an oppressive, metallic din, a grim reminder of their inescapable fate. The chains are not merely physical restraints; they are symbolic shackles of their lost freedom and shattered dreams. Each link in the chain seems to echo the heavy burden of their confinement, its sound like a constant, cruel reminder of their captivity.
 
Guard: MOVE…
 
The clinking of the chains is punctuated by the occasional harsh rattle as the prisoner’s stumble over uneven ground or are pulled sharply by a guard’s command. This interruption adds a jagged, dissonant edge to the melody of their torment. The sound carries through the frigid air, cutting through the heavy silence that hangs over the camp like a suffocating shroud. With each step, the chains seem to grow heavier, their clamor more insistent, as if mocking the prisoners’ futile attempts to escape their grim reality. The rhythmic clangor resonates against the cold, iron gates of the gulag, amplifying the feeling of impending doom that lies just beyond them. The gates themselves, towering and forbidding, stand as an unyielding barrier between the prisoners and any semblance of freedom or hope.
 
The harsh, metallic noise of the chains serves as a grim symphony to their arrival, a relentless reminder of their diminished status and the unyielding nature of their punishment. It is a sound that lingers long after they have passed, an echo of their suffering that reverberates through the barren expanse of the gulag, marking their passage with an indelible, sorrowful note. When Dmitri first stepped inside the gulag, the experience was a sensory onslaught, a jarring collision of reality and his deepest fears. The moment his boots crossed the threshold, he felt an overwhelming weight settle over him, as if the very air was thick with the collective anguish of those who had come before.
 
Dmitri’s eyes began darting about, frequently shifting his gaze from one spot to another. His posture was tense, hands clenched with a rigid stance, as he occasionally glanced over their shoulder on alert. Finally, his eyes adjusted to the dim, dreary light, as he took in the desolate camp. The sight was a bloodthirsty hellscape of rusting metal and decaying wood. The barracks, squat and sullen, loomed like ghosts in the frozen empire, their walls blemished with age and filled with disfiguring scars. The barbed wire fences, glistening with a malevolent sheen, encircled the camp with an unspoken threat. The bleak, gunmetal gray sky hung low, casting a gloomy shadow over everything, while the snow-covered ground seemed to stretch endlessly, swallowing any hint of sympathy or hope.
 
Dmitri tilted his head slightly while abruptly closing his eyes as his ears perked up to catch every nuance of the soundscape that now enveloped him. The tranquility was sinister, punctuated only by the distant clanking of chains and the occasional, sharp command from the guards. The sounds of other prisoners muffled conversations, the shuffle of footsteps, and the creaking of old, weary structures were isolated and haunting. Each sound was a constant reminder of his new, forbidding reality, a cruel soundtrack to his entry into this frozen hell.
 
Dmitri took a deep breath in allowing the heavy air with a mix of staleness and the acrid tang of burning coal to move through his lungs. The pervasive scent of dampness and deterioration adhered to everything, a grim testament to the harsh conditions that governed over the gulag. Every breath felt coagulated, laden with the stench of desperation and neglect.
 
Guard: Are you the man they call, "Baba Yaga?"
 
Dmitri doesn’t respond as the guard grows agitated.
 
Guard: Are you “Baba Yaga?”
 
“Da.”
 
Dmitri’s gravelly voice carried a deep, textured resonance that feels almost tactile, like a rough-hewn stone. When he speaks, each word seems to emerge from a rich, resonant depth, with a husky timbre that conveys both weariness and strength. The guard lowers his AK-47 as a warm sound emerges, resonant rumble that bubbles up from deep within. It begins as a low, benevolent murmur, gradually gaining strength as it escapes through his slightly parted lips. The guard’s shoulders shake subtly with the rhythm of laughter, creating a soft, infectious tremor in the air. His eyes crinkled at the corners, sparkling with mirth, and a relaxed smile spreads across their face, revealing just a hint of crooked teeth. The chuckle was more than just a sound; it’s an expressive, heartfelt release that carries a sense of genuine amusement and warmth, leaving a lingering, pleasant echo of joy. As the guard wipes away a tear away from the corner of his eyes the smile fades.
 
Guard: Is that so…
 
Dmitri knew what was coming next. The sudden, jolting force of a powerful blow from the end of the AK-47 abruptly knocked the wind from Dmitri’s sails. The impact was a visceral shot to the gut, immediately causing a deep, constricting pain that stole his breath away. His chest felt like it was compressed by an invisible weight, leaving him gasping to inhale. But no matter how hard Dmitri tried, his lungs refused to cooperate, as if they’d been temporarily paralyzed. The sharp, acute pain radiated from his abdomen, creating a sensation of being hollowed out.
 
Guard: “Baba Yaga?” Ha.
 
The guard spit next to Dmitri who was doubled over, hands clutching his stomach as if to shield himself from the shock. Each attempt to breathe is met with a futile, panicked feeling of trying to inhale through a closed valve. There’s a mix of pain and disorientation, as his vision blurred slightly, and a cold sweat formed on his forehead. The initial shock gave way to a lingering ache, a deep, throbbing sensation that persists in his core. Dmitri felt a wave of nausea accompanying the breathlessness, as his body struggled to regain its rhythm. The surrounding noise seemed distant, muffled, as his focus narrowed to the struggle of recovering his breath. Dmitri grabbed a hand full of snow and clenched his fist white knuckle tight. The cold was immediate and penetrating, a biting, relentless force that seemed to seep through every layer of his body and into his very bones. His hands, though gloved, felt the cruel bite of the wind, and the cold, rough texture of the chains that now bound him was a constant, jarring reminder of his captivity.
 
Guard: Now get up! “Baba Yaga.”
 
The guard mocked Dmitri as he absorbed the full impact of his new environment, a wave of emotions washed over him. First was the sharp sting of disbelief, a sudden realization that his life had been irrevocably altered. He felt a profound sense of despair as he grappled with the cold reality of his situation. The enormity of the camp and the severity of its conditions pressed down on him, making him feel small and insignificant in the face of such overwhelming desolation. Yet beneath the despair, there was a flicker of defiance. Dmitri’s mind raced with thoughts of survival, a determination to endure despite the harshness that surrounded him. He resolved to face whatever came next with the same strength and resolve that had carried him through his past trials. The sight of the bleak, oppressive landscape and the sense of isolation stirred something deep within him a fierce resolve to resist, to adapt, and to find a way to maintain his dignity amidst the crushing weight of his new reality. Dmitri smiled as he made his way back to his feet cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders.
 
The gulag was not merely a place of physical confinement; it was a prison of the soul, a place where the harsh elements mirrored the relentless cruelty of those who governed it. It was a place where the human spirit was tested to its limits, where every day was a struggle to retain a semblance of dignity and humanity. In the end, the gulag was a monument to the depths of human suffering, a place where the indomitable will of the human spirit was both challenged and, in rare moments, illuminated. It was a place where hope was buried beneath layers of ice and despair, where men were stripped of their humanity and left to become shadows of their former selves. In this frozen purgatory, Dmitri Drako would emerge as an enigma a man transformed into a living legend by the brutal conditions that sought to fracture him.


 
To be continued…
 
 
 
 
 









Today.
 
In the umbrageous shadowed alleys of Eastern Russia, the nebulous veil of twilight bestowed an otherworldly incandescence on the uninhabited streets. Here, folklore and reality intertwined together into a dark tapestry, creating a place where the mundane and the mystical dwelled side by side. The constricted alleys meandered like serpents through a labyrinthine neighborhood, lined with ancient buildings that seemed to lean inwards, their dilapidated facades covered in a creeping shroud of ivy and moss. Their windows were dark, uninviting, and often shattered, revealing only the empty, hollow eyes of abandoned rooms.
 
Off in the distance the rhythmic sound of footsteps reverberates through the compressed alley, each step embrittled and clear against the weathered cobblestones. The echoes danced around, lingering momentarily before scurrying off into the shadows. There’s a steady cadence, perhaps a hint of urgency, as the soles strike the stones with a soft thud, the sound galvanized with the faint rustle of fabric and the whisper of the evening breeze. Each footfall creates a melody of sequestration, the cobbles telling stories of countless passersby, now just a backdrop to this solitary approach. The air feels charged, as if the very stones are anticipating the figure that draws near, the echoes entwining an instrumental symphony of sound that hints at both quandary and commitment.
 
The cobblestones beneath the character's exhausted black boots were slick with a layer of wet grime, shimmering underneath the ashen light of a waning moon discharges gingerly across the archaic buildings, manufacturing a blanched, silvery glow that feels almost ethereal bathing everything in a muted hue, transforming familiar shapes into ghostly silhouettes as the shadows stretch and shift, their edges blurred, as if the world is caught in a dream. The air was thick with an oppressive fog that rolled in from the nearby forest, curling around the alleyways and swallowing the street in a phantasmic haze. The scent of decomposing and damp earth permeated the atmosphere, mixing with the faint, lingering odor of wood smoke from inconspicuous fireplaces. Dmitri’s voice was low and gravelly, echoing with menacing tone.
 
“Ladies and gentlemen, the moment has finally arrived. It happens at one of the grandest spectacles that the XWF has to offer.  I’ll get the opportunity to cut my teeth in this business live on pay-per-view at Relentless. What a fitting name for my first ever professional wrestling encounter. Most people walking around on this planet just can’t seem to grasp a simplistic concept and that being average is unacceptable. I learned a long time ago when I was locked away for simply believing in something different, choosing to think for myself and go against the grain and speaking my mind. I learned I was built differently than most of the sheep in society and choose to take a stand. My prize? Locked away in a gulag…  In that moment I decided that I was going to be the one in control. So, I held the line. In this time, I realized that I wanted to be much more than average. I am the man who wants everything that this company that this company has to offer, and I have no issue stacking bodies to get there and if anyone to stands in my way. You’ll be steamrolled like a dog in the streets. I’m hungry and about to conquer the entire company for every single scrap on the table.  What you are about to witness is something truly unforgettable. My name is Dmitri ‘Baba Yaga’ Drako, and at Relentless, I will step into the squared circle for the first time, ready to deliver a performance that will sear itself into your memories forever.”
 
He pauses, as his words linger on the air which feels like the cage, he had become accustomed to.
 
 “You see, while most of you have been living your lives in comfort and ease, I have been enduring the harshest of trials. For years, I was imprisoned in the cold, unforgiving confines of a Russian gulag. They thought they could break me. They thought they could shatter my spirit and turn me into nothing more than a forgotten ghost of the past. Burring me in the fridge ground. No! Instead, I chose otherwise and was forged into something far greater, something they never anticipated. A king, a conqueror, a legend and I’ll do the same in XWF. There is always someone out there working harder than you and I’m that man. Willing to forgo sleep, precious desires and comforts just to be superior and that name and face is mine. I will get into the heads of the wrestlers of this federation and own space I will do the haunting and hunting.”
 
Amid this eerie setting stood Dmitri Drako, known in hushed tones as “Baba Yaga”. His presence was a palpable force in the oppressive gloom, a shadow among shadows. Dmitri, clad in a long, tattered cloak that fluttered around him like dark wings, moved with a grace that belied his menacing reputation. His face, gaunt and angular, was partially obscured by the deep hood of his cloak, but his piercing eyes gleamed with a cold, malevolent light. He paced the alley, the intensity of his presence growing with each step. His voice, though steady, carries an undercurrent of raw power.
 
“In that hellhole, I became a phenomenon. They whispered my name in trepidation, spoke of my prowess with trembling voices. They called me “Baba Yaga”, the embodiment of their darkest nightmares. While others lay down and surrendered, I rose from the ashes of my suffering. I turned every beat of agony into a weapon, every moment of pain into a badge of honor. I fought not just to survive, but to dominate. And now, I bring that same ferocity to the XWF.”
 
Tonight, Dmitri was engaged in a ritual that spoke of ancient and forbidden practices. At the center of the alley, he had created a makeshift circle using salt and dried herbs, arranged meticulously on the ground. The circle was adorned with intricate runes and symbols etched into the cobblestones, glowing faintly with a sickly green light that pulsed in rhythm with the low hum of Dmitri’s incantations. The symbols seemed to writhe and shift as though they were alive, reacting to the dark energies being summoned. In one hand, Dmitri held an ancient, gnarled staff topped with a crystal that glowed with an unsettling, pulsating light. The staff was as old as the legends that surrounded him, its surface engraved with cryptic inscriptions and symbols of forgotten power. With a fluid motion, he brought the staff down, striking the ground with a resonant thud that sent ripples of dark energy through the circle.
 
As Dmitri chanted in an archaic language, his voice was a low, resonant murmur, almost drowned by the fog that swirled around him. The incantations were accompanied by the occasional flare of violet flame that erupted from the circle, casting eerie shadows on the surrounding walls. The flames danced and twisted, illuminating the alley with an unnatural light that flickered like the heartbeat of some malevolent entity. Around the edges of the circle, strange, otherworldly figures began to materialize, their forms shifting and contorting as if struggling to maintain their shape in the material world. These specters were not fully visible but were discernible through the distortion they caused in the air, as if reality itself was bending around their presence. Their eyes glowed with a haunting luminescence, and their mouths moved in silent screams, echoing the terror that was about to unfold.
 
Dmitri’s expression was one of intense concentration mixed with a hint of malevolent satisfaction. His eyes, reflecting the greenish glow of the symbols and the violet flames, were fixed on the emerging figures with a look of cold authority. He raised his free hand, and with a sweeping motion, directed the dark energies toward the figures. The spectral entities recoiled and twisted, their forms becoming increasingly unstable and chaotic under his control. With another chant, Dmitri directed the energy towards a specific point in the air, and with a burst of ethereal light, a portal began to form. The portal was a swirling vortex of darkness and light, churning with the raw power of the ritual. It seemed to suck in the surrounding fog and distort the space around it, creating an oppressive gravitational pull that drew the attention of anyone who dared to venture close.
 
The air grew colder, and a chilling wind began to howl through the alley, carrying with it a sense of dread and impending doom. Dmitri’s figure was now fully engulfed in the aura of the ritual, his silhouette cast against the shimmering portal. His voice rose to a crescendo, the incantations becoming more frantic and intense as he sought to solidify the portal and the dark entities within. The alleyway was silent except for the ominous hum of the ritual and the occasional crackle of the violet flames. Shadows seemed to stretch and writhe along the walls, as if reacting to the dark energies being conjured. The fog thickened, almost as if trying to shield the alley from the malevolent force that Dmitri was unleashing.
 
During this dark spectacle, Dmitri stood as both conductor and creator, a figure of profound and unsettling power. His actions, though menacing and fraught with danger, were carried out with an almost ritualistic precision, a testament to his mastery over the forbidden arts. The alleyway, with its eerie ambiance and creeping shadows, was a fitting stage for his dark endeavors, a place where fear and folklore converged in a dance as old as time itself. As the portal stabilized, the otherworldly figures began to coalesce into more defined forms, their presence casting an even darker pall over the alley. Dmitri’s expression remained focused, his eyes reflecting the swirling chaos of the portal as he prepared to harness and control the dark forces he had summoned. The alleyway, once a mundane stretch of forgotten streets, had become a conduit for ancient powers, all under the watchful eye of the feared and revered “Baba Yaga”.
 
 “On night one of Relentless, my debut match is not just any match. No, it’s a showdown with Adam Garcia where I will plant my flag dead center of the ring. Garcia, you may think you know what it means to be relentless. You think you can comprehend the meaning of struggle and perseverance? Let me make one thing crystal clear. You don’t have the faintest idea of what it takes to endure true suffering and emerge victorious. They’ve told me that you were a certified killer, imagine my disappointment after I overwhelm, overpower, and subjugate you in front of the entire world. Annihilation is the only way, once the bell tolls you will find out I am not like any other man that you have ever faced, I’m candy-coated poison and I’ll butcher you before you even understand what happened.”
 
Dmitri’s eyes narrow, his gaze penetrating the darkness as if searching for Adam.
 
“You see, Adam, while you’ve been flaunting your so-called skills in the limelight, I’ve been battling through the murkiest corners of existence. You’ve been basking in your comfort zone, while I’ve been training in the crucible of pain. You may have won your share of matches, but I’m a force of reckoning. You’ve never encountered a man who has been tempered by the fires of unrelenting torment. You are not on my level, or the level below me.”
 
Dmitri raises his fists, his voice growing more intense.
 
“You’re not just stepping into a wrestling ring. You’re stepping on to the battlefield of a warrior forged in despair. I will tear through you with a ferocity that will leave you questioning your very will to fight. You think you can match my intensity? You think you can stand toe-to-toe with the embodiment of torment? Think again. I am the man who will ignite the new flame of professionally wrestling and carry the torch to the top of the mountain all by myself. The new era begins with me.”
 
He takes a step closer to the camera, his presence commanding attention.
 
“I am going to show you a level of brutality you’ve never experienced. They tell me that this will be the most predominant match of my career. No, no. Bearing a false witness is a sin. This match is going to be the greatest match of your career because everything that you stand for is on the line. You, my friend, have become a casualty of circumstance. Every strike, every slam, every blow will be delivered with the unwavering intensity of a man who knows no limits. You will feel the weight of my suffering and the strength of my resolve. You will feel every ounce of pain and fury that I have stored up, waiting in the cold confinement of a cell for this moment. And by the end of this match, you will be left battered, broken, and utterly defeated.”
 
Dmitri’s energy reaches a fever pitch, their excitement almost tangible.
 
“You think this is just another match? You think you’re just going to walk in and walk out with a victory? No, Adam, Relentless is a day of reckoning. The legend of “Baba Yaga” will be born anew in the XWF. I will dominate this ring, and you will be nothing more than a footnote in the history of my rise. I will make an example of you, proving that no matter how relentless you think you are, there is always a force greater, more terrifying, and more unstoppable.”
 
He raises his arm.
 
“So, brace yourself, Adam Garcia. Prepare for a clash that will echo through the annals of wrestling history. You face not just a man, but the embodiment of relentless fury and unyielding strength. I am Dmitri “Baba Yaga” Drako, and I will not be denied. I will not stop. And when this night is over, you will understand what it means to be truly relentless.”
 
With a final, piercing glare into the camera, Dmitri turns, his cloak swirling dramatically as he strides off the stage. The crowd’s roar crescendos, a blend of awe and anticipation as they await the impending clash.]]> <![CDATA[Some Shit About Some Shit (SSASS)]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47970 Fri, 13 Sep 2024 07:54:22 -0700 Jason Cashe]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47970
Sometimes, it was all we had left..

After Tony Savage’s Fight Night on the 6th. I figured I could remain in Houston. Knowing that Relentless would come to me, I was allowing myself time to think. Time to figure a few things out.

I knew I had a fight coming and knew full well that when an animal is wounded, they can become even more dangerous than you anticipate. I knew that Dionysus wanted this, he was hungry. He said as much when he told Aurora that he was going after a phantom and then appeared after my match with Garcia.

He wants what I have, what he has had before and yet.. He isn't the only one with something to fight for..

*Faded Noise*

Pulling myself out of deep thought, the water in the shower had lost most of the heat as I quickly reached for the handle and shut it off. Standing there, I listened.

I know I heard something and I was fairly sure it was glass breaking. Has someone busted a window to break into my home? “Booooshit!” I say in a normal, not hiding from shit type of voice.

Stepping out from the shower, my wet foot falls are all that one could hear as I grabbed my towel and hurried into the connecting master bedroom. Giving myself a once over with the towel, I toss it onto the bed. My clothes were next to where the towel landed and quickly, I began to get dressed. “Let me find someone here..” Scoffing as I put myself into a pair of briefs followed by some loose fitting sweatpants. Barefoot with no shirt on, I wasn't concerned about getting fully dressed.

My mind was getting my body excited for the potential of an intruder.

What else could it be? I lived alone. I’ve been alone for a while and matter of fact, the only person who has slept in this house other than myself was my Mother and.. I wasn't sure where she disappeared to after I kicked her out.

Maybe it was her? I almost preferred a deranged serial killer.

With no real hesitation to speak of, I headed for the bedroom door. I wasn't sure why I closed it when I took a shower but I did. It was probably why I barely heard the noise. Was I even sure it was glass breaking? I would soon find out I told myself as I stepped out into the hallway.

©©©©©©©©

“Relentless. Without question the BIGGEST event in XWF and as it seems, one of the bigger events in ALL of Professional Wrestling today!

Does it need Three Nights? Probably not. Does it need two Misty-Dolly Matches? Unlikely. Does it NEED not one but TWO matches from our ‘Boss’ Thaddeus Duke? Highly unlikely but yet the stage is fucking set regardless, right?

Dionysus, you wanted this! You came out from the back a few Warfares ago and you issued yourself a little challenge. You wanted one more shot! Not just at the Television Title but against me because in your head, you have a chance to right a wrong.

In your head, you are entering a moment of triumph!

A path taken to change the course you have been on where the bigger the stage you are on, the harder you have found yourself falling. Sure, you beat Aurora but that was a regular match with nothing on the line. A newcomer being placed in front of a veteran who could use a win or two so that your bruised ego can heal some..

Putting aside your little love triangle unfolding. You want to reach your newest goals. Find that spark you last had not with the Xtreme Title but with the Title that put you in a spotlight. The title that helped secure that Rookie of the Year in XWF back in 2023. That wasn't that long ago and for you, it seems like just yesterday that you..

Mattered.

Not saying you have been useless. Far from it. I’ve had a draw once before while defending this TV Title and that was against a King that called himself Prince.

I get where you're coming from though. You called this Title something that belonged to you but if you put your TWO reigns up against my CURRENT reign? Yours seems so secondary doesn't it?

All I’m saying is that if this belt is YOURS then why is it that you haven't been involved with it since the year of your little bit of praise as Rookie of the Year?

You weren't even a rookie!

You went onto win the Xtreme Title and cool, I did that as well. It's a constant rush having to watch your back holding that belt. Respectable but I don't care what anyone says, holding the Xtreme doesn't quite stack up to being the Television Champion.

Hot take?

In the official listing of Champions, it is right under the Universal but is it really? It's a belt where you don't have to earn anything. Not even the opportunity to win because an element of surprise can take place anywhere. It's a sport without actual sport. Like backyard wrestling..

Which.. I mean, same same ain't it? At least with being the Xtreme Champion. You want to fit in? You want to be accepted? Maybe grab a partner and dosey doe your ass to the Tag Division. They need more bodies..

I’m trying to be helpful. Give you some direction for when you DON'T find yourself back in time because this isn't 2023, it's 2024 and here and now is me as THE Television Champion!”

©©©©©©©©

Have you ever felt like you were being watched? Of course, I remind myself. Plenty of times. Who hasn't had that feeling? I didn't find an intruder but I found little things that left me questioning everything. A cup I know I hadn't used was sitting on the coffee table in the living room. My Sunflower right outside the front door had been watered. I found nothing broken. That was just the first day after hearing something in the shower..

This was day 3.

Was I being paranoid? I sat for hours in complete silence. Checking my phone, the keypad was as loud as it had gotten. I wanted to hear everything and every little sound caused a stir.

Was I going crazy? They had a word for this. Stir Craze? I’m sure there was a more expensive word out there but let me save my money on the use of it. I wasn't crazy.

Something, someone was fucking with me. I just had to prove it..

I checked every room. Every closet. I knew the places to look because I have lived that lifestyle before. Back when I was with Josslynn. We had broken into places in every city, stayed in houses that belonged to other people. Ate their food, slept in their beds, used their toilet paper. Nothing was off limits and sometimes?

Sometimes the residents were home when we stayed overnight. That was part of the risk and it was a rush!

Was my experience with that helping the panic I was having now? I couldn't be sure but I was invested and wanted to find out. It was late. Two AM by the lit up numbers on my phone and I could feel my eyes getting heavy.

“I’ll just close my eyes for a few minutes..” I mutter as my head falls back against the couch and the view of the world I had of my living room turns black behind my eyelids.

*Shuffle in the Distance*

My head shoots up and turns to the left. Towards the hallway leading deeper into the house and I saw it! “Got you, bitch!” A shadow against the wall scurried away as I leapt up from the sofa and rushed down the hallway.

I kicked in the spare bedroom door. That would need to be replaced. I found nothing inside but some stacked boxes and empty space. The hallway had a closet and a half bathroom. I checked both and found much of the same. Nothing.

“Who is in my house!?” I called out. Expected nothing and got nodda. Could I be so withdrawn from sleep that I was seeing shadows? I know some drugs can create that illusion but I had barely smoked weed in the last 2 days. “I’m gonna find you..” I reassured myself that I wasn't going nuts and that someone was in my house. I wouldn't accept anything else..

©©©©©©©©

“You want to chase acceptance? It's been your word for the last few matches for you. It's the ONE thing you seek most but why? What do you gain from being accepted? Friends? Respect?

You're a foolish man, Dionysus. Everything has an expiration date. Everything. Friendships, relationships, milk, title reigns and careers. Life expires.

There lies your biggest flaw. You care what other people think about you. You want to be thought of as a top name in this business when the simple fucking truth of it is that anytime people hear the name Dionysus these days. It's not you they think of, it's the guy on the table painted blue at the Opening of the Olympics.

I don't know the exact lore behind it. I didn't build a personality based on a mythical being but I understand where your vanity would want to be accepted..

The simple fucking truth is that you're ‘Dio’ and I am the DiOGee because the G ain't in you and neither is a W when you're in the ring with me!

Accept that shit..”

©©©©©©©©


Four fucking days!

I felt like a prisoner because I didn't want to leave knowing, thinking that someone was in my house. I was locked in and so were they. I took a few naps in the living room so that I could hear the front door. The deadbolt made a lot of noise and I was a light sleeper when and if I was able to get any sleep at all.

That's where my plan had formed. I had the idea to pretend to be asleep and try to catch my mouse like that. It didn't work but the bad idea gave me a better one.

“I NEED SOME SLEEP!”

The volume of my voice roared a bit throughout the house. I did so on purpose as I stood up from the dining room table. Slapping my open palms against the surface of the table. I wanted to sell it as truth. Maybe in part, it was.

The plan was easy enough. I had the bracelet!

While I didn't know enough about it to be playing with its magic. I tried it a few times and I knew by now that it did more than just put someone to sleep. The ‘dreams’ were always on location. I wasn't taken to some dream world. I was where I laid my head down.. The last time? I stood there looking down at myself, standing next to my own bed and watching my body just.. Lay there.

It removes all of your own memories. I can't recall my own name while I’m having these bracelet ‘dreams’ but if someone else is nearby? It's like gravity pulls you into their bodies. You hear what they are thinking. You feel what they are feeling while never getting a chance to actually SEE them. It's almost like you are in their consciousness.

It was a magic I knew very little about. A Bracelet I stole in Italy from some men from the Church. I’ve yet to see them or anything ‘Holy’ about this damn thing.. But it provided me with an opportunity.

I needed sleep AND I needed to know that someone else was in my house. Here to take what isn’t theirs. To take from me.. I had to know..

Letting the plan play through my head. I laid down on my bed in the back room of the house. My right arm lifted, my wrist brought up to my face. I look at the bracelet. Examining the details. It has a tube under the golden decoration. It seemed there was a stick of some sort inside the tube.

My bedroom door was closed but I left the light on in the hallway. Letting my eyes turn to the beam of light that poured in from under the door. I wanted to be able to see any shadows that might interrupt that light.

I had a plan in place.. “Goodnight, Jason.” Bringing the bracelet to my lips, I press against it like I was Prince Charming and it was my Sleeping Beauty.

Was I crazy? I would find out. I accepted the outcome whatever that might be.

©©©©©©©©

“You want respect? Take that shit out of someone's chest! Everyone does one or two things when facing conflict. Flight or Fight. Run or Step the fuck up.

I earn mine through fight. Ask Alex Garcia.. I beat him. I gave him another L in his short time in XWF and what did he do? He asked me to come over to XHW and TEAM with him for a Trios tournament. I didn't ask for his respect. I didn't seek his acceptance.

Does Elli accept you? As someone who married his Best Friend and then lost that and a wife as well? I'm in no position to give you advice. As someone who is credited by the SIMPire as to why a relationship broke up RIGHT before I ended up married. I shouldn't even be commenting on anyone's relationship..

However…

If you think you found someone that can put a single flower in the minefield of your life? Lay poison down to keep the bugs from disturbing that. That in the overall of things becomes your most prized possession. I’ve lost one or two. I don't think we can call ourselves human if we haven't.

Chase what will make you happy in life. I say this because I know losing at Relentless is going to suuuuuuck for you..

Man, I can't even imagine!

All jokes aside..

I am who the fuck I am and with that comes trouble. Toxicity that I am tired of trying to outrun!

You want what I have? You're bigger than me. Stronger than me. Probably far more educated but inside that ring? Bring a booksmart hardback and I will beat you with it not because I’m soooo hardcore but because I do what I do like I’m doing it as a hobby and not getting paid for it.

I LOVE this shit!

The fight.

The reach across the ring with an opportunity to break someone's spirit and watch in their eyes when that moment of realization comes. That SAME realization you will have for the THIRD fucking time because as it stands, I have beaten you in AW. I beat you in Greece and we went to a draw here in XWF.

At Relentless? I make it Three and we can call it a goddamn Sweep..

It's only a rivalry if there is a balance in the overall and my Orange Juice haired friend, you are swimming in a wave pool with weights around your ankles and the current is strong..”

©©©©©©©©

It was cold without being cold. So many thoughts racing around but every single one of them came at a distance as if they weren't my own. A bedroom that felt familiar and a body that I recognized but didn't know the name of. I was here but not. Confusion was consuming the moment but with it came a peace that felt like a warm blanket being wrapped around you on a cold night.

Everything had a faded color to it. A hue of gray that I wanted to touch because it didn't look right. Like a water painting done over a canvas that didn't work for water colors. The longer you stare at something, the more it seemed like the gray was going to run.

“What am I doing?” I tried to say but the words couldn't be forced out in a voice. I heard them just in an echo. “Hello? Hey, wake up!” My echoed inner voice calls out to the body on the bed but not a syllable is spoken. The man was covered in tattoos and I felt a strong connection to him as he slept or laid there dead. I wasn't sure. Turning around, I didn't know what to do.

The bedroom door opened. A shadow creeps in onto the ceiling as a figure peeks in from behind the door. Like a zipline with bullet train speed, I was pulled towards them.

“Is he asleep?” Not a voice but a thought. ”Such a hard headed prick..” The thought created a theater of memory that played in every direction like a house of mirrors.

“Sorry kid..”

A voice remembered that lays over me as pain sends shockwaves through me. The flesh was bruised but there was a disheartening pain of trust being broken. Betrayal but not knowing why. Not understanding the cause. A disappointment that fell over the movie of memory like a fresh snowfall.

“I just wanted your approval.. To make you.. Proud.. To be.. Family..”

The feeling of the words carried a sickening to the stomach. A flashing of images. A few people appear. An old man under a bridge, a few couples that give way to the feeling of what ‘family’ was supposed to be but wasn't. Then a girl. She was older and had black hair. Seeing her brought in a warm breeze.

“I better get something to eat before he wakes up.” The thoughts came as the bedroom door was pulled closed. The hallway gave a tightness like walls closing as he passed down them. Turning to enter the kitchen, I feel his hand grip the refrigerator handle. The squinting of his vision turns his head away as the lights shine out into the otherwise dim kitchen.

“He needs to go shopping..”

Each new voice that enters into his thoughts, I started feeling a familiar presence. There was a rising heat that I didn't think was his but my own.

Being YANKED away in the same way I was brought to him. It was fast and rushed like a bullet being shot. Everything was blurry. The kitchen, the hallway, I flew down it. I wanted to reach out and grab something. The bedroom door blacked everything out and then I saw the man on the bed again.. What was his nam–

“Aaaaaaghh!”

Jolting up in bed. I was gasping, sweating like a hot night had blistered my skin. Shaking my head, I felt drunk as I threw my feet off the bed. The first step was always the worst. Stepping into a pothole, I almost lost my balance. The second step came better prepared as I turned and moved towards the door.

Everything started coming back to me. What I had done. What I could recall about the ‘dream’ and who might be in my house.

“Who are you?” I shouted as I got the door open and shouldered against the wall. I was wobbled and unbalanced. It was almost like being drunk without having drank.

I could hear the clanking of noise from the kitchen. I wanted to get there. To see that these noises weren't just in my head. That someone WAS there but I was gonna need a minute before whipping their ass. They had nowhere to hide. Their only option was to run for the door or face me.

I stopped in the hallway. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. I had to get ready. I had to shake off this drowsiness.

“Been a while..” The voice spooked me out of my socks. If I was wearing any, they’d have come right off. Eyes open, I look at a familiar face staring back at me.

“Elm?”

He walks closer and his face forms a smile. From the looks of it, he has seen better days. I could smell him from where I was standing.

“Sorry about the phrogging..”

Seeing that I was having a rough time getting my balance. Elm reaches out to lend a hand. An opportunity knocked.

I punched him in the face..

©©©©©©©©

“I’m ready for this.. I have little else and am chasing even less than what I am doing right now with this Championship. When I first came to XWF, I found more potholes than I found solid ground.

I have been through.. Fuck, four relationships in my time with this company?

That can't be right..

Some shit just really ain't meant for everyone. This title, the schedule, the drive, the motivation to just keep going..

It's like a drug!

At the end of every high comes a fall. A time to sober up. To catch your breath but Dio, I am not ready to breathe anything but the air of this Title, this division because it IS the Work Horse Championship!

You want to take MY spot? Out work me when the bell goes ding. Out work me when the cameras are on and the words get spoken. Some will argue that it's spooky season. Friday the 13th adds to that feeling but for me, the Season begins in July and ends when JASON finalizes in November.

That means I’m in Mid Season form and you're just starting to decide if you’ll go as Carrot Top or Lindsey Lohan come October.

I don't doubt you have the talent to beat me, Dio.. I just don't think you have the killer instinct to get the job done. So for our match, this last one? I will show you that instinct when I put you away like I caught you fucking in the woods and I'm prowling lakeside.

Here, lemme give you a preview. I’m a special, special boy!”

[Image: 3z44SDY.png]



~=~ Bonus Scene ~=~

I don't know about the opposite sex.. But one of the most prized times of the day for a guy is being able to take a nice comfortable shit!

There were preparations for this shit. I had plans for it. Got my headphones on, my phone set up on the counter. Pants and underroos at my ankles, I rubbed my hands together.

“Let's call Theo!” I proclaimed with a sense of excitement. It had been a while. Tapping the screen of my phone, I get his number and push to call. Video call. This was a time to bond. Our time.

“The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please hang up and try again.”

“Say huh?” That didn't seem right. Quickly (Because I could feel it prairie dogging) I clicked his name on contacts. It went back to the same automated message.

“The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please hang up and try again.”

I sighed. “Damn..”]]>
Sometimes, it was all we had left..

After Tony Savage’s Fight Night on the 6th. I figured I could remain in Houston. Knowing that Relentless would come to me, I was allowing myself time to think. Time to figure a few things out.

I knew I had a fight coming and knew full well that when an animal is wounded, they can become even more dangerous than you anticipate. I knew that Dionysus wanted this, he was hungry. He said as much when he told Aurora that he was going after a phantom and then appeared after my match with Garcia.

He wants what I have, what he has had before and yet.. He isn't the only one with something to fight for..

*Faded Noise*

Pulling myself out of deep thought, the water in the shower had lost most of the heat as I quickly reached for the handle and shut it off. Standing there, I listened.

I know I heard something and I was fairly sure it was glass breaking. Has someone busted a window to break into my home? “Booooshit!” I say in a normal, not hiding from shit type of voice.

Stepping out from the shower, my wet foot falls are all that one could hear as I grabbed my towel and hurried into the connecting master bedroom. Giving myself a once over with the towel, I toss it onto the bed. My clothes were next to where the towel landed and quickly, I began to get dressed. “Let me find someone here..” Scoffing as I put myself into a pair of briefs followed by some loose fitting sweatpants. Barefoot with no shirt on, I wasn't concerned about getting fully dressed.

My mind was getting my body excited for the potential of an intruder.

What else could it be? I lived alone. I’ve been alone for a while and matter of fact, the only person who has slept in this house other than myself was my Mother and.. I wasn't sure where she disappeared to after I kicked her out.

Maybe it was her? I almost preferred a deranged serial killer.

With no real hesitation to speak of, I headed for the bedroom door. I wasn't sure why I closed it when I took a shower but I did. It was probably why I barely heard the noise. Was I even sure it was glass breaking? I would soon find out I told myself as I stepped out into the hallway.

©©©©©©©©

“Relentless. Without question the BIGGEST event in XWF and as it seems, one of the bigger events in ALL of Professional Wrestling today!

Does it need Three Nights? Probably not. Does it need two Misty-Dolly Matches? Unlikely. Does it NEED not one but TWO matches from our ‘Boss’ Thaddeus Duke? Highly unlikely but yet the stage is fucking set regardless, right?

Dionysus, you wanted this! You came out from the back a few Warfares ago and you issued yourself a little challenge. You wanted one more shot! Not just at the Television Title but against me because in your head, you have a chance to right a wrong.

In your head, you are entering a moment of triumph!

A path taken to change the course you have been on where the bigger the stage you are on, the harder you have found yourself falling. Sure, you beat Aurora but that was a regular match with nothing on the line. A newcomer being placed in front of a veteran who could use a win or two so that your bruised ego can heal some..

Putting aside your little love triangle unfolding. You want to reach your newest goals. Find that spark you last had not with the Xtreme Title but with the Title that put you in a spotlight. The title that helped secure that Rookie of the Year in XWF back in 2023. That wasn't that long ago and for you, it seems like just yesterday that you..

Mattered.

Not saying you have been useless. Far from it. I’ve had a draw once before while defending this TV Title and that was against a King that called himself Prince.

I get where you're coming from though. You called this Title something that belonged to you but if you put your TWO reigns up against my CURRENT reign? Yours seems so secondary doesn't it?

All I’m saying is that if this belt is YOURS then why is it that you haven't been involved with it since the year of your little bit of praise as Rookie of the Year?

You weren't even a rookie!

You went onto win the Xtreme Title and cool, I did that as well. It's a constant rush having to watch your back holding that belt. Respectable but I don't care what anyone says, holding the Xtreme doesn't quite stack up to being the Television Champion.

Hot take?

In the official listing of Champions, it is right under the Universal but is it really? It's a belt where you don't have to earn anything. Not even the opportunity to win because an element of surprise can take place anywhere. It's a sport without actual sport. Like backyard wrestling..

Which.. I mean, same same ain't it? At least with being the Xtreme Champion. You want to fit in? You want to be accepted? Maybe grab a partner and dosey doe your ass to the Tag Division. They need more bodies..

I’m trying to be helpful. Give you some direction for when you DON'T find yourself back in time because this isn't 2023, it's 2024 and here and now is me as THE Television Champion!”

©©©©©©©©

Have you ever felt like you were being watched? Of course, I remind myself. Plenty of times. Who hasn't had that feeling? I didn't find an intruder but I found little things that left me questioning everything. A cup I know I hadn't used was sitting on the coffee table in the living room. My Sunflower right outside the front door had been watered. I found nothing broken. That was just the first day after hearing something in the shower..

This was day 3.

Was I being paranoid? I sat for hours in complete silence. Checking my phone, the keypad was as loud as it had gotten. I wanted to hear everything and every little sound caused a stir.

Was I going crazy? They had a word for this. Stir Craze? I’m sure there was a more expensive word out there but let me save my money on the use of it. I wasn't crazy.

Something, someone was fucking with me. I just had to prove it..

I checked every room. Every closet. I knew the places to look because I have lived that lifestyle before. Back when I was with Josslynn. We had broken into places in every city, stayed in houses that belonged to other people. Ate their food, slept in their beds, used their toilet paper. Nothing was off limits and sometimes?

Sometimes the residents were home when we stayed overnight. That was part of the risk and it was a rush!

Was my experience with that helping the panic I was having now? I couldn't be sure but I was invested and wanted to find out. It was late. Two AM by the lit up numbers on my phone and I could feel my eyes getting heavy.

“I’ll just close my eyes for a few minutes..” I mutter as my head falls back against the couch and the view of the world I had of my living room turns black behind my eyelids.

*Shuffle in the Distance*

My head shoots up and turns to the left. Towards the hallway leading deeper into the house and I saw it! “Got you, bitch!” A shadow against the wall scurried away as I leapt up from the sofa and rushed down the hallway.

I kicked in the spare bedroom door. That would need to be replaced. I found nothing inside but some stacked boxes and empty space. The hallway had a closet and a half bathroom. I checked both and found much of the same. Nothing.

“Who is in my house!?” I called out. Expected nothing and got nodda. Could I be so withdrawn from sleep that I was seeing shadows? I know some drugs can create that illusion but I had barely smoked weed in the last 2 days. “I’m gonna find you..” I reassured myself that I wasn't going nuts and that someone was in my house. I wouldn't accept anything else..

©©©©©©©©

“You want to chase acceptance? It's been your word for the last few matches for you. It's the ONE thing you seek most but why? What do you gain from being accepted? Friends? Respect?

You're a foolish man, Dionysus. Everything has an expiration date. Everything. Friendships, relationships, milk, title reigns and careers. Life expires.

There lies your biggest flaw. You care what other people think about you. You want to be thought of as a top name in this business when the simple fucking truth of it is that anytime people hear the name Dionysus these days. It's not you they think of, it's the guy on the table painted blue at the Opening of the Olympics.

I don't know the exact lore behind it. I didn't build a personality based on a mythical being but I understand where your vanity would want to be accepted..

The simple fucking truth is that you're ‘Dio’ and I am the DiOGee because the G ain't in you and neither is a W when you're in the ring with me!

Accept that shit..”

©©©©©©©©


Four fucking days!

I felt like a prisoner because I didn't want to leave knowing, thinking that someone was in my house. I was locked in and so were they. I took a few naps in the living room so that I could hear the front door. The deadbolt made a lot of noise and I was a light sleeper when and if I was able to get any sleep at all.

That's where my plan had formed. I had the idea to pretend to be asleep and try to catch my mouse like that. It didn't work but the bad idea gave me a better one.

“I NEED SOME SLEEP!”

The volume of my voice roared a bit throughout the house. I did so on purpose as I stood up from the dining room table. Slapping my open palms against the surface of the table. I wanted to sell it as truth. Maybe in part, it was.

The plan was easy enough. I had the bracelet!

While I didn't know enough about it to be playing with its magic. I tried it a few times and I knew by now that it did more than just put someone to sleep. The ‘dreams’ were always on location. I wasn't taken to some dream world. I was where I laid my head down.. The last time? I stood there looking down at myself, standing next to my own bed and watching my body just.. Lay there.

It removes all of your own memories. I can't recall my own name while I’m having these bracelet ‘dreams’ but if someone else is nearby? It's like gravity pulls you into their bodies. You hear what they are thinking. You feel what they are feeling while never getting a chance to actually SEE them. It's almost like you are in their consciousness.

It was a magic I knew very little about. A Bracelet I stole in Italy from some men from the Church. I’ve yet to see them or anything ‘Holy’ about this damn thing.. But it provided me with an opportunity.

I needed sleep AND I needed to know that someone else was in my house. Here to take what isn’t theirs. To take from me.. I had to know..

Letting the plan play through my head. I laid down on my bed in the back room of the house. My right arm lifted, my wrist brought up to my face. I look at the bracelet. Examining the details. It has a tube under the golden decoration. It seemed there was a stick of some sort inside the tube.

My bedroom door was closed but I left the light on in the hallway. Letting my eyes turn to the beam of light that poured in from under the door. I wanted to be able to see any shadows that might interrupt that light.

I had a plan in place.. “Goodnight, Jason.” Bringing the bracelet to my lips, I press against it like I was Prince Charming and it was my Sleeping Beauty.

Was I crazy? I would find out. I accepted the outcome whatever that might be.

©©©©©©©©

“You want respect? Take that shit out of someone's chest! Everyone does one or two things when facing conflict. Flight or Fight. Run or Step the fuck up.

I earn mine through fight. Ask Alex Garcia.. I beat him. I gave him another L in his short time in XWF and what did he do? He asked me to come over to XHW and TEAM with him for a Trios tournament. I didn't ask for his respect. I didn't seek his acceptance.

Does Elli accept you? As someone who married his Best Friend and then lost that and a wife as well? I'm in no position to give you advice. As someone who is credited by the SIMPire as to why a relationship broke up RIGHT before I ended up married. I shouldn't even be commenting on anyone's relationship..

However…

If you think you found someone that can put a single flower in the minefield of your life? Lay poison down to keep the bugs from disturbing that. That in the overall of things becomes your most prized possession. I’ve lost one or two. I don't think we can call ourselves human if we haven't.

Chase what will make you happy in life. I say this because I know losing at Relentless is going to suuuuuuck for you..

Man, I can't even imagine!

All jokes aside..

I am who the fuck I am and with that comes trouble. Toxicity that I am tired of trying to outrun!

You want what I have? You're bigger than me. Stronger than me. Probably far more educated but inside that ring? Bring a booksmart hardback and I will beat you with it not because I’m soooo hardcore but because I do what I do like I’m doing it as a hobby and not getting paid for it.

I LOVE this shit!

The fight.

The reach across the ring with an opportunity to break someone's spirit and watch in their eyes when that moment of realization comes. That SAME realization you will have for the THIRD fucking time because as it stands, I have beaten you in AW. I beat you in Greece and we went to a draw here in XWF.

At Relentless? I make it Three and we can call it a goddamn Sweep..

It's only a rivalry if there is a balance in the overall and my Orange Juice haired friend, you are swimming in a wave pool with weights around your ankles and the current is strong..”

©©©©©©©©

It was cold without being cold. So many thoughts racing around but every single one of them came at a distance as if they weren't my own. A bedroom that felt familiar and a body that I recognized but didn't know the name of. I was here but not. Confusion was consuming the moment but with it came a peace that felt like a warm blanket being wrapped around you on a cold night.

Everything had a faded color to it. A hue of gray that I wanted to touch because it didn't look right. Like a water painting done over a canvas that didn't work for water colors. The longer you stare at something, the more it seemed like the gray was going to run.

“What am I doing?” I tried to say but the words couldn't be forced out in a voice. I heard them just in an echo. “Hello? Hey, wake up!” My echoed inner voice calls out to the body on the bed but not a syllable is spoken. The man was covered in tattoos and I felt a strong connection to him as he slept or laid there dead. I wasn't sure. Turning around, I didn't know what to do.

The bedroom door opened. A shadow creeps in onto the ceiling as a figure peeks in from behind the door. Like a zipline with bullet train speed, I was pulled towards them.

“Is he asleep?” Not a voice but a thought. ”Such a hard headed prick..” The thought created a theater of memory that played in every direction like a house of mirrors.

“Sorry kid..”

A voice remembered that lays over me as pain sends shockwaves through me. The flesh was bruised but there was a disheartening pain of trust being broken. Betrayal but not knowing why. Not understanding the cause. A disappointment that fell over the movie of memory like a fresh snowfall.

“I just wanted your approval.. To make you.. Proud.. To be.. Family..”

The feeling of the words carried a sickening to the stomach. A flashing of images. A few people appear. An old man under a bridge, a few couples that give way to the feeling of what ‘family’ was supposed to be but wasn't. Then a girl. She was older and had black hair. Seeing her brought in a warm breeze.

“I better get something to eat before he wakes up.” The thoughts came as the bedroom door was pulled closed. The hallway gave a tightness like walls closing as he passed down them. Turning to enter the kitchen, I feel his hand grip the refrigerator handle. The squinting of his vision turns his head away as the lights shine out into the otherwise dim kitchen.

“He needs to go shopping..”

Each new voice that enters into his thoughts, I started feeling a familiar presence. There was a rising heat that I didn't think was his but my own.

Being YANKED away in the same way I was brought to him. It was fast and rushed like a bullet being shot. Everything was blurry. The kitchen, the hallway, I flew down it. I wanted to reach out and grab something. The bedroom door blacked everything out and then I saw the man on the bed again.. What was his nam–

“Aaaaaaghh!”

Jolting up in bed. I was gasping, sweating like a hot night had blistered my skin. Shaking my head, I felt drunk as I threw my feet off the bed. The first step was always the worst. Stepping into a pothole, I almost lost my balance. The second step came better prepared as I turned and moved towards the door.

Everything started coming back to me. What I had done. What I could recall about the ‘dream’ and who might be in my house.

“Who are you?” I shouted as I got the door open and shouldered against the wall. I was wobbled and unbalanced. It was almost like being drunk without having drank.

I could hear the clanking of noise from the kitchen. I wanted to get there. To see that these noises weren't just in my head. That someone WAS there but I was gonna need a minute before whipping their ass. They had nowhere to hide. Their only option was to run for the door or face me.

I stopped in the hallway. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. I had to get ready. I had to shake off this drowsiness.

“Been a while..” The voice spooked me out of my socks. If I was wearing any, they’d have come right off. Eyes open, I look at a familiar face staring back at me.

“Elm?”

He walks closer and his face forms a smile. From the looks of it, he has seen better days. I could smell him from where I was standing.

“Sorry about the phrogging..”

Seeing that I was having a rough time getting my balance. Elm reaches out to lend a hand. An opportunity knocked.

I punched him in the face..

©©©©©©©©

“I’m ready for this.. I have little else and am chasing even less than what I am doing right now with this Championship. When I first came to XWF, I found more potholes than I found solid ground.

I have been through.. Fuck, four relationships in my time with this company?

That can't be right..

Some shit just really ain't meant for everyone. This title, the schedule, the drive, the motivation to just keep going..

It's like a drug!

At the end of every high comes a fall. A time to sober up. To catch your breath but Dio, I am not ready to breathe anything but the air of this Title, this division because it IS the Work Horse Championship!

You want to take MY spot? Out work me when the bell goes ding. Out work me when the cameras are on and the words get spoken. Some will argue that it's spooky season. Friday the 13th adds to that feeling but for me, the Season begins in July and ends when JASON finalizes in November.

That means I’m in Mid Season form and you're just starting to decide if you’ll go as Carrot Top or Lindsey Lohan come October.

I don't doubt you have the talent to beat me, Dio.. I just don't think you have the killer instinct to get the job done. So for our match, this last one? I will show you that instinct when I put you away like I caught you fucking in the woods and I'm prowling lakeside.

Here, lemme give you a preview. I’m a special, special boy!”

[Image: 3z44SDY.png]



~=~ Bonus Scene ~=~

I don't know about the opposite sex.. But one of the most prized times of the day for a guy is being able to take a nice comfortable shit!

There were preparations for this shit. I had plans for it. Got my headphones on, my phone set up on the counter. Pants and underroos at my ankles, I rubbed my hands together.

“Let's call Theo!” I proclaimed with a sense of excitement. It had been a while. Tapping the screen of my phone, I get his number and push to call. Video call. This was a time to bond. Our time.

“The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please hang up and try again.”

“Say huh?” That didn't seem right. Quickly (Because I could feel it prairie dogging) I clicked his name on contacts. It went back to the same automated message.

“The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please hang up and try again.”

I sighed. “Damn..”]]> <![CDATA[Demons from the Past]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47965 Sat, 07 Sep 2024 20:52:27 -0700 SummerPage]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47965 Demons from the Past

Word Count-1000 Words]]> Demons from the Past

Word Count-1000 Words]]>